Mother's Day

Mother's Day gets me. Every single year it sneaks up on me, and then I'm standing in church watching the baby dedications and weeping. Some years more than others, but always without fail.

Mother's Day is complicated. I watch people. I'm a people watcher by nature, and I'm especially attuned to people on this wonderful, difficult day. I see the woman longing to be a mom, yearning to be the one up on stage holding a little one, wondering if her time will ever come. I know her by the tears running down her face as she turns away from the happy scene. I see the woman smiling down at her child while silently grieving the ones she never met. I know her by the wistful look in her eyes as she rests her hand on her belly unconsciously, a habit that never seems to go away.  I see the woman who looks sadly at the empty seat next to her--a woman who would give anything to hug her own mother one last time. I don't know her yet, but I will someday--a day I will never be ready for. I see you.

I have been one of you, am one of you still. I have written many times about my losses, but I don't know that I was ever quite able to truly convey the overwhelming, all-encompassing pain and grief I felt sometimes. Mother's Day was excruciating for me. Staring up at a whole line of rosy-cheeked babies and doting moms and dads was torture every year, and I found myself wanting to skip church on the day I probably needed it most.

How can you be thankful on a day your heart is so full of everything but gratitude? Questions and shame and anger and desperation, yes. But not gratitude. Not today. Flutters on a screen, heartbeats there and gone, hopes and dreams destroyed. I know. I see you.

I don't know if you will ever be up on that stage. I certainly doubted that I would ever be. I'm not one for platitudes; I have been on the receiving end of way too many. But I do want to say that you are not alone. Don't cry by yourself today in a bathroom stall; don't watch Netflix all day alone in the dark. Don't do the things that almost destroyed me years ago. Reach out to someone you love--or someone you barely know. Reach out to me. I'm here. I see you.

But God...

Grief has been a common theme throughout many of my posts. Razor-sharp grief has split me in two on more than one occasion, but it has also been a binding thread, connecting me to so many women that share components of my story.

Just recently, another close friend lost her baby before she ever got to meet it. I was able to counsel her, listen to her, advise her, and just be there for her in an experienced way that most others, thankfully, could not. She asked me one day how I endured it all during those dark years, why I no longer spend my days constantly grieving and longing for the babies I will never get to hold on this earth. I answered her in two words that our pastor once made into an entire sermon:  

But God.

For three years, I lived in a waking nightmare of hospital visits, surgeries, tests, ultrasounds, hormones, specialists, needles, blood, incompetence, heartbeats and no heartbeats, shots, and silence. I cried out; I wrestled; I screamed; I pleaded. After the fifth loss, I often felt more like a hollow shell than an actual person. I experienced many moments of grief that left me prone on the floor, silently begging for it all to swallow me up because my spent tears and hoarse voice had left me with absolutely nothing else.  

As I tried to comfort those suffering through their own tragedies, I fought desperately to gain perspective. I worked with people who lost their beautiful, vibrant children or beloved spouses in terrible accidents. People who saw a loved one suffer through a cancer diagnosis. I witnessed both of my grandpas endure some of the cruelest things this world has to offer in their dying days. I watched people struggle through their grief and come out stronger on the other side, and I watched some who seemed as though they would never get out from under it. I know for a long time, it could have gone either way for me. 

But God. 

He faithfully restored my marriage. He brought friends into my life who shared the same beliefs. He prompted me to write and share my story with other women who were in pain. And on the most difficult days, he reminded me that even though it hurt, I was not hurting alone. In my weakest, most painful moments, his strength was revealed. 

When God blessed me with Addison, she didn't fill the void of the babies that I lost. Only God could do that. He bound up my heart with his own healing thread of grace and contentment and love, and he filled it with a peace that passes all understanding. And even now, on the occasions when pain lurks around hidden corners and sometimes dwells in the shadows of my heart, he is there, ever faithful with his perfect comfort. While I would never wish to walk that three-year road again, it changed me for the better. Places that were hard and angry are now soft and sympathetic. Pride has been replaced with humility. Striving to do it all on my own has given way to surrender. I don't wrestle with what I went through anymore; it is a part of who I am. It has given me a powerful testimony, and it has prepared me for whatever lies in front of me. I'm no longer apprehensive about the future because I know that even on the hardest days ahead...

But God. 

But [God] said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.
2 Corinthians 12:9-10 NIV

Somewhere Over the Rainbow...

It has been many months since I have blogged. I remember finding it so easy to write when I was in the midst of pain or anxiety, but I find it much harder now, when I feel like my days are (thankfully) more mundane. Today, I was reminded that it is National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day, thanks to post after post on Facebook. It seems fitting then, that tonight, I write.

