Hope Springs

Right around nine months ago (how ironic), I mentioned that finding and maintaining hope in our fertility process was a struggle for me. A lot has happened since then. For starters, my sister gave me a very special necklace for Christmas. It has a pendant inscribed with the word "hope" accompanied by two jewels: a teal one, which is the awareness color for my condition of PCOS, and a pearl, representing motherhood. She wanted to provide me with some tangible hope while I couldn't find my own. It is one of the most thoughtful gifts I have ever received. Since then, it has dangled from the mirror in my car as a constant reminder of what we're moving towards. During the days when I thought all hope was lost, I could simply look up and find it dancing right in front of my eyes.

 

In 2012, we had exhausted all of the support we could receive from my original OB/GYN. In February of this year, we sought a second opinion from another doctor who came highly recommended by friends. He pretty much confirmed what we knew by agreeing that we would need to have procedures performed that regular doctors are not equipped to do, requiring specialized assistance. It was hard to accept that Brad and I would never naturally conceive a child at home in love. That was a loss of opportunity that we had to grieve. However, this doctor was much gentler and kinder about the news and was able to put the perspective in significantly more positive terms. He assured me that fertility treatments were not a death sentence, but rather a chance to consult the experts in the field who literally do this for a living.

 

In March, Brad and I sucked up our pride and swallowed all of our fears of owning an "infertile label," and we nervously walked into Nashville Fertility Center. We had mixed emotions of despair because, after years of trying, we could no longer fool ourselves into thinking we were "normal couples with a typical level of difficulty," as well as determination to finally call in the Big Guns. We were more than ready to officially get this show on the road. 

 

 

Immediately following our first consultation with Dr. W, I knew we were in an additional pair of good hands. With his expertise combined with God's power, I started to see sparkles of hope in my vision even without the dangling pendant in my eyesight. In the four months since Dr. W. has been part of our story, things have started picking up. I've tripled the dosage of my daily PCOS medication, checked and rechecked various blood levels, consulted (and ruled out) a medical endocrinologist for possible obscure hormonal defects, and undergone surgery to remove harmful tissue from endometriosis and also repair if possible, but mostly likely remove, a damaged fallopian tube.

 

But, you guys, Brad and I experienced our first "victory" when Dr. W. came out of surgery and said he did not need to remove the tube! All of us were nearly positive it was going to have to happen, and we had all prepared for fertility chances and options with only one fallopian tube present. He not only did not have to remove it, but he said both tubes as well as my uterus are in perfect condition! Either God healed my anatomy over the last year (which is entirely possible!) or the dye test/x-ray had been misleading, probably because of muscle cramping and resistance during the procedure. Hallelujah! God is Good! I never thought I'd consider it such a cause for celebration to simply have all of my reproductive organs in tact!

 

(Flowers from sweet friends post-surgery)

The next immediate step is an IUI (Intrauterine Insemination), aka artificial insemination. During this procedure, they will take Brad's sperm and inject it directly into my uterus with hopes that it finds and fertilizes an egg in either of my two fallopian tubes. These procedures will be accompanied by rounds of Clomid to help me ovulate, but with a doubled dosage from was prescribed the previous six times I took it. If need be, after a couple failed IUIs with Clomid, we'll modify the drug to Femara, which I've only taken once before (but didn't enjoy the side effects of). If the oral medication and IUI combos don't result in a conception at any point, then we'll switch to injectable drugs. They're much more effective, much more successful, much more invasive, and much more expensive, so I hope it doesn't come to that. If IUIs don't ever work after all of the various drugs are attempted, then our general next step is IVF (In Vitro Fertilization), but we aren't going that far in our minds just yet, so calm back down.

 

 

Things seem to finally be getting real, and Brad and I have many emotions right now, however, they aren't necessarily the same as each other. While he (and many of my close friends) are super encouraged that this next step could be the final one, I'm keeping realistic and grounded expectations that it is just the next step in a remaining list of steps in our journey toward parenthood. But Brad and I are both extremely excited to be taking what seem to be bigger steps than we ever have before. We're excited to have a plan and be proactive and aggressive. We're excited to be working with a doctor and a facility that we wholeheartedly trust. I'm so happy to finally feel like we're in a safe place with people who truly want the same thing for us as badly as we do and who will do whatever they can to make it happen.  What a great feeling.

 

Conversely, we're also both scared. What if it finally happens? What if it's not just a dream anymore but is finally real life? What if we become parents?? Yikes! So much to plan, budget, and do! But we're simultaneously scared of the opposite, too. What if it doesn't happen? What if even this step doesn't work. What if it's just another failed task on a checklist that we have to continue trudging through. How do we (I) stay out of the despair that follows such disappointment and heartbreak? Ugh. As a result of this overwhelming risk, I'm doing what I can to guard my heart. Everybody else can let their hopes soar, but I'm going to keep them right around eye level. And ya know what, eye level is still five feet higher than they were nine months ago, so I very much consider that success in the hope department!

 

So, y'all, if you would, keep your fingers crossed and your prayers lifted that God will soon bless us with a child, and that our hearts will handle the process, however long, in the meantime. You guys rock!

 

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PS. I've been purposefully vague about the timing of the future procedures. Even though I'm exponentially grateful for all of your love and support, I'm not sure I'm ready to handle all of the emotions, excitement, anticipation, disappointment, etc. of others as well as myself. I'm not trying to be rude in any way, but I ask that you please be considerate by not asking more specific details or asking if we're pregnant yet or when we'll find out. I promise I will share the (good?) news as soon as we decide we're comfortable. If we haven't said anything, it's either because we don't know yet, so we have nothing to tell you; no we're not, and I'm hoping to not have to verbalize that sentence any more than is absolutely necessary; or yes we are, but we haven't told you yet because we're waiting for a specific reason and your asking won't negate that reason, so we're going to lie about it anyway. Does that all make sense? However, those three questions are the only ones that I ask remain off the table. Everything else, bring it on! If you are full of hope, let me know! Maybe I'll catch some of it! If you're feeling guarded about it, help keep me grounded. I've invited you all into this journey, and I'd love to share it with you as much as you are interested. Your outpouring of love and support on my previous fertility-related posts have provided so much encouragement and happiness. Thank you so much!

