A Time to Grieve

The last few weeks have been rough. I'm pretty good at putting on a smile and just doing life, but I'm not afraid to say that I'm hurting.

I know that it must be hard for people to know how to react. What to say? What to do? Should they say something to me? Should they not bring it up because they don't want to upset me? There really is no right answer because everyone is so different in how they process grief. But I thought I'd take a moment to let you know what I need right now.

1. I'm grieving a tremendous loss and need time to process and grieve and heal, so please let me - In the last two months, we lost four embryos. And for us, that's four babies. Four lives that were made up of Bob and I. While two were transferred and lost and the other two died before transfer, they were lives lost. I have been through both a miscarriage and a stillbirth, and this experience is still equally devastating.

In addition to the physical loss, I am grieving the loss of my fertility. The loss of our families dreams of more biological children. The loss of a biological function that I'm supposed to be able to perform as a woman. I feel broken.

Grieving is a process, so don't be frustrated or irritated if I don't do it on a certain timeline.

2. Don't be afraid to talk to me about what I've gone through - I've obviously been very open and transparent about our loss and infertility. If you've read it, you know what's going on. Please don't feel like you have to tip-toe around me or avoid certain conversations. I am a little fragile right now, but I promise I won't break. In fact, just saying "I'm so sorry" and recognizing my hurt and pain goes a long way and let's me know you care.

3. I love to hear about your sweet babies, so please don't feel bad if you say something to me - I'm a momma and I love being one! Why do you think I want more? Because I know the absolute joy and blessing of having kids! I love to hold babies, to hear about what fun, new thing that they're doing. Please don't stop sharing with me. I promise that I'll let you know if it's too much.

4. Pregnant mommas can be tough to see and talk about, but let me be the judge - Once again, pregnancy is an amazing gift! I'm so excited for my pregnant friends. I pray for them and rejoice in their pregnancies. Any of my sadness comes from my inability to become and stay pregnant, not in someone elses pregnancy. Please understand the difference. And when it comes to baby showers or other events, I repeat my same sentiments of letting me be the judge of what I can or cannot do.

But I will add this - please tell me that you're pregnant in private and not in front of other people. Email works great. This gives me a chance to process the news. Also, please tell me yourself. It's no ones place to announce a pregnancy but the pregnant woman or her family. In fact, it's pretty poor manners to do so. Also, don't treat me like a child and tell me how I should feel i.e. excited, happy, etc. (Can you tell that I've had to deal with this before ;-/) And for goodness sake, please don't let me find out on facebook.

5. Don't automatically assume that we're immediately moving on to adoption - I'm a very strong proponent of adoption. I've had the priviledge of watching and supporting friends going through the adoption process right now. But adoption is not a consolation prize for the infertile. It is a very thoughtful, prayerful consideration and must be treated as such. To flippantly remark, "Well why don't you just adopt?" minimizes what our family is experiencing, as well as cheapens the gift of adoption. When and if we're ready to adopt, we'll let you know.

So what now? I'm not exactly sure. I'm enjoying my family. I'm helping Mason get ready to start 1st grade and planning a trip to Mexico for our 10th Wedding Anniversary coming up this fall. I'm continuing to believe that God is good and sovereign, even though there is so much that I don't understand. I still have hope in the future of our family, no matter what it may look like. I'm completely surrendering my hopes and dreams for His. I'm living.

Be Satisfied

For I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances.

I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. 

I have learned the secret to being content in any and every situation.

Philippians 4:11-12 (NIV - emphasis added)

On Wednesday morning, my world stopped for a moment. As I busily got started with my morning, drinking that first cup of coffee and making Masons lunch, the phone rang much earlier than it normally does on a weekday morning; unless there's bad news, this is. 

And then the name splashed across our caller id and that little digital voice called out the name of my doctor and my heart sank. As the blood rushed from my face, Bob handed me the phone and the embryologist on the other end gave me the dreaded news - our embryos did not survive the thaw.

You see, Wednesday morning was supposed to be my embryo transfer. Our last two, precious little babies began the thaw the night before for our 10 am transfer that would never come to be. Our two little babies, frozen together in the hopes of being placed in their home for the next nine months never made it there. On Wednesday morning, our last hopes of conceiving another child died, right along with our sweet babies. 

Our journey with fertility treatments is over. 

Our pastor just finished a series on money. I know, that's always a hard message to hear. Besides, it's no one's business what we do with our money, right? But of course if you're a believer, we already know that it's not our money to begin with, but it's God's money and he's entrusted us with it to further His kingdom. 