My last loss was in April of 2011. I remember it vividly because I spent my 30th birthday not out celebrating, but recovering in bed from yet another D&C. When I was going through my 5 losses, I only knew one person that had suffered a miscarriage. Now, I know too many to count. Back then, I had never heard the term "rainbow baby." Now, it is a universal phrase of hope. I pray that it is because we are finally understanding that miscarriage is not something to be ashamed of. Not something to blame ourselves for. Not another reason to look in the mirror and feel like we aren't enough, don't have enough. Maybe it is finally becoming okay to talk about your loss, to feel it, to grieve it, to share that grief with others.

I know from experience that grief is so very complex. Completely universal, yet incredibly personal. Here are just a few things I wish I had known years ago:

Grief does not, and will not, look like someone else's. I know some were incredulous that I did not plant trees, buy necklaces, or really do anything tangible to remember my babies. But I didn't, and now I don't feel the need to. They are in my heart, and that is really all I need. Don't feel guilty because you aren't grieving like others think you should.

It's okay to ask for help. I certainly did. I knew I wasn't dealing with a lot of things during those dark years. Our marriage was in shambles, my grief was eating me from the inside out, and to everyone else I still looked like I had it all figured out. We did not escape unscathed, but we were able to persevere and grow with the help of an amazing counselor. There is NO shame in admitting you cannot navigate it alone.

You don't have to keep it together for anyone. You will make people uncomfortable. It is not your job to worry about that. Yes, talking to someone about death is hard, but experiencing that loss without support is even harder. Good friends will listen, give you grace, and not expect anything in return. You need to take care of only you, for at least a little while.

Try not to stress the excitement out of your next pregnancy. Sometimes I wonder how much my story has colored the lives of those around me. I know of only one woman personally that has suffered more than one miscarriage, and yet I have tried my best to reassure so many who are terrified of that very thing. I am a fraction of 1% of the population. Please learn from my mistakes. I thought during each pregnancy that if I just prepared myself enough, detached myself enough, that I wouldn't feel it if or when I said goodbye to a once-beating heart. I am ashamed to admit that I didn't do so many things for Addison's pregnancy; now her baby book sits unfinished in a drawer, a testament to my worry that a loss would happen again. I let my fears leach away what should have been hers.

Grief does diminish over time, but it is still there, may always be there, lying dormant, waiting. Facebook posts, a friend's loss, a certain time of year...grief will return. It may not be as strong as it once was, but you are allowed to feel it. And you should. It is a part of the healing. And although I'm not sure if anyone ever finds total healing, I feel like you can get pretty darn close. For us, it came through God in November of 2012 in the way of Addison's big blue eyes, bright red lips, and squishy pink cheeks...a rainbow baby if there ever was one.

Undeserving

I spent 3 years avoiding blogs exactly like what this one is becoming. Blogs filled with babies and nurseries and sunshine...ick. That is why I have been hesitant in posting too many pictures of those very things on this blog. I know most people who read it are wanting to keep up with our story and are so excited for us, but I also know that I have been contacted by many who are still going through their struggles with infertility and miscarriage and so I am reluctant to constantly highlight my happiness.

There is a strange, comforting sense of solidarity when you come across someone that has experienced your type of heartache. Losing a baby or babies is not something ANYONE can comprehend unless they have gone through it. The excitement that suddenly turns into soul-crushing news, the daily struggles with faith, the excrutiating self-blame, the fear that it will happen again. It's just impossible to put into words that are sufficient enough. That's why for some, I know that although they are rejoicing with us, there is a sense of something bittersweet. Because even though I have gone through the hard times, my found happiness leaves behind unspoken questions. Questions that I asked myself on many sleepless nights when another struggling friend would start her own healthy pregnancy journey. Questions that sound ridiculous to outsiders, but line the wounded hearts of those in the thick of the pain. Why is this happening to me? When is it my turn? Will my husband still love me if I can't give him children? Maybe if I just do _____ for God? Why doesn't He answer my prayers? Will I EVER hold a baby of my own? Why her and not me? What have I done wrong?

I cannot answer those questions even now. My prayers have been answered, but I don't deserve it anymore than anyone else. I shudder when people say that to me."You and Erik deserve it!" It pierces the very heart of women who are looking for any reason why they are suffering. It seems to imply that the childless somehow don't deserve that blessing or are to blame, and that's just not true. I don't know why God has allowed me to have a healthy pregnancy thus far. I am thankful beyond belief, but I still hurt with those I know mask a pain behind their excitement. I do intend to post some pictures and continue the happy baby blogs, but I have felt compelled to let everyone know that I do it not to be insensitive, but to offer proof that God does indeed answer prayers and work miracles. We are His instruments, created to glorify Him in both our joy and strife. Believe me, not a moment of this complicated and heart-breaking 3 year journey has been wasted or lost on me. I pray daily for those of you still struggling: that you will keep the faith, that God will pour into your hearts while you wait on His timing, and that someday soon He will bless you with your very own little miracle.

Those Glorious Days of Summer?