"Need You Now," by Plumb

Well, everybody's got a story to tell
And everybody's got a wound to be healed
I want to believe there's beauty here
'Cause oh I get so tired of holding on
I can't let go, I can't move on
I want to believe there's meaning here

 How many times have you heard me cry out
"God please take this"?
How many times have you given me strength to
Just keep breathing?
Oh, I need you
God, I need you now.

Standing on a road I didn't plan
Wondering how I got to where I am
I'm trying to hear that still small voice
I'm trying to hear above the noise

 How many times have you heard me cry out
"God please take this"?
How many times have you given me strength to
Just keep breathing?
Oh, I need you
God, I need you now.

Oh I walk, Oh I walk through the shadows
And I, I am so afraid
Please stay, please stay right beside me
With every single step I take

How many times have you heard me cry out?
And how many times have you given me strength?

 How many times have you heard me cry out
"God please take this"?
How many times have you given me strength to
Just keep breathing?
Oh, I need you
God, I need you now.

I need you now
Oh, I need you
God, I need you now
I need you now
I need you now

 

Another Year Closer

Well, there goes 2012. It's been a long year. I'm kind of glad to see it go, actually.

Every year (and every single day) is filled with countless blessings, and I don't ever mean to not fully appreciate each of them. But, in terms of fertility, or lack thereof, is it horrible to be glad to just check another year off the list? Surely now, we're a year closer to our children, right? I never thought I would look at our journey to parenthood in year-long time increments, but yet another Christmas has passed us by without even a pregnancy. Surely the number of childless Christmases we are to experience as a couple is dwindling down, right? While the number of babies extraneously present in my life are constantly increasing, the number of days or months or years until we have our own simply must be decreasing. They just have to be. That's how math works. Today is a day closer to me becoming a mama than yesterday was. And tomorrow will be closer, still. Because of that basic arithmetic, I'm glad to see this year come to an end.

 

I know God has a great plan for us. And I know that He already knows what that plan is, down to every detail. I trust that completely. And because of that, I'm glad to have marked another year off of the journey. Don't get me wrong, I completely hate that it actually was a full year within that journey; I wish the journey to parenthood was already complete and that it had been measured in days or months alone, instead of entire 12-month calendars. But regardless, I'm excited to take that 2012 calendar off the wall and start a fresh, new one. With 12 more months of 2013 ahead of me, maybe a conception (followed by a healthy pregnancy and birth) is possible. Maybe 2013 is the year.

 

Here comes that tricky hope again. That scary flame that encourages me to keep dreaming. But maybe it's right. Maybe 2013 is the year. 2010 wasn't. 2011 wasn't either. And 2012 wasn't, still. But maybe, just maybe, 2013 is the one. Only one way to find out.

 

I've got to take another step forward. Move another day ahead.

 

January 1, 2013 is, at the very least, one day closer to me finally becoming a mama.

Faith and Love. But no Hope?

[image source]

And now these three remain: Faith, Hope, and Love.

But the greatest of these is Love.

1 Corinthians 13:13

It's another new month. But I don't mean October. This new month comes with a much heavier weight than the joy of autumn and the anticipation of Taylor Swift's fourth studio album. I mean another new cycle. The start of another new month after another failed month of trying to conceive. It's month 22 in a row of deliberately trying to get pregnant and not succeeding (not counting the year-worth of months we casually tried before that). It's month 22 of unfulfilled hope. It is month 12 of intervened, doctor and drug assisted attempts to conceive. Month 12 of unfulfilled medically assured hope.

 

That hope, it's a tricky thing. The hope is what makes it hurt. Every new cycle, like this one, it's the hope that "this could be the month." Every drug, it's the hope that "this one is going to do the trick." Every ovulation, it's the hope that "this egg is going to get fertilized and become my baby and be the first of my children to bless our home." Every two week wait filled with unusually strong smells or weird tastes or tender breasts or exhaustion or light pink spotting around possible implantation days, it's the hope that "these are symptoms of pregnancy, finally." And then every new menstruation, all of those fresh hopes die; are given up; are grieved. They must ultimately be replaced with new ones, again. But is that continually possible?

 

The death of that hope hurts.

 

Wouldn't it be better to just not hope anymore? Wouldn't it be less painful to not get hopes up just to be let down?

 

I wish I could respond to those rhetorical questions with a determined strength and scriptures to back it up about how God never lets us down and to just keep on truckin' along with that hope in full swing. (There are plenty of them.) But I can't. Not today. Not Cycle 22, Day 1.

 

I have love aplenty. I love my husband with all my heart. I love our families. I love our friends. I love our pup. I love my Lord and Savior with my entire existence. And I never, for one second, doubt God's love for me. After all, He loved me enough to sacrifice His only son for my salvation. That's a love that can't be questioned.

 

And I don't waiver with faith. I truly believe that God is good, and He knows what is best for our future. I believe He wouldn't withhold something I desire so strongly unless it was for a great purpose I can't see. If He's willing to give even His own child for me, why would He keep anything else from me unless it was for some great reason?

 

But, today, the hope is a struggle. The definition in the above photo states that hope means "to look forward to with great confidence and expectation." Well, I simply can't claim that right now. Just yesterday I was doodling our future children's names on scrap paper at work, but today, I can't look at this new month with any confidence that we will conceive. I can't actually expect to see a positive pregnancy test anytime soon, if ever. Too many months of experience have taught me that it's simply not going to happen. Why would this month be any different? We're coming up on the third holiday season I hoped to celebrate with either a baby or a pregnancy. I can't imagine this one will be the one, either. Boo.

 

Hope is tricky, because we hope with our human perspective. I could passionately hope to win the lottery, but it'd be silly to blame God for not granting me my wish. Or I could have hoped desperately to marry some random dude, all the while God knew that Brad was the man for me. Or I can hope with every ounce of my being to conceive a child (or two or five), but God may know that my heart's desire isn't what our future holds. Maybe we are to adopt? Maybe we are not meant to be parents at all. (I'm not at all prepared to accept that one, yet.) That's why hope is tricky, because it's determined by what we hope for, which may or may not be right for us. So basically, I have hope for a future, and hope to serve God faithfully, and hope for an eternity spent with Him in Heaven, but right now this minute, I do not have hope to conceive, at least "naturally" or any time soon.