Over the last few weeks, Bob and I have examined our finances to see if we're in check financially. Tithing? Check! Sacrificial giving? Check! Debt and savings? Much better than it was and working on it. But then we began to examine our finances in regards to fertility treatments. Now I could make all sorts of arguments here.  I mean, wanting another child is not a bad thing AT ALL. In fact, I believe that it's a desire that God has placed on our hearts. I believe that it's His desire first, so I trust that He will make a way for it. But if my desire and pursuit to have another child supersedes my desire and pursuit of God, then we have a problem.

Most of us are familiar with Matthew 6:21 - "For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." I can honestly say that over the last few years, my desire to have another baby has sometimes been more important than knowing God. Not more money. Not more stuff. Not wanting vacations or cars or things; wanting a baby. My heart has been centered on that desire, and our finances have followed. And while I've so actively pursued the treatments and manipulated finances to pay for medication and monitoring and everything else that it takes to *maybe* have another baby, He's been there all along. Whispering. 

"Pursue me. Want me. Trust me." But instead, I pursued more treatments. I wanted a baby more. I trusted the Doctors and my money.

Sometimes we have to learn things the hard way.

I still strongly believe that for some families, fertility treatments ARE His plan. I have several friends who have had their beautiful children through the miracle of IUI and IVF. I have the utmost respect for the skilled doctors and nurses who make it a reality for so many families. It just wasn't His plan for our family.

Contentment (or lack thereof) is an age old struggle for believers and non-believers alike. It's easy to be content when we're in a good, "happy" place. When the stars align and it seems like everything is falling into place. But how long does it really last? Why is it that we always want more? More money. More stuff. More kids. If we're always focusing on what we don't have, we can't be content with what we do have and we miss out on the gifts right in front of us. 

When Paul wrote his letter to the Church of Philippi, he was sitting in a prison cell. He wasn't hanging out in the lap of luxury, being fed grapes and lounging with kings. Nope. He was chained in prison. Hungry. Tired. But even still, he wrote of contentment. Not in what he had (or didn't have). Not in his stuff or his circumstance, but content in his source. 

If I never have anymore children, will I be content? Everyone has their "thing". What's yours?

I'm not sure what God has in store for us next. The prayer of my heart is to be content with the blessings that I do have instead of focusing on what I don't. To focus on God, my ultimate  source.

Blessings

The In-Law Prayer

The In-Law Prayer*

God grant me the patience

to deal with my in-laws;

to accept their passive aggressive behavior

as a reflection of their own unhappiness

and to not take the things that they 

say or do personally.

To smile and politely nod

when my MIL tells me repeatedly (in her own special way)

that her daughter is a better:

Mom

Wife

Cook 

Woman

than I am. 

The courage to speak when necessary,

especially when it comes to Mason

and the way Bob and I choose to parent.

To encourage them to get to know

their grandson 

so that they realize that he's a six year old boy

and not a two year old little girl.

Please remind me constantly that I may be

the only way they see Jesus

today

tomorrow

or ever.

~Amen

*While this is loosely based upon The Serenity Prayer, I mean no disrespect to those in recovery and it is in no way intended to mock the original prayer. 

I never thought I'd...

If there's one thing I've learned over the years, it's that you never know just how you'll react to something or what you'll do until you're there, living in that moment. It's so easy to speculate what you would do or say in any given situation before you're there, but living it is a whole different story.

Mason has a Christmas tree in his room. Right now. As I type. Yes, it's the middle of May and my son has a Christmas tree in the corner of his room. It's about 3 feet tall and is strung with tacky, multi-colored lights and brightly colored ornaments. And every night, we plug in that tacky little, Charlie Brown Christmas tree and it's Mason's night light. I never thought I'd have a Christmas tree up in May, but I've learned that it's okay. That it's not a big deal. Mason loves it. It's in his room. I don't have to look at all the time. So what's the big deal? And that's the point: it's not a big deal.

So that got me thinking about all things I never thought I'd do. All the expectations (realistic or not) that I set for myself and when I finally got there I realized, "this isn't such a big deal, after all." And what about the judging. Yes, I have judged, especially before becoming a parent, about what I would do if my child did such and such a thing. Oh, how wrong I was.