Summer. A word that makes every kid’s heart leap and all teachers sigh with relief. It signifies an end to a school year, a break, a rest from the daily grind. Summer when I was a kid seemed endless, with so much to look forward to: long, hot days spent swimming at White Water, screaming gleefully on rides at Frontier City, listening to my dad mow the grass while I read contentedly in my room, driving to Tulsa to visit my grandparents, and playing basketball with my neighborhood friends until it was too dark to see. The list, it seems, could go on forever. My favorite childhood memories are from those carefree summer breaks when the days stretched before me…each one a new possibility.

As a teacher, my outlook on summer has been a bit different. Every year I hear, “Must be nice having two months off,” spoken with a detectable trace of derision. Questions like, “What are you going to do with such a long break?” and “How long do teachers get off again?” are asked with a hint of incredulity. A teacher’s summer is spent a little differently than one might think. Most teachers, including myself, use those months to plan and shop for the upcoming year, actually get some things done around the house, and, oh yeah, work a summer job! The summer days no longer stretch out before me as a sea of memories waiting to be made…they fly by in a state of fast and furious “doing.”

As a non-mother, this summer will be unlike my previous “teacher” summers. I’ve spent the last 2 summers pregnant, full of hope, my mind occupied with what might be. This summer, despite my busy state, I am afraid the days will instead stretch out before me in a sea of memories I may never make. I plan to heap even more responsibility onto myself, in hopes that the days will, indeed, fly by as they have in past summers. A little SWITCH (youth group), maybe some dog training (working towards Koda’s Canine Good Citizenship), even a little baby-sitting. Somehow, I’m not sure if it will be enough to keep my mind off the shower I should be planning and the nursery I should be decorating.

With summer just a week away, the non-mother in me finds myself wishing I could stop time and hold at bay the day the teacher in me has been looking forward to for so long. Summer, that beautiful taste of freedom, suddenly feels too oppressive to face. What will I be doing with my two months off? Whatever it takes. 

Dexter-style

Dexter. I’ve been rewatching the first season, and I realize now one of the many reasons why I love it so much. I really identify with him. Not the serial killer part, but his emotional awkwardness. He has to fake emotions in order to fit in, as he has no feelings of his own. Now I wouldn’t say that I’m THAT far gone, but I do often feel as though my emotional responses aren’t “normal.” I have comforted many a friend as they cried about MY situation whilst I sat dry-eyed. I have recounted some of my darkest days to others while seeming as detached as if I were talking about the weather. I have stood in the diaper aisle of Wal-Mart wondering when the tears were going to come…reading about other women weeping over Pampers in their local grocery stores told me surely that was the “typical” miscarriage reaction. People have implored me to remember my babies through plants or trees or even through giving them names. The thought that none of those things ever crossed my mind…well, chalk another one up to my oblivious insensitivity.

Now believe me, I do cry. Put Marley & Me on television or give me a Nicholas Sparks novel, and I’m bawling unabashedly. It’s easy for me to cry for someone else’s situation (especially when it involves a furry, four-legged friend). There’s just something about the vulnerability and egocentricity of crying for myself when others are around that I just can’t handle. However, just because I can go out in public and talk about my situation without tearing up, Dexter-style, I’ve found that people think that means I’m “okay” enough to be subjected to all sorts of interesting commentary and advice. I’ve read numerous articles online regarding this verbal phenomenon, so I decided to consolidate the information (plus a few of my own gems) into a list of things NOT to say to me, or anyone else suffering through recurrent miscarriages or infertility, for your own personal safety. *Each faux pas is followed by my unspoken reaction for a little sarcastic relief. (Read at your own risk…)

10) Kids aren’t that great anyway. *Then give yours to me.

9) Maybe you’re just not meant to be a mom. *Ouch! Below the belt!!

8) You’ve gained some weight! *Yes after five pregnancies with no time in between, you tend to gain a few pounds. And the grief eating doesn’t help. Oh, and YOU’VE gained a few pounds. (I didn’t say the reactions were mature…) Haha

7) Have you tried XYZ? It worked for this lady on the internet… *Oh, I’ll tell my doctor with years and years of experience who has read just about every study known to man on fertility issues and attends all sorts of conferences. I’m sure he’ll be happy to have a cure.

6) Oh well, you can always adopt. *When this comes from someone with their own biological children, it’s a knife to the heart. The inability to have a child with mommy’s lips and daddy’s eyes is a huge grievable loss, a vanishing dream, not just some small inconvenience.

5) I know how you feel. *Not a good idea to say to ANYONE going through anything remotely tragic.

4) God has a plan. *Not helpful unless God has told you what it is and you’re about to impart that knowledge upon me. I know it’s true, but hearing it doesn’t change anything.

3) When are you going to give up on having a baby? *When you buy me a baby.

2) Well, there are worse things that could happen. *Great line for a new Hallmark sympathy card! You should submit the line right away before someone else steals it!

1) Nothing. *I’ve talked about this before – no need to say it again.