 

How in the world do you know what God wants for your life? Do you just wait and wait and wait and wait until something happens and then assume that it is His will since it came to pass? Do you continue trying in the meantime for what you want? Or do you just trust that if God wants it to happen, He'll make it happen regardless of the effort put in on your part? After all, Mary conceived without ever even having sex! If God wants us to get pregnant, He can achieve that regardless of whether or not we take drugs, endure invasive procedures, or pee on sticks. Trying desperately and pleading in prayer every month isn't going to accomplish anything if it's not His plan anyway, is it? So what's the point? When do you let go? When do you move on? How do you know what His will is and what it'll take, if anything, to achieve it?

 

I don't know...

 

I think this month is unique with unprecedented difficulty for me. For the last 22 months, I've been devastated every time I didn't conceive, but I never really doubted that I was eventually going to. This month, however, the non-conception came as no surprise. It's what I've come to expect from years of experience. Furthermore, what's changed this time, is now I'm doubting and questioning and confused. Doubting our future. Questioning God's will. Confused of what steps to take, if any. I've always been so confident that I would be a mom, and sure that God knew my life better than I do. I've never truly asked "Why?" before, because I didn't think that as a member of creation I had the right to question the Creator. But this month I can't seem to help it. A lot of "Why?'s" and "What's the point?'s" are swirling through my head right now. I've never crossed this bridge of doubt before, nor did I ever intend or desire to, and I don't know how to navigate this new terrain. And I'm not entirely sure I want to stay in this new hopeless land long-term anyway.

 

Is it possible to have strong faith and love but let go of some of the hope? Is it healthy? Is it okay? Because today, that is where I am.

But what do you do without hope? How do you keep going? How do you give up a dream and longing that God placed so deep within your soul? How do you let go of the hope that you'll one day join Him in creating life? Of the hope of feeling your baby's hiccups from inside your belly? Of hearing his or her heartbeat for the first time? Of seeing that sweet face and recognizing a perfect combination of you and your spouse? Of rocking an innocent child to sleep with a lullaby and a nightlight? Of caressing that soft cheek as he nurses? Of hearing precious coos filling your house? Of looking into her eyes and seeing your future? How?

I'm at a weird place right now. I don't know how to keep the hope alive, but I don't know how to let it go either.

 

I genuinely wish I could be strong and faithful and encouraging and end this blog post with passionate affirmations to never doubt and never lose hope. I love God with all that I am, but today, I can't encourage or affirm. Thank you for allowing me to admit my weaknesses, struggles, wounds, shortcomings, and vulnerabilities. Christian family (which I consider all of you to be) is such a blessing.

Security Blankets

I have some security blankets. There, I said it.

[photo source]

Like sweet Linus from Peanuts, sometimes I just need a little something to make me feel safe and "at home" again when the world is spinning too fast for my liking. For me, those blankets aren't necessarily physical objects that I clutch in my hand (anymore -my childhood teddy bear has officially taken up residence in the guest room-), but have evolved into forms of entertainment that allow me to escape my world and all of the confusion, stress, drama, apprehension of the future, and every other bad feeling or emotion that it may contain. Generally, any good album, film, or book (series) can help temporarily distract me from my stressers, but sometimes I need my go-to security blankets to slow the world back down when I can't seem to get a firm grip on anything. Lately, my life has hosted its fair share of frustrations and chaos, and as a result, I've been venturing back more and more to my safe places looking for that comfort and familiarity that they provide.

Currently (this minute), the biggest Bad in my life is my perceived loss of control and sense of self. I feel like I've become a slave to (in)fertility and her many cumbersome treatments. Each day/week largely consists of a calculated diet, an exercise regimen, doctor visits or calls, insurance questions, acupuncture sessions, checking my temperature, peeing on sticks, swallowing various forms of medication, enduring negative side effects, monitoring any changes in any symptoms in my body and mind, attempting to understand everything, trying to not expect anything, making all efforts to avoid looking into the future all the while hoping and longing for that unsure future. Basically, it feels like every minute of my life is determined for me. I'm trying to do what I'm told to do by people whom I trust and respect, and do all of those things with only positive thoughts and emotions without recognizing the dark, misting raincloud that seems to hover over my whole world. I strive to meet those requirements with very few freedoms or choices of my own. Needless to say, I frequently find myself grasping for a sense of control and familiarity. Enter my metaphorical security blankets.

If I've simply had a bad day and I only want to unwind on my way home from work or while I'm making my evening salad for dinner, I'll turn to my "afghan" security blanket: my best friend, Taylor Swift. She and I have such a great relationship. We just get each other. So, as I drive away from my bad day, I blast her music, belt out every single word to each song, dance around the kitchen, and gladly enter into Taylor's world and forget my own. Her music is my afghan, because it's pretty and small and easily accessible.

[photo source]

 If a 45-minute commuter concert isn't quite cutting it and I need a full evening away from my own life, then I'll crash on the couch and pop in one of my go-to DVDs. I love Dirty Dancing and Moulin Rouge! both so incredibly much for so many very specific reasons that I won't necessarily go into full detail right now. (The love! The dancing! The songs! The costumes! The theatricality! The woman-is-worth-more-than-she-ever-thought-before!)

But these two films uniquely qualify as security blankets because of my personal history with them. In college, I would watch either of them as I studied, did homework, or wrote term papers. At the time, they provided a perfect distraction; one that would keep me from hearing the chatter in the hallway and wanting to join, but didn't demand my full attention because I knew them by heart. Music would beg me to sing along, and regular television programs would urge me to see how they ended. But Dirty Dancing and Moulin Rouge! were perfectly there for me. I could tune them out when I needed to focus, and I could turn around and join in the storyline at anytime that I needed a mental break from the school work.