So here's my list of some of the things I never thought I'd do. You may just be surprised:

1. I never thought I'd get married. But if I did, I wouldn't change my maiden name - Yep. I was Miss Independent in college. Ask anyone who knew me well. I was motivated, driven, and didn't have time for a serious boyfriend. And then one day, at my first job out of college, I met this cute guy in the break room at work, and everything changed. It didn't take long for me to fall head over heels for Bob and that was it. I even gave up being known as 'Katy Karr' for Katy Moyer.

2. I wasn't sure about having kids. At all - I always loved children, but I wasn't one of those girls who played house and was always the mom. But I guess that goes along with meeting the love of your life and wanting to have lots and lots of babies with them ;-)

3. I never thought I'd have to pay for a baby - So going from not sure if I wanted kids to wanting lots of kids, imagine my surprise when I realized that the only way that may ever happen is to pay for a baby. Now I'm not trying to be crass or insensitive; after all, I'm living this reality. But that reality is that whether we have more kids through fertility treatments or ultimately do adopt, it's been anything but orthodox. Talk about shaping a new perspective on what it means to grow your family.

4. I never thought I'd deliver a baby that I've never bring home - My whole reality shifted on August 21, 2008. That was the day that Robert died and I realized he would never make it home with us.  How does that happen? How do you go from having an ultrasound to being admitted that evening to be induced at 20 weeks and delivering a stillborn baby boy early the next morning? It's not even something that you'd ever think about. Why would you? Sometimes there are no answers.

5. I never thought I'd cherish the writing (or drawing) on the wall - Mason's almost six years old and not once has he drawn on the wall, ever. I know, pretty good streak, eh? That is until one night last week when Bob was relaxing and watching old episodes of The Office and I was taking a relaxing bubble bath. I came down the hall and was excitedly met by Mason, telling me that he wanted to show me what he had drawn for me for Mother's Day... on my hall wall... in pen. So it was much to my surprise when I grabbed my camera and got a picture of it BEFORE I went for a Magic Eraser or other method to scrub it off my precious wall. Don't get me wrong, we talked to Mason about how we don't draw on the walls, but I didn't freak out. Yay me!

6. I never thought I'd bribe my child with electronics while out to dinner - Bob and I had been married for about a year when we were out to dinner one evening. Across the restaurants I could see a family when young kids and, "oh the horror!", when I saw the parents take out a portable DVD player and plop it down in front of their kids. Bob and I talked about how we would NEVER do that as parents and how horrible it was, and on and on. Fast forward years later and we too were toting along the portable DVD player to dinner, very pleased with ourselves that we could actually enjoy a few bites of food without running after our child in a busy restaurant. Lesson learned: stop judging and mind your own business. And now that we have Angry Birds and Netflix on our cell phones, we continue to have peaceful dinners without any guilt, whatsoever.

If I really thought about it, I'm sure the list of "I never thought I'd..." would go on and on. But I've learned to give myself a break and to just live. And while it may not be what we thought our lives would look like or what we had anticipated, it's still worth savoring and celebrating, all of it. The good and the bad. The happy and the heartbreaking.

Taking it slowly

Yes, I know I disappeared for the last three months. Life has a way of getting away from us and here it is, already half-way through May.

We've been busy over the last few months and so much has happened. So much life has happened. Not exactly what we had hoped for or what we had planned, but isn't it always that way?

Part of me really missed writing about what was going on and another part of me just needed a break. A break from the the constant updates, reports and disappointing news. Not all bad of course, just a lot of time spent in the valley.

So here's a recap of the last few months:

- I turned 34 in March. Yikes! 34 years old. I don't feel 34. I don't think I look 34. In fact, I'm really enjoying this decade. My 30's have been good. Bob surprised me with a night away to Chapel Hill, where we stayed at The Franklin Hotel, had dinner at this sweet little Italian Cafe walking distance from our hotel and the most delicious dessert at Sugarland. We slept in, had a relaxing breakfast; it was heaven. My husband is awesome.

The view from our balcony at The Franklin Hotel

Dinner at 411 West Italian Cafe

The Presidential Suite - Our room for the night

- I'm working and loving it. I've been working part-time for six months now and I'm seriously loving it. Sure, the people I work with are great, but I love that I have something for me. Not that I didn't love being home with Mason, but now that he's been in Kindergarten, it's been nice to have something outside the home. For so long, I kept waiting, putting my life on hold thinking that I'd be pregnant again. We can't put our lives on hold hoping for something that is completely out of our control. Life keeps moving, and so should we. Or else, we risk missing out on the very best that God has in store for us.