I don’t say ANY of this to induce guilt, because if you’re sensitive enough to think I might be writing about you, you’re sensitive enough that you wouldn’t have said any of these things! Also, I know that most of these comments and questions are born out of genuine concern or to fill the uncomfortable silence. I rarely take them to heart or hold them against anyone because God knows I’ve said some TRULY idiotic things when I didn’t know what else to say. The best things to say? I love you. I’m praying for you. Let me know if there’s anything I can do. That means more than all the well-meaning advice in the world.

Groundhog Day

“What would you do if you were stuck in one place and every day was exactly the same, and nothing that you did mattered? “ This is a quote from a movie called Groundhog Day; since I’m one of only 13 people who have seen it, I will give you a very short synopsis. Basically it’s about a weather man who wakes up the day after Groundhog Day only to find he’s reliving the day all over again…and again, and again before he finally wakes up to a tomorrow. I feel his pain. I’ve figured it up, and out of the last 21 months of my life (since the day of my first positive test), I have been pregnant for half of that, each time a Pregnancy Déjà vu.  I’m not reliving the fun parts of pregnancy over and over…the name choosing, feeling Baby’s first kick, nursery shopping, shower attending. No, I’m stuck with the morning sickness, the exhaustion, the anxiety, the overwhelming grief…you know, the really UNfun parts. When you’re stuck in the same 2 months over and over, sometimes your todays ARE your tomorrows…sometimes the future is obscured by the present.  

We relived another unfun day today…we found out that we have to have another D&C. Unfortunately, although the baby has passed, my sac, for whatever reason, has decided to hang around and even grow. The doctor told us today that if I continue to try to let this miscarriage take place naturally that when it finally happens it will feel more like labor…something I don’t wish to experience without a baby in my arms at the end of it.

Monday is my 30^th birthday...I pray that this meaningful milestone will be my Groundhog Day awakening. That I will wake up one day soon to feel my round belly, breathe in my new baby’s sweet scent, or even eagerly sign adoption papers. When I blow out my candles this year, my request won’t be a secret…and my birthday toast? “Here’s to a new tomorrow.” 

New Doctor, Same Story

As many of you know, today was our first visit with Dr. Best-in-the-State, who from now on shall be called Dr. Impressive Credentials. It was between that or Dr. Smooth Operator, and that just seemed strange and a little inappropriate. Anyway, Dr. IC and his staff were very thorough and kind. AND, much to my relief, Dr. IC actually had a good bedside manner. Not a bowtie in sight, and no grumpiness that I could detect. However, in around 40 minutes of questioning us and going over my extensive medical records, he came to the same conclusion as his practicing antithesis. He told us that 50% of recurrent miscarriages are without a known cause, and that based on all of the test results, the only conclusion is that we must try, try again and eventually we’ll “hit a home run” as opposed to “striking out.” He promised us that he was not just giving us a “Rah-Rah” speech, but that he truly believed what he was saying. His baseball analogies were somewhat strange, especially considering my distaste for the game, but the message behind them was clear. At some point, based on all that they’ve ruled out, we will probably have a baby of our own. The question is simply how much more we can take. We don’t know if the magic number is 6 or 10 or even 15. The only thing Dr. IC can provide for us really is his experience and reassurance.

I have to say that having Dr. GB’s results confirmed was both a relief and a bit of a surprise. I was so hoping to hear, “Oh, silly Dr. GB, he was so busy being old and grumpy that he forgot to run this test.” Then a few minutes later, “Yup, that’s what’s been causing this all along. Here’s the pill you need to fix it.” Not hearing anything of the sort did help ease some of the guilt, knowing that during this last pregnancy there was nothing I should or could have done differently.

This visit did spark something that I haven’t felt in awhile: HOPE. I haven’t written lately because, honestly, I’ve been too angry and sad to write anything the slightest bit uplifting. People ask me how I do it, how I come to work the day after bad news, how I keep from bursting into tears on one of my due dates, even how I can hold onto faith through it all. The truth is, sometimes, I don’t. I’m good at wearing masks on occasion, as I’ve shared before, and the “I’m fine” mask is one that I’ve become all too familiar with lately. Today though, this renewed hope has allowed me to refocus on the big picture of my life. It is as follows: I have an amazing, loving husband who works hard and supports me in all I do. I have a caring family who is full of faith and lifts me up in prayer daily. Although we work really hard, God has blessed Erik and me with great jobs and the ability to have a life without any debt except for our beautiful home. I’m fortunate to have lots of friends, and a few that I count close enough to be vulnerable with. I have security in my future because I know that God is in control and he DOES have plans that I can’t even fathom that DO involve kids, one way or another. I AM fine. I just needed a doctor’s “Rah-Rah” to remind me.  

Crayon Time Machine

Do you ever have those instances when a memory is so clear and crisp it transports you back in time for just a moment? The smell of a rose always sends me to my Grandma’s house where a vase of fresh roses is as commonplace as the hummingbirds outside her window. There are many, many songs that trigger memories of different times in my life: high school graduation, a first date, road trips. There are kids in my class whose mannerisms are so like people from my past that for a moment I can see someone else standing in their place. Sometimes the memories are welcome, other times their intrusiveness and unexpectedness can bring you to your knees. Today, I experienced the latter.