From 2002 - 2006, my favorite two movies were my college companions. Now, they serve a new role as a couple of my "fleece throw" security blankets. When I sit down and watch one of them, the familiarity of the story lines, the song lyrics, the memories attached to different scenes all make my heart calm down from its now-typically quickened pace. In this other world, I know what's going to happen. I know how each person is going to react. I know what they're going to say, and I can recite the lines right alongside them in unison. I don't have to wonder or try to make sense of anything or be anxious with a ton of apprehensions looming in my mind. I can just rest in the safe place that their love and their stories provide and completely escape the heaviness of my own life for an evening. Since these act as fleece throws in my life, I keep them readily handy, pull them up to my chin, and snuggle up under the comfort they provide.

[photo sources: one and two]

However, the Big Daddy of all Safe Places is Hogwarts. When I need more than one night "off" from my brain, when my emotional muscles grow too weak to carry the weight of it all anymore, I run into the arms of JK Rowling's magical world of Harry Potter. This is my most sufficient way to escape. It's a long-term relief with the fantasy lasting weeks or months or however long I want it to, but it only requires short-term commitments of reading at a time. I can go back there, whenever I choose, for merely a few minutes if I simply need a break to clear my head, or I can go back there for hours on end if I need to better forget all of the responsibilities and burdens I'm hauling.

I can experience Harry's journey with him all over again from start to finish. Alongside this boy wizard, I can realize that I, too, am capable of great things I never knew possible, learn of magical places and creatures, meet fantastic characters and form strong, life-long relationships, and eventually understand that I am destined to fulfil a calling and a purpose that no one else is equipped to do. Through Harry, I can leave all of my troubles behind and soar with him on the backs of thestrals and dragons and finally, after much struggle, defeat the bad guy once and for all. For the moments that I am entered into Hogwarts, my life is free and light and fun and magical. And familiar. This book series is my biggest, softest, comfiest, covers-the-whole-bed security blanket of them all.

Recently, I purchased and downloaded all seven books in electronic form. I can't even describe how wonderful and therapeutic that was for me. Just knowing that I had the entire series on hand at all times on my kindle or my iPhone literally sent a sense of physical calm and relief through my body. (Yes. I may be crazy.) What those e-books provided me was a completely accessible security blanket any time I might need it. Just having the blanket present actually created a safe place in itself. Any time life gets too crazy or chaotic or confusing or scary or overwhelming, I can whip out one of my electronic devices and quickly retreat into the fantasy world. It helps me not be afraid of what's to come. I can handle the coming days and weeks and months (and years?), because I know that the very moment it all gets to be too much for me to take, I can dive into the safety of Hogwarts. What an amazing resource a security blanket can be. 



[photo source]

Do you have a "security blanket?" Where is your safe place to escape when the real world gets too much? And have the forms which your security blankets take morphed over time as you've gotten older?

A day in the life of this infertile woman

The following post originated yesterday as an email reply to my best friend’s inquiry of how I was doing. As a result, it is extremely long, personal, raw, transparent, and chalk-full of TMI regarding our struggle with infertility and everything that comes along with that. It has been slightly modified, and posted with the permission of my friends that are involved in the content. Emily and I exchange these “email novels” on a regular basis, and sharing our lives with each other serves as a very effective form of therapy for me. But after I recapped this past Sunday for her, I realized that it provided a good snapshot of what a day in my life of infertility is like. Not every single day, of course, but a typical bad day. Already, this week, I feel much better. But Sunday was a different story.

If you are interested, please read on, but do it at your own risk. And also, I ask that you please be kind and patient with me and hold off on hasty judgments, as I bear the worst parts of my soul, originally only intended for my very best friend, to the whole world. I’m not proud of everything I thought or said on Sunday, but that does not negate the authenticity of the thoughts and actions in the moment. Most of this post is just hasty word vomit I spewed without much thought. It’s not my best writing, and I say “and then” way too many times, speak in fragments and run-on sentences, and have paragraphs that are entirely too long. This is my heart on display, as is. Again, proceed with caution.

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First of all, before I even go into how I've been feeling, I made it up to the 97.8's this weekend, and I decided that's when the hormones really start going super crazy. So that sets the stage. (Emily knows my chart like the back of her own hands, so this makes sense to her. But for the rest of you, my temperature generally falls in the mid-96 range prior to ovulation when estrogen is the reigning hormone, then with the influx of progesterone, it jumps up a full degree to the mid-97 range and continues to rise until my period begins and brings with it the lower temped estrogen to begin the cycle all over again.)

Church this past Sunday proved harder than I had expected. It had been so long since we were able to go to a service for various reasons, and I was just so excited to finally get to go again that I completely forgot to mentally prepare myself for being in the midst of so many sweet babies and children. I never anticipated that it would be a challenge, because it hasn't necessarily been in the past, as long as it's babies whom I personally know and love. But this time it was hard. There were times when I couldn't even look toward the pulpit, because I easily saw three babies out of my peripheral vision. Instead, I just stared out the windows on the doors. But even those doors hosted multiple moms taking their children out for various reasons throughout the service, so I then directed my gaze to the bright red Exit sign.

During the prayers, which were wonderful and heartbreaking and about God's timing being perfect and not condemning the challenge in order to quickly receive the blessing, all I could hear over the sound of my breaking heart were sweet babies laughing or asking for more snacks or turning pages in sticker books or even screaming in a far corner of the auditorium. It was like my baby radar was so heightened that I could have heard a giggle from the neighborhood across the street ringing in my ears. What in the world? I absolutely loved seeing the three babies in front of me, and the two further down our row and even the three others behind us, and I love each of the families they belong to... But it just reminded me that we don't have a sweet child to occupy during services.

Brad was sweet and held me. He alternated putting his arm around me or holding my hand the entire time, and I appreciated the comfort he provided so much. But it just emphasized that he was the only one I have to hold in my life right now... Blah, dramatic, I know. It’s just that I spend so much time trying to think of other things and focus on something other than the fact that we’re childless, that these kinds of reminders that force me to remember what I'm so desperately trying to put out of my mind are tough on my already tender heart.