- I went through a failed IVF cycle. Yeah, not the highlight of the last few months. We moved forward with a new fresh, IVF cycle at the end of March and all in all, the cycle was seamless. So different from last year's cycle. No cysts. Perfect ultrasounds and blood draws. Flawless. We knew going into it that I wasn't going to come out of egg retrieval (ER) with 20 eggs, so we were more than thrilled with 9 we got. With 6 mature and 5 of those fertilizing with ICSI, we really felt like we were on a roll. We transfered back two, three-day embryos on Good Friday and on May 3rd, got the dreaded news of BFN. It was hard and exhausting and I'm so glad we did it. I would not have changed a thing (other than getting pregnant, of course). The great news is that we have two remaining, absolutely beautiful, Grade A Blasts that are frozen for an option of moving forward with a Frozen Embryo Transfer (FET). It's a heck of a lot less invasive, less medications, and costs less (even though still not cheap.) I'll keep you all updated (when I'm ready, that is).

- Celebrating Mother's Day. It's always bitter-sweet for me. I'm absolutely blown away at just how blessed I am to have Mason, and yet I can't help but to miss Robert. It also fell this year just a few days after we found out that the cycle had failed, so a little bit of a bummer. But believe me, I know what I have. I know that I'm blessed. But it's still allowed to hurt. It's okay. On another note, Mother's Day fell on May 8th this year, the 15 year anniversary of when I gave my mom a kidney. Seems fitting to fall on that day. My mom and I have definitely had our share of struggles over the years, but our relationship is truly a testimony to the power of God and the beauty of reconciliation. Forgiveness is a powerful thing.

So slowly but surely, I'll be writing and blogging again. I can't promise that I'll give all the in's and out's of every personal detail of my life while it's happening, but I'm definitely back.

Infertility: The Disease We Need to Start Talking About

I came across this article when I was on the RESOLVE website. I absolutely detest the online "news source" (if you can even call it that) where it is posted, but it was a pretty decent article, so I thought it was worth re-posting. (At least I credited the author.)

Infertility: The Disease We Need to Start Talking About

Silence might be golden in some circumstances, but in the case of infertility it has been downright destructive.

Recently RESOLVE, one of the only organizations dedicated to infertility, made a bold announcement on its website: "People with infertility are being ignored." I always knew that insurance coverage for treatments such as in vitro fertilization (IVF) is scant at best, and that many doctors still don't treat infertility as a major health issue. I've learned that blatant misconceptions persist when it comes to our reproductive health. And it's no secret that the media doesn't cover this subject as often as it should.

However, what I didn't realize is that infertility patients' reluctance to discuss their struggles and advocate for change is directly preventing those affected from getting the support and funding they deserve. As Barbara Collura, executive director of RESOLVE, explains, "Infertility is not being discussed in the general public health realm -- it's not taught in health classes, it's barely touched upon in medical schools, and it's not a priority of any government entity. Yet how can we expect health care providers, educators, our government, and insurance companies to pay attention to infertility when the patients themselves aren't even talking about it?"

Why the silence? People battling infertility are certainly not alone -- a staggering one in eight couples face it -- yet many feel like it is an extremely personal matter not to be shared with anyone but anonymous women and men on message boards. Some say they feel shame for not being able to procreate or for having faulty plumbing, so to speak. Also, in our somewhat still Puritanical society, we've been brought up to believe that sex is a private matter. Discussing it in some circles, even when it pertains to a medical condition, is taboo.

Of course, not everyone feels that way. For instance, while plenty of celebrities would never admit having gone through IVF (even when so many give birth to twins in their 40s), Giuliana Rancic has helped break the mold by publicly sharing her fertility battle via her reality show Giuliana & Bill. "We had signed on to do this show and when we started having trouble getting pregnant, we decided we were going to be honest and reveal what was really going on," says Rancic, who suffered a miscarriage last year after undergoing IVF treatments.

The result of her candidness was both surprising and inspiring. "I started getting up to 100 emails a day from people telling me that I helped them because hearing my story made them feel less alone and ashamed," Rancic explains. "I was shocked by the fact that so many people go through infertility because so few talk about it. And while experiencing it myself has been more difficult than I could have ever imagined, I've found there really is a comfort in numbers."

However, Rancic is still in the minority: It seems that for most men and women facing infertility, it's easier to deal with something so emotionally, physically, and financially draining without having to field questions and opinions from every well-meaning friend, co-worker, or family member. Such comments like "Just go on a vacation, relax, and you'll get pregnant," or "You can always adopt," are far too painful to even acknowledge, so people figure that by remaining silent they'll avoid opening themselves up to such commentary in the first place.