I was teaching, walking the room, doing the same thing I do every day, looking at the same kids, the same everything. But for some reason, today, a box of Crayolas was my time machine. In the blink of an eye I was 9 years old again, jealously eyeing the girls around me with their big, fancy 64 count boxes of crayons. The other kids would go to them and ask to borrow one of their 10 shades of blue while I stared forlornly at my lowly 24 count box. When it came to school supplies, I ALWAYS got exactly what was on the list. No frills, no excess. Folders meant folders, not Trapper Keepers, and 24 count meant that anything more was unnecessary. I remember telling my mom way back then that someday I would buy MY kid the biggest box of crayons the store had so they could be “cool.” Problems are so simple as a kid…I’m sure that at 9, all I  knew was that one day I would get married and have babies because that’s what people do. Miscarriage was not in my vocabulary. Today, the crayons symbolized innocence...and a future that is just out of my grasp. 

We still have not decided exactly where we go from here. Adoption is still not an option unless anyone finds a few Gs floating around unclaimed. Fostering is not something that my husband feels comfortable with, therefore it is no longer on the table. We did make an appointment to see a different Reproductive Endocrinologist, Dr. Supposedly-Best-Around (name will be changed upon meeting him).  On April 12^th I will present him with my history and the results of the battery of tests that I have been put through…we’ll see if maybe he can unlock my medical mystery. If not, well, being an aunt will have to be enough. And you’d better believe that when Auntie takes my nieces school supply shopping, their box of crayons will be bigger than they are...

This Roller Coaster Is Stuck! Refund Please...

I thought all of the way home on how to break the news to everyone. I know that so many people have invested their time and prayers into our story and our lives. The news wasn’t easy for me to hear despite all the doctor’s superfluous apologies, so I know that nothing I type will make it easier to read. There was no heartbeat found today. All the fervent prayers sent up and tortuous waiting just to hear those words. AGAIN. I don’t need to write about my emotions tonight…I’m sure you can make a list without my help because some of you are probably feeling the same things.  

I cannot coherently string together much more than the previous paragraph at this time. Once I’ve had time to process this and Erik and I have gotten to think about where we go from here, I will have plenty to say. I do know that at this time, we are considering other options. I don’t think that I can do this again. I’m sure that I can continue to survive miscarriage after miscarriage, but the cost to my emotional well-being is just too high.

Tonight we’re going to go out to a restaurant and try to forget this bad dream for a few hours. We’re going to plan a summer vacation and think about all the fun we will have. We’re going to take a break from our lives. Sometimes the realities of this world are just too much to bear. 

A quote that made me pause today: 

“When things are bad, we take comfort in the thought that they could always be worse. And when they are, we find hope in the thought that things are so bad they have to get better.”

Hanging by a Thread...of Hope

Well, we received news today, but it was ambiguous news at best. Isn’t that the most horrible kind? Good news puts you on top of the world, bad news allows the beginning of acceptance and healing, but uncertain news, in my experience, gives you just enough hope to hang yourself with later.

Today we went in for our first ultrasound. I can say that I have come to dread the whole production. I have never had an ultrasound in which I got to stare at the screen with a feeling of excitement and wonder. No, my first ultrasound was a disaster, and each one since has either mirrored the first devastating experience or set me up for one down the road. Today, I fear, was no different. The doctor did what doctors always do – they measure the baby. By all mathematical calculations I am 7 weeks 3 days on the dot. The baby, however, only measured 6 weeks 3 days. For those of you who don’t know, this is quite often a precursor to miscarriage. First the growth begins to slow, and then it stops completely. Now, on a positive note, there was a heartbeat, which means Baby is still alive and kicking. I am also still having all of the miserable (yet reassuring) symptoms as well. I go back on Wednesday for monitoring…in one long, LONG week we will know the fate of our baby.

I have had a whole range of emotions today. It has been a roller coaster…riding the optimism up to the top of the hill, looking out over the big picture, and then racing down into hopelessness so vast it takes your breath away. I know that my God is bigger than anything, that He can do all things, and that my faith is the ONLY thing I can hold onto right now. I also know that as a recovering pessimist/realist, I want to prepare myself for the worst; as if a horrible scenario replaying hourly in my mind will somehow cushion the ton of bricks should they rain down on me in a week. My faith and my mind are separate right now, warring over the right to control what I think and feel, leaving me feeling wrung out and numb.

My amazing friend reminded me today that everyone is on my side, and that no reaction is wrong to what I’m experiencing, despite my tendency to beat myself up over losing faith sometimes. Although I don’t know anyone who understands exactly what I’m going through, I know so, so many people are praying for us, shedding tears with us, and sending their love our way. Whether it pours bricks on Wednesday or God reveals a rainbow, know that your support and prayers have meant everything. 

No news is good news?