And then after the service, I couldn't wait to talk to a couple with whom we're friends but haven't gotten the chance to visit with in a long time. I was especially anxious, because he had mentioned that they went to NYC recently. Holla! I could talk about that great city all day long, and it was something other than sad things for me to focus on. A topic that I enjoy and that makes me happy. Brad and I talked with him about it for a while before his wife joined us. Then she and I chatted while he and Brad carried on their own conversation. I was secretly glad to be talking to a friend without a baby and who is not trying to conceive, so we could discuss other things, and we didn’t have to have the conversation over the head of a sweet baby who was propped on her hip. She asked about my dad and wondered how he is recovering from his motorcycle accident, which was very nice, and we talked about him and that whole situation for a little bit. And then she mentioned how thankful she was that I wasn't pregnant at the time, because of the added stress a pregnancy would have compiled on top of all of that. ........ (Thankful that I wasn't pregnant??? Because a pregnancy is just added stress?????) I just said, yeah, it was definitely a pretty stressful period of time in my family's lives.

And then, with that perfect segway, she was caringly curious of how we're doing with the baby-making process. We proceeded to talk for maybe 15 minutes in which she said every wrong thing on a list of wrong things to say. I tried to extend a magnitude of grace in the situation, because she (thank goodness) has no idea what she's talking about when it comes to this particular topic. I know her well, and I know her heart, and I know that she was hoping to comfort, console, and encourage. So I tried not to take offense or get irritated. Or cry. She told me that I'm still so young, and that if I was 38 instead of 28, then I'd have "a right to worry." She told me that it only "seems hard" because we got married so young and "have been trying for so long." (Well, yeah, that trying for so long does play a big factor.)

She said that thanks to America marrying older and older, the average age of having a first child is in the 30s, so I'm luckily still way ahead of the curve and shouldn't worry. She said that those people who don't get married until they're in their 30s don't get this "luxury" of having so many years to try. Even if everybody in my life has kids, regardless of some statistic. Even if my life-long dream was to have three by 30 and now even one by 30 seems like hardly a possibility. She said she understands what it's like to be frustrated that things don't go according to how you have it all planned out in your mind, but you just can't help it. (It's not like I had a specific plan, just a hope, a dream, and dare I say, a naive expectation.) Her mom didn't "plan" to have cancer (which is even worse). She said I just need to let go, and let God. God's in charge, and I need to not try to control everything. She, of course, was right on all accounts. But still, boo. She said many things. Many, many, kind-hearted, well meaning, very correct, unknowingly insensitive things.

She told me that many people who adopt then have kids afterward, so maybe we should go that route. (Who? Who are these people??) She told me how her aunt tried and tried to get pregnant. After two failed attempts with IVF, she finally gave up at the age of 36. She mourned and moved on. And wouldn't you know it, just two short years later, they got pregnant with "regular ol' sex! So see?? If you could just mourn this and move on, it will happen! If you can just stop thinking about it and focusing so much on it and worrying about it and relax, it'll happen on its own! Maybe you guys just need a relaxing vacation..."

I knew she was so well-intentioned. She meant to relieve some anxiety and provide some encouragement. And I know that's all the information that she had on the subject. But I had to cut her off. I couldn't be told to "just relax" one more time. I said, "Don't. Just don't. Please, don't say that to me." She looked a little shocked as I continued, "I understand that you've heard those stories, and I'm grateful that it has worked in those situations. But we tried that route. We tried that method for three years. We tried just chilling and having sex and letting God handle it. And it didn't work. It won't work for us. Please don't tell me to relax and stop thinking about it. I don't think you understand, and that's okay, and I love you, and I'm grateful that you're willing to talk to me about it, and I don't expect for you to understand not having lived it, and I'm thankful that you haven't had to experience this, because I’d never wish this on anybody. But I can't simply stop thinking about it. I think about it every day. Every single day. I have to think about it when I take a pill every evening. Oh, yeah, I have to take medicine every day of my life. I have to take another, additional type of medicine on different, very specific days of my cycle. So I have to constantly be aware of where exactly I am in my cycle. I have to take disgusting prenatal vitamins and refrain from any form of alcohol, 'just in case.'

"I have to take my temperature every morning at 5:30 a.m. in order to gauge my hormone levels. I have to pee on a stick for ten days in a row just to predict when I might ovulate. Then Brad and I have to have sex at the exact right times, the exact right amount of times, and the exact right length of time apart from the last to increase our chances. Then, a specific number of days later, I have to go to the doctor's to get blood drawn, so it can be tested to determine whether or not I have enough of a particular hormone in my system to even maintain a pregnancy. And then I have to wait weeks which feel like an eternity, trying to keep hopeful while trying to not get my hopes up. Two weeks where I monitor every symptom my body is showing, and trying not to convince myself that the increase in appetite, the decrease in energy, and the breast tenderness are actually pregnancy symptoms, but are just side effects of the progesterone raging through my body. And then being absolutely devastated and heartbroken when my period comes, and with the sight of that horrid blood, my dream fades a little further into the distance. Again. And furthermore, because all of our current methods have failed, starting next month, if we can afford it, I have to do all of that, AND go to the doctor's office when I have a positive pee stick, so they can unceremoniously take Brad's sperm from him and inject it right into my uterus. It's very romantic and ideal, and it's definitely not just relaxing and stopping thinking about it."

I said most of it without getting too choked up, and she was so loving and sweet. She compassionately hugged me tight and said, "I had no idea it was so involved." I said that of course she didn't, and how would she, and I hoped I didn’t offend her in any way. But, regardless of her lack of awareness and extremely kind heart, it was still such a hard conversation to have. It was hard to hear all that stuff in the beginning from yet another person and keep my emotions in check. Then it was hard to relive all of this experience with someone who simply doesn't know a thing about it. It was hard because even though I know her intentions, the message she was trying to send and the message I actually perceived in my fragile state were drastically different from each other.

I felt like she was telling me that I didn't have a right to be worried, since I was so young. Even though, if my body's fertility isn't on my side when I am the age of an average fertile woman, how in the world is it going to get better with age? That's the opposite of how that time clock runs. Reminding me that I’m young only reiterates how awful and hopeless it is that my body is already not working properly. I felt like she was saying that "all I need to do" is go through this whole process, and in ten years after thousands and thousands of dollars are wasted, then mourning for two more years, then everything will miraculously be okay. Well, that's not very encouraging! I felt like she was telling me it was my fault for not getting pregnant, because I've put too much emphasis on it in my life and if I could just do the right thing and handle it in the right manner, then I wouldn't even have this problem. She was acting like IVF and adoption are just simple tasks to check off a to-do list, and are not expensive or taxing and are only a quick means to a happy end. Like it's that easy.

I know she didn't mean any of those things. I know that. I know her heart and I know her intentions. But that's what I felt. And it hurt. And I figured, when it got to a certain point, if she was willing to have that sincere of a discussion with me about it, then she deserved to be educated about it as well. It became my responsibility to inform her on the true struggles of infertility. If she's willing to discuss it, which is a blessing, then she also deserves to know some more details. But it was not a fun lesson to give. And I was exhausted by the end of it. Besides being 97.87 degrees worth of exhausted already.

Brad and I ran some errands in Smyrna after church. He needed a haircut, so I ran to Target while he did, killing two birds with one stone. I tried to avoid anything baby or child related in my favorite store, but the stupid Sam Ridley Target is laid out differently than my usual locations in either Mt. Juliet or Hickory Hollow. So in my quest for paper towels and toilet paper, I ended up walking straight through the baby section. I panicked when I realized what I had done. So I quickly fixed my eyes on the end of the long row and didn't look down any of the tempting, damning aisles. I thought I'd break down with jealousy if I saw an adorably pregnant woman choosing the perfect, cutest onsie known to man for her precious bundle of joy. With my tunnel vision, I managed to survive my Target trip with my still fragile heart intact. Then we went and got some lunch and headed home. Immediately, I laid down for a much needed long afternoon nap.

I woke up when the Jordans asked if we wanted to join them for a walk at Long Hunter. Well Brad and I were planning on going and jogging anyway, so we just went a little bit earlier to do a lap with them before we got our real jog in. Now, I could have changed the situation if I really wanted to, but... Instead of walking the trail, we ended up just sitting on a picnic table at the nearby park and watching a bunch of sweet families with their adorable kids playing on the playground. Just sat there. And watched them. I tried to distract myself with the babies I was with. (Honestly, when I'm with Hill Ridge kids, it's personal and not "some kids," so it doesn't affect me the same way.) So I fed Hannah her bottle. I love her, and she was so sweet. She fell asleep in the middle of the feeding. Dumb Aunt Deedee forgot to burp her! It's been so long since I’ve fed a newborn. She gave a good burp, and didn't spit up on me any. Whew! I loved her and held her and focused only on her and the conversation amongst the adults. Then I needed to hand her back. And I watched the quickly filling up playground full of sweet kids and crazy kids and laughing kids and hyper kids and sweating kids and all kinds of wonderful kids innocently playing to their heart's desire. And I watched their mamas help them up the ladders and their daddies catch them at the bottom of slides. I watched parents laugh as they picked up kids and swung them in a circle and then wiped the sweat off of their little faces before sending them back off to play some more. I watched a sweet dad helping teach his little girl how to ride a bike. I watched a family across the way sit down for a picnic together. I watched all of these people living the life I've dreamed of for years, and I watched the longing in my heart swell two sizes too big.

And then, luckily, Charles asked if one of us could hold Liv. Oh hallelujah! I jumped at the chance and looooved her! At first, she was quiet and just looked at me. But then she started laughing as I tickled her, and as Brad was "getting" her, and as I bounced around with her fitting perfectly on my hip. She laughed and held onto my arm so tight as I spun from side to side. And I shifted her over to the front of me, and she leaned forward onto my shoulder and had her arms around me as far as they could go. And I was happy. A real happy. My heart melted in a peaceful way that reminded me of why we're even going through all of this in the first place, and that it's all worth it just for this very moment with my own child(ren) someday. And during these precious moments, I was able stand with my back to the playground, so she could still see her daddy playing with Charlie, and I didn't have to watch the hundreds of kids taking turns on the slide. Hannah and Liv distracted me, and made the playground more bearable. I was glad for that. But my heart was still aching and on guard...

Then it was time for everybody to go, and Brad and I headed toward the trail for our planned work out. And wouldn't you stinkin’ know it, that we had to stop so that a dad racing his two kids to the car could pass in front of us! The kids were running so fast and laughing so hard, and "somehow" they both beat their dad to the car and ran into the doors with incredible force from their impassioned sprints. My inside fell to my toes. Since I was in high school, I've always said that I wanted to have kids when I was still young enough to have enough energy to race them to the car, because that fake competition was one of the simpler things I was most looking forward to as a mommy. (My mom always raced me to the car. And I always won.) I saw it happen. I had to stop to let them pass. I watched the kids' joy at the challenge and victory and their dad's false dismay at his defeat, and I died.

We started jogging and my chest was so tender that I had to literally hold my boobs with my hands for the first few minutes until I just sucked it up and jogged through it. Then my calves seized up and got so tight that I insisted that we stop so I could stretch them out more. It hurt so bad; I couldn't hold back groans of pain. Brad encouraged me to at least finish out the mile, even though I already thought I'd collapse with only one more step. I couldn't handle the physical pain on top of the emotional. So what’d I do? I just started crying in the midst of jogging. Tears were running down my face as I was running down the trail. Crying from the pain. The pain in my calves and the pain in my boobs and the pain my lungs and the pain in my heart.

Brad said, "It's okay to cry. Cry if you have to. That doesn't bother me one bit. Just don't give up yet. Cry and jog at the same time." (When I first started running years ago, I would cry every time, just because I hate it so much, and it's such a mental and emotional battle for me, along with the physical challenge. So Brad wasn’t really caught off guard by my tears.) He kept encouraging me, saying that running is a mind game and I just have to get past it. (He was right that the weakness was in my mind, but he didn't realize what form it had taken.) That I've done this before, and he knows I can do it again. That he wouldn't let me give up on myself and how much he loved me.