If it is true that no news is good news, consider this blog the bearer of AMAZING news. That’s right, I have not one scrap of new information to report. This is a good and bad thing, as I am very ready to share the news of my first appointment, but I’m even more thankful that I have no discouraging symptoms to report. I plan to go to the doctor next week – with or without my mysteriously absent insurance card – and then I’m sure I will have plenty of good to relay!

I know that to most I have sounded really upbeat and well, breezy (being that I said that was my intent) but if I’m really sincere I must admit that internally I’m struggling with a lot of anxiety. You see, all four miscarriages have occurred during a break from school… and Spring Break is rapidly approaching. It also just so happens that this break corresponds with my never-surpassed 7^th week. Panic attack anyone? Seriously though, the fear surrounding next week has been trying to overtake my mind for the past several days. It would be so, so easy to let it. This time I’m not relying on the latest cure-all diets or even modern medicine. The only thing left to hold onto? FAITH.

Sometimes we drop to our knees as a last resort, when everything is falling apart and we don’t know what else to do. I have been there many times during the past two years. What if we decided to make that our first resort? What if we offered ourselves up to be God’s latest success story, a testimony to the world of what He can do through our faith?  If I was injecting myself with shots every night, who would get the glory from a healthy pregnancy? Doctors? My husband for braving and enduring the wrath the shots induced? Me for withstanding the pain and flood of crazy hormones? This time, I’m giving it all to God. Not after it’s over and I need Him to pick up the pieces, but NOW. I’m holding every thought captive until I’m sure that it’s not destructive…it’s okay to be scared, but it’s not healthy to dwell on it. Keep praying Friends; I believe with everything I am that they’re working. :-)

Test Anxiety

I’ve always been a good test-taker. Not necessarily because I knew the material, but because test-taking is more about understanding the different strategies, ruling out answers, going with your gut…it’s almost an art form. Much to the chagrin of my parents, I relied heavily on this art form to get me through college. A few tests here and there versus attending class every day? No contest. (Kids, do NOT try this at home)! Anyway, although I can’t remember many tests in which I didn’t have a few butterflies beforehand, there is one test that still holds me captive in fear above all others. A test that most of the time I have failed rather than passed. The pregnancy test.

For someone who suffers from recurrent miscarriage, a plus sign on a stick does not inspire dancing in your underwear and calling every person you know to share the glorious news. Instead, a positive test encompasses hundreds of emotions at once: fear, trepidation, apprehension, nervous excitement, doubt, resignation…and all their cousins, uncles, and aunts. Once the emotional fog clears, it’s time to face your first pregnancy dilemma…to tell or not to tell? Option #1 gives you a community of support and prayer through good and bad. Sharing also allows you to experience morning sickness without people thinking you are spreading the plague to your coworkers. Option #2 is without a doubt, the easier route. When you don’t tell, you don’t have to deal with seeing people count mentally in their heads, “Now how many is this?” before they utter their bright-smiled “Congratulations!”  You don’t have to feel the disparity between now and the first time you told people, because even though you still don’t have a baby, others find it impossible to capture that “first time” excitement. And best of all, you don’t have to answer questions about how you’re feeling when it’s over, because no one knew to begin with.

Now I know I have a few more of these tests coming in my future, maybe even the near future. And because keeping that particular secret is painful for me, I’m sure you’ll be hearing all about the next plus sign. Just try not to judge too harshly for my written reactions, because I’m sure they will be anything but stereotypical. In the meantime, pray that whenever this next test comes that not only will I pass, but that one good test will be enough to pass the whole “class” with flying colors. 

Doctor Update #4

As I sat today in Dr. GB’s office, pondering his lack of bowtie AND grumpiness, thereby making his nickname irrelevant, a movie quote came to mind. Amidst all of his brilliance, and he truly is brilliant, he does not have an answer for us. His hastily spoken suggestion the other day of using a sperm donor was just one in a list of things we can try. Key word being TRY. He confirmed today that based on all of our results, we will most likely have a baby at some point with or without medical intervention. If however, the problem is something beyond all doctors’ knowledge and awareness, then these miscarriages will keep happening. Either way, he doesn’t know and there’s no way to tell. This brings me back to the quote. It’s from one of my favorite movies, Rudy, and it’s spoken in the church when Rudy is asking the priest if there is anything more he can do (to get into Notre Dame). The priest answers back, “Son, in 35 years of religious studies, I’ve come up with only two, hard incontrovertible facts: there is a God, and I'm not Him.” Essentially, this is what Dr. No Longer GB is telling us.

I find it ironic that just as I’m starting to warm up to said doctor, we may never see him again. You see, because our insurance hates all persons having fertility trouble (proof being that they no longer cover ANY Reproductive Endocrinology visits at this point) we had to pay for this visit out of pocket. Considering the exorbitant prices of RE visits, this practice will not be continuing. No more tests, no more guesses, no more professorial lectures imparting his expertise. Seriously, I think I learned enough from him today to write a textbook. Like I said, brilliant. Anyway, we are going to try again, but this time we will weather the storm without any medical involvement. As we were leaving, Dr. No Longer GB said something that will forever endear him to me. With fervor that rivals my own, he said, “I see so many couples leave here with healthy pregnancies and I get their birth announcements. I just want you guys to be one of those couples.” *Tear!* So long good doctor…keep an eye on your mailbox. 

Super Hero?

I am not a Super Hero. Shocking, I know. People have been commenting lately on my amazing strength and resilience. Well, it’s time to set the record straight. Despite my best efforts at seeming put-together and my “embrace the sunshine” goal, I still have melancholy days. Days where I listen to the same depressing songs over and over just to feel the tears run down my face. Days where my mood swings give Erik whiplash. Days where, if my outside actions matched my inner turmoil, there’s a good chance I would be in jail or a special hospital, complete with straight jacket.

There are times when hearing someone complain about their pregnancy weight gain or lack of sleep from their newborn baby is enough to cause me to make a scene (in my head). There are moments when the words, “We want to have a baby by the time I’m _______ years old” sets my teeth on edge. As if it’s just that easy. I want to scream out, “Don’t you think I used to say the same things!? And look at me now!!!” Usually I just settle for a laughing, “Sometimes God has a different idea!” hoping to remind them to use a little sensitivity.

Lately, however, I’ve realized that I’M the one being insensitive. People have the right to talk about their goals, grumblings and goings-on without walking on egg-shells around me! The only way that you develop hyper-sensitivity like mine is to live through something like this, and I certainly wouldn’t wish it on anyone. It is beyond selfish to expect others to analyze every word before they speak, trying to decide if it will offend me. I certainly wouldn’t want to be around someone like that for very long!!

Goal # 1,000,001 is as follows: Stop being a big fat baby every time you hear a sentence containing the aforementioned word!! (See, even I use it without thinking occasionally!) Thanks for the sincere compliments Friends; they are making me want to be the person you think I am. Love you all!! J

Doctor Update #3

So my husband has this autobiography by Hamilton Jordan entitled “No Such Thing as a Bad Day.” That title has been rolling around in my head this evening. Can you imagine the strength it would take for a person to live their lives in such a manner? He faced cancer (3 times no less), and was so grateful for his survival that he proclaimed that any day he woke up to see the sun could not be a bad day. That perspective and attitude towards life is my new goal, but it is not going to happen today.

As you’ve probably guessed, today was BAD. We were planning to make an offer on a house today at 3:30; we were told upon arrival that it was sold last night. LAST NIGHT!! Can you imagine? It is amazing how attached you can get to something that was never even yours. Stupid wood floors and theater room luring me in…

Then I got a phone call from Dr. GB (the Reproductive Endocrinologist) that shook me to the core. As if hearing his grumpy voice wasn’t bad enough…  He wanted to speak with me personally about my blood panels from when I was pregnant and about some of the research he has been doing. Evidently he has been poring over all of my results and looking through some newly published medical journals (since I am such a mystery) and just truly does not believe it is me. At heart, doctors are scientists, and he wants to change one variable at a time in order to see if the outcome will be different. Henceforth I am now a human guinea pig. Experiment #1: to see if I can have a healthy pregnancy with a sperm donor. Yes, I know. My mind is still reeling. I cannot even vocalize yet how this suggestion has affected me, so I won’t try. I’m sure you can imagine. Just for tonight, I need time to mourn the idea that a baby of our own may never be a reality. I’ve never, NEVER allowed that possibility to cross my mind. Tomorrow I will consider the alternatives: that Dr. GB could be wrong, that we can adopt, that God can do all things and heal all things. Tomorrow I will embrace the sun, but for tonight, just for tonight, the darkness seems more fitting. 

Doctor Update #2

Confession time…I called my doctor first thing this morning. I am weak, I am impatient, I am working on it. Honestly, I found the notion of waiting on pins and needles for 2 weeks to find out if they even SENT for the genetic tests on the baby to be ludicrous. Thank goodness I did call, because 2 weeks would have been a long time to wait for nothing. Yes, that’s right, NOTHING. They did, in fact, fail to order the genetic tests. Pathology reports were clear, but genetic results will remain unknown. The nurse, while holding my chart, said, “Well, they usually don’t order them after the first miscarriage. This is your first, right?” Let us pause for a moment of silence for incompetence everywhere…

Because of these consistent problems with Dr. Never Again’s staff, and his love of the phrase “bad luck,” the use of which truly makes me want to strangle someone, I have made the decision to find a new doctor. Now, before, I ask for recommendations, let me preface this by saying, I LIKE Dr. Never Again. He has been delivering for many years, I hear nothing but the best things about him, he is very calm and sympathetic, I just LIKE him. This seems to be the #1 prerequisite for an OBG recommendation, and it’s just not enough anymore. I need someone who is familiar with these types of situations, who isn’t so busy that they can barely keep up with what labs go where, and who delivers out of Baptist or Mercy. I would love to hear your suggestions, keeping my needs in mind. There’s part of me that is very sad and worried about the unknown with a new doctor, but I’m hoping maybe this change will be the start of a new beginning. 