When we got to the mile mark, I just started melting down. I slowed my pace, caught my breath, and let the tears flow. He immediately told me how proud he was of me, and how great of a job I did, and how we can walk for a while now. And I responded to his kind words with venom. He told me he loved me, and I told him that I was pissed that we came to walk, and I ended up sitting watching (seemingly) happy families full of kids joyfully playing at the park, and that I have to hold other people’s babies and play with their kids instead of being able to love on my own. And I was pissed that I had to witness a dad live out my most basic dream by racing his kids to the car. I told him I was pissed that I had to have that conversation after church, both the first part and the last part. I told him I was pissed that I couldn't even dream in the baby section of Target anymore, but had to zero in on the wall and walk as fast as I could, because our future children are no longer a “when” or even an “eventually someday,” but are now an “if at all.” I told him I was mad that I felt crazy and couldn't help it. That I know better than all of the things I keep thinking, but it's still how I feel, anyway. That I can tell it's the hormones, and I wish that knowledge would make the emotions easier, but it doesn't. I seethed at my woeful lot in life and threw myself a glorious pity party right there on that trail. I didn't say hi to people who passed like usual or even make eye contact. I was fuming. It wasn't fair, and I was mad.

We walked about a quarter of a mile while I expelled all of those ugly demons, and then I felt like running. I wanted to run. That's never happened. I've always ran because I needed to or should or as a way to spend time with Brad or simply because that's what we were doing. But all of the sudden, I was mad, and I wanted to run away from it all. I envisioned all of our stress and struggles and hard times sitting on that bridge we just crossed, and I wanted to run as far away from it as I could. So I took off without saying a word. Brad silently quickened his stride with me, and reminded me to pace myself and breath slowly, because this was quicker than our usual, comfortable speed. But I just wanted to get away from that horrible bridge and all of that baggage on it. I was afraid that it might somehow be able to catch back up with me if I slowed down. I couldn't stop. I couldn’t face all of it again. I had to keep going. I couldn’t slow down. I was running for my life.

When we were coming up to the last little bit (probably a little less than a quarter of a mile) where we nearly always jog this last portion no matter how our work out has been, Brad said, as usual, "Okay, when we get to the post, give it your all from here on out." I said, "I don't think I have anything else left other than what I'm already giving." He said, "That's okay. That's fine. Just try to make it to the end if you can." I said I would. And as we rounded the curve, a young couple came along the path pushing my three wheeled jogging stroller. I don't even know if there was a grinning toddler, a sleeping newborn, or a watermelon in that thing. All I know is the sight of it made me want to vomit. They passed, and I literally muttered "stupid baby!" to my feet and sprinted all the way to the end. I sprinted as fast as my legs could take me. I wanted to punish my body. I wanted it to hurt. It deserved the pain, because it has failed me. It has hurt me too many times to go unpunished any longer. My lungs burned, and I said, "That's what you get!" My legs cramped, and I said, "Sorry about your luck!” My arms grew weak, and I said, “Sucks, don't it??” And I ran full out. I wanted a physical manifestation of the emotional pain I couldn't grasp; something that I could finally control. Brad shouted from behind, "Don't forget to breathe, Mindy! Deep breaths! Pace yourself! You don't have to go that fast!" But I couldn't even hear him. The whole world fell into this other place. A bad place. A painful place. A dark place. And I wanted to run away from it all. Run until I died.

At the end of the trail, I literally collapsed on a large rock, heaving for breath. Brad caught up to me and asked, "Are you okay?? Take slow breaths. I don't want you to hyperventilate. Do you feel light headed? Are you going to vomit? Are you nauseous?" I just focused on trying to fill my scalding lungs with air. I sat there for a good three minutes just catching my breath, regaining consciousness, and becoming reacquainted with the faint world around me. Brad kept making me look at him, so he was sure I wasn't going to pass out. And then I heard it again. Right behind me at the pavilion. The best and worst sound in the entire world. A baby cooing. That brought me back to reality in a snap. I didn't care how much my body was screaming, I stood up, muttered "stupid baby" one more time, and looked Brad straight in the face, and said, "Get me the hell out of here. I can't stand it one more minute." And he did.

I'm not proud of my thoughts, especially toward innocent strangers who just happened to cross my path in the line of fire on an emotionally reckless day. I hate that I fell that deep into the dark pit. I hate that I can't control my emotions. I hate that I'm so sensitive, even around people I love whom I know love me. I hate this whole thing. Absolutely every single little thing about it. I want you to know that I don't always feel the way I felt on Sunday. It was a highly emotional, hormonal day. I don't support my attitude and definitely don't recommend my actions, but in those moments, it was real, and it was all I had to offer.

During a serious discussion over the weekend, Brad confessed that he's not sure we can afford an IUI this coming month. We may have to spend some time saving up for it, before we can go that new route. Just do the dye test (to confirm the health of my reproductive anatomy) this month and keep taking the ovulation-inducing medication for a while longer until we can afford the other procedures necessary to increase our chances of conceiving. I hate that money will ultimately end up being the reason that we can't start our family, which I so long to have.

Infertility. It is such a weird place. Such a weird feeling. Such a weird situation and circumstance. I'm constantly fighting with myself over being irrational and being reasonable. Of being overly sensitive and being sensible. Of taking things personally and being realistic. Of being overwhelmingly sad and trying not to give up hope.

I feel like every minute of my whole life I'm desperately praying for three things: a miracle to happen in my womb; God's will to be done; and that they can finally, finally, be the same thing..........

Patiently Waiting

[pic via]

Baby, I love you, though God has not yet given you to me;

I have spent my whole life learning patience, and that is now what I am trying to be.

I love you though we have not yet met, and though you are not yet real;

Somehow you are in every thought, and love is all I feel.

You’re a dream I didn’t know I had, a prayer I didn’t know I would pray;

A song that I would sing to you, if only you would stay.

We want you in our life to share a love that is so strong;

And we will continue to wait for you – it does not matter how long.

We believe in God’s perfect plan, so you will come when the time is right;

And though you are not here yet, you are already Mommy’s delight.

I want to hold you in my arms and teach you to be great;

I want you to be our legacy, our destiny, our fate.

Your daddy and I love you, and we can’t wait for the day;

When we get to kiss you gently, and you will never go away.

We have a wonderful marriage, maybe this hardship is our test;

But holding hands together, we continue to pray for the best.

That you will grace our lives with greatness and make us a family;

So the love that is too much for two can soon be shared by three.

♥

{*Excerpt from "Every Drunken Cheerleader... Why Not Me?" by Kristine Ireland Waits}

I'm trying

I'm trying to conceive.

Heck, I'm just trying to ovulate at all.

I'm trying to be patient.

I'm trying to trust God's plan and have faith in His timing.

I'm trying to be positive.

I'm trying to not be discouraged, disappointed, or sad.

I'm trying to look on the bright side.

I'm trying to focus on my blessings.

I'm trying to get into the Christmas spirit.

I'm trying to stay motivated.

I'm trying not to cry at work.

I'm trying to not be or appear weak, but still be true to myself.

I'm trying to not throw myself a pity party.

I'm trying to keep things in perspective.

I'm trying to not be jealous of pregnant women and mommies of sweet kids.

I'm trying to not be offended by people's casual questions of "when it's our turn" or well-meaning comments about "how great I'd look with a baby on my hip."

I'm trying to not offend or hurt anybody's feelings by saying all of these things.

I'm trying to not be apprehensive of letting my blog and my blog readers come "behind the scenes."

As I'm sure most of you know, Brad and I are very anxious to get pregnant. It's been featured on each bucket list that I've published this year. However, you probably don't know that we've been trying to conceive for a total of about two years, now. It's not really something we've been super open about in the past. We didn't want all of the questions or unsolicited advice or awkward pity or dealing with the pressure of other people in addition to our own that we thought would come along with revealing the struggle. But I'm over that now. It's too much a part of my life to keep hidden.

I have to admit, even though I absolutely loooove Christmastime, this one is turning out to be a rather difficult one for me. You see, I had big, vivid dreams of celebrating this year's holiday with family and finally getting the perfect opportunity to reveal the great news of our pregnancy with those we love the most through clever Christmas gifts, nonchalantly wrapped under the tree. I already envisioned their faces of shock and joy. I had visions of a tiny stocking on our mantle and a special ornament for our sweet little bun in my oven on our tree.

Maybe I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up so high for such a special Christmas. In fact, looking back, of course I shouldn't have. But when we first started deliberately addressing our fertility issues back in May, I felt like Christmas was so far away. And when I scheduled an appointment with the doctor in July, I thought I still had plenty of time. And when I was diagnosed with PCOS and started a medicinal treatment in September, I thought I had four more tries to make it. And when that medicine alone didn't work, and she prescribed me with a fertility drug in November, I thought I had a 50/50 chance.

It turns out the timing doesn't always fall according to (my) plan. I'm trying to come to terms with the fact that this Christmas, I may have a full stocking and a tree full of presents and a full house of family whom I love, but I'll still have an empty womb.

...I can't describe how that feels. Some of you may know for yourself. From past experience or from current struggles. (I'm praying for you.)

I'm trying to be positive. And I'm trying to be patient. And I'm trying to enjoy (hopefully our last) Christmas together as just Brad and me. I'm trying to concentrate on how lucky I am to have such a wonderful, loving, compassionate partner as a husband. I'm trying to put on a smile and see the glass as half full. I'm trying to not be over dramatic or make a big deal out of something that I'll (hopefully) look back on as just a small blip in our story. I'm trying to focus more on God's will, and trust completely in His timing and His plan for me. (Which I wholeheartedly do.)

But regardless of all my effort, there's still a hole smack dab in the middle of my heart. Because right now, my heart belongs to a little baby whom I haven't had the blessed privilege of meeting. Yet.

{Sorry for being a Debbie Downer. Especially on a Friday. Especially during Christmastime. My heart was oozing all of that, and I had to let it out. And since this blog is my outlet, it was the only way I knew how. I hope you will forgive me. ♥ }

My Oven is Preheating

There aren't any buns in there yet, but it is definitely warming up in preparation. I'm sure it doesn't come as much of a surprise that (Brad and) I have an elevated spike on our Baby Fever. It seems to be the only thing on my mind lately.

Six months ago, I made the comment that I hope the Lord just surprised us with a baby blessing, because I could not ever fathom consciously making the decision to get pregnant, regardless of the fact that I knew I eventually wanted (lots of) children. For some reason, that initial leap from "single life" to parenthood seemed impossible to willingly commit to, even though I have always prayed for the Lord's blessings over our future family. However, much has changed since I made that comment. Well, actually, I don't really believe anything has changed except for our perceptions.

I truly believe that the Spirit has placed the urge on our hearts, where before it was not. All of the sudden, out of the clear blue one day, as I was walking to the elevator at work, a random thought jumped into my mind, "My life is just not complete without a child." ---Wait. What?? Where in the world did that come from?? I definitely hadn't been talking about it. I hadn't even been thinking about it! The declaration caught me so off guard that I failed to step onto of the elevator before the doors closed on me. A few months past this incident, I am convinced that my heart needed a little prodding from Above. Ever since that moment, I have had this incredible longing to start our family.

A few other factors have no doubt heightened the situation. There are seven (seven!) pregnant friends on my current prayer list. A large number of our friends already have children, many of them babies 2 and under. I'm teaching the 2-year-old Bible class on Wednesday evenings at church and have fallen in love with them. We've been spending a lot of time with a family of 7, and absolutely love hanging out with their five children. I have a stinking adorable niece that's not quite 2 yet who melts my heart every time I even think of her, and my brother is oh-so-close (February 16th!) to having another baby, a boy this time!

Thankfully, after 3 1/2 years of marriage, Brad is overwhelmingly on board. He may perform the occasional exaggerated eye-roll at the mention of a pregnancy in front of our friends just to keep with his "tough exterior," but he's undoubtedly in all the way. He's even open to having a lot of children, (I'm talking 5+! Thanks, Bakers!) where before, I was begging him to have two or three. We're praying about and discussing topics such as homeschooling, cloth diapers, and establishing healthy eating habits. (Which, if you know me and know my minimal inclination to cook, you know how huge of an alteration that will require!) Every decision is being made with a baby in the picture. His new job at the bank was pursued to ensure some job and financial stability which will allow for me to stay home after we have children. Our apartment lease is up at the end of March, and our next residence must have a room that we can transform into an adorable nursery.

It's so comforting to rest in the fact that God already knows each of our children by name. (We only know the first boy and girl - Maddox and Madison.) He knows how many we have and at what time they join our family. I am confident that the Lord has blessed our future with children, even if they turn out to not be our own biologically. I know that our future involves a big family that will together travel through life toward Heaven. If all goes as we'd like, we may even have a little one within 2010!