Doctor Update #1

We went to the D&C follow-up visit on Wednesday afternoon. It was anticlimactic at best. For all of you wanting an update, it is as follows:

30 = # of minutes spent waiting to see Dr. Never Again

5 = # of minutes ACTUALLY spent seeing Dr. Never Again

4 = # of times Dr. Never Again used the phrase “bad luck”

4 = # of times he almost got punched in the face for using the aforementioned phrase

0 = # of times I cried

1 = # of times I ALMOST cried, especially upon hearing that he thinks the hospital lab “failed” to send off the baby for genetic testing

2 = # of weeks it will take to find out if the hospital did in fact fail (don’t ask me why)!

14 = # of days in those weeks that I will think about it with anger and resignation

14 = # of days in those weeks that I will use my steely resolve to NOT call and beg for results

Uncountable = # of people we have praying for and thinking about us

Immeasurable = # of ways in which we are blessed in this life

CLIMBING OUT (Part 6 of 6)

CLIMBING OUT

The next day we met with Dr. Never Again to discuss my options. He recommended another D&C, which we expected, and so the procedure was scheduled for Thursday, 2 days after we had found out. Dr. NA assured us that this time they would do testing on the baby (I refuse to call it a fetus…blech) to see what, if anything, they could find wrong. The D&C went smoothly enough and I was glad for the closure. The progesterone shots were fooling my body and my levels were so high that it would have taken weeks to miscarry naturally. This time my body healed a little slower, is still healing. Lots of pain, fighting a fever, night sweats. All fun reminders of what might have been, along with the baby fat I gained.

The physical pain was actually a nice distraction from the real anguish. This latest loss has affected me differently. They say there are 5 stages of grief…I’ve been stuck on the anger stage this time. Anger at both doctors for their optimism and making me believe this was IT, anger at myself for every little thing I could have possibly done wrong (drinking that sip of Coke!), and anger at God for not answering my fervent prayers. It is painful for me to admit that I have felt that way towards God. After all, He has been my strength through all of this. But the statement “It’s not fair” had been replaying in my head until the bitterness was threatening to overtake me. I’ve had to let go of the anger for my own sanity. And it’s still not completely gone. There are still days when I have to fight the thoughts out of my head with a song or a prayer. Because you know what? It’s NOT fair. But it’s also not fair that one of my favorite friends lost her newlywed husband in a tragic accident. It’s not fair that a student at school’s brother is fighting cancer at such a young age. Nothing is fair in life. And thank God for that. If life were fair, no telling where I’d be…certainly my biggest worry wouldn’t be carrying a child. We all have more than we deserve. And that’s my current mantra…the old Dave Ramsey greeting. How are you? “Better than I deserve.” 

CRASHING DOWN (Part 5 of 6)

Christmas was on a Saturday this year. That is not relevant, but it gives you a timeline. I felt absolutely horrendous that day. All I wanted to do was lie down and sleep. At the risk of seeming antisocial to Erik’s extended family, I did in fact lie down a few times just to feel “right” again, but I fought the sleep. The next day we went shopping for a good portion of the day, enjoying the hunt for our annual after-Christmas bargains. Monday we went to Tulsa to see my grandparents and cousins. It was a great day and I remember being so excited because Tuesday was the 8 week ultrasound day! It was a milestone in my mind because we had never made it that far. With this pregnancy I had actually started filling out a pregnancy journal and calendar. As much as I hated to admit it, I was allowing myself to get excited about a pregnancy. After the first miscarriage I had not allowed myself to search for baby bedding on the internet, paint the nursery in my head, or even let my mind drift to a future that included us with a child. This time, I was starting to go there. Dangerous territory indeed…

On Tuesday Erik had to work so my mom agreed to come with me to the ultrasound. Looking back, God had a hand in that because I usually just went alone. We waited forever to get into the room with the “good” ultrasound machine and while we were waiting we overheard/saw snippets of a woman passing out from a blood draw. Mom and I were observing the somewhat humorous spectacle and talking about shopping or something equally mundane. Dr. GB finally came in to do the ultrasound and I immediately knew that something wasn’t right. I didn’t see the familiar little flutter on the screen indicating a heartbeat. My heart started pounding and I felt sick to my stomach. When he called out the measurements, the baby had barely grown from the previous week. After he was done, he confirmed what I had already figured out. The baby was gone. He guessed that it had probably stopped growing on Christmas Day. The day that I had been waiting on for 8 weeks had turned ugly and dark. No matter how you steel yourself against the pain, it still takes your breath away. In that moment, I saw the ending. I’d been there before, 3 times. I already knew about the pain, the grief, the emotional toll I was positive it would take on me. What I wasn’t sure about was if this news would be what finally broke me, shattering me into a million pieces, unable to be put back together again.