It doesn't help matters that there's no general consensus on how to label infertility. In 2009, the World Health Organization officially defined infertility as a disease. Yet many individuals, organizations, and insurance companies still say that having children is a lifestyle choice and that infertility is not a serious medical issue. Some even liken fertility treatments to cosmetic surgery. But ask the millions of couples desperately trying to get pregnant whether or not having children is a necessity. Why would they subject themselves to months or years of such turmoil if, to them, it weren't essential that they try?

Certainly, there are plenty of valid reasons while this secret exists, but it needs to end. Thirty years ago, breast cancer was where infertility is today -- women just didn't talk about it (a topic I touched upon in a recent blog post). There weren't countless support groups, fundraising walks, and an entire month enveloped in pink. Women battling breast cancer did so in silence and, in turn, many felt isolated and ignored. However, now because there is such an international dialogue about the disease, breast cancer receives multi-million-dollar grants each year in research funding and patients are inundated with an outpouring of support and understanding.

Other cancers, AIDS, and many other illnesses follow the same path from shame to global support and advocacy: Once people start talking about it, the awareness, funding, and answers follow. "The silence is one of the key reasons why the infertility movement is not where it should be," says Collura. "By people speaking out and letting the world know that these are real issues affecting real people, that would impact advocacy, public education, and public policy."

What will it take to bring infertility out of the closet, so to speak? Possibly it would help if more celebrities like Giuliana Rancic came forward and if the media started covering the topic more extensively (as SELFmagazine did with a groundbreaking piece on the subject). Maybe we need thousands of infertility patients and advocates to come to Washington D.C. for their Advocacy Day on May 5th rather than a few hundred like in years past. Or perhaps we just need the domino effect -- once a few people experiencing infertility open up, more will follow suit.

I don't know what the magic ingredients are that will take infertility from an issue no one talks about to a banner "pink ribbon" type of cause. The bottom line is that far too many people are suffering. But by suffering in silence, the stigma persists and the advances we need to overcome infertility will never become a reality. As Collura points out, it starts with those struggling with infertility saying, "We matter."

And when they do, the rest of the world must start listening.

Dina Roth Port, a freelance writer for publications such as Glamour, Parenting, and Prevention, is author of Previvors: Facing the Breast Cancer Gene and Making Life-Changing Decisions. Visit her website at www.dinarothport.com. 

Invoking my Inner Chi

Okay, not really ;-) But I am doing yoga for the first time and absolutely LOVING it! Since I'm now working at a health club and have a free membership, I'd be stupid not to take advantage of all that it has to offer, including the awesome classes, with yoga being one of them.

So a little about my history. I have dealt with eating disorders and exercise addiction in the past. So you may be thinking, "How could exercising a lot be bad?" Well, when you do it for three hours a day, coupled with hardly eating, yeah, then it can be bad. But it's been over 10 years since I've overcome anorexia and the addictive exercise compulsion and I'm finally at a place where I just want to be healthy and feel good. I know that I have to be careful because it's amazing how quickly those feelings from the past can resurface (addictions and disorders are very sneaky that way), but now I know the warning signs and I know how not to abuse it.

So back to yoga. As I get ready for a new fertility journey this year, I was looking for additional ways to deal with the stress and anxiety that inevitably arises from fertility treatments and yoga seems to be it.

There are a few things that I really like about yoga. First, it's incredibly relaxing. The music, coupled with the dim lighting and calm, metered breathing instantly relaxes me. I leave feeling relaxed and refreshed. I've also learned that if I want to do cardio, I need to do so BEFORE my yoga class, otherwise I'll never get on that elliptical machine.

Next, I love that it's an hour of uninterrupted prayer time. Other than when the instructor quietly announces a new pose, I have some awesome time with the Lord. I talk to God, pray for friends and family and just connect with Him in a very intimate way. I can close my eyes (okay, most of the time, if I can balance a pose without toppling over :-) and block out everything around me and it's just me and God.

Third, I know that I'm doing something good and healthy for my body. It's amazing how you can feel parts of your body that you didn't even know were there! So yes, the first few times I was pretty darn sore. But now, I'm getting used to it and I'm able to do more poses without walking like an old woman the next day. And although I'm naturally pretty flexible, with yoga, I've become even more so. And just as a side note ladies: your husbands will like this element of you doing yoga, too! (hint, hint. wink, wink).

And last, yoga gives me some sense of control when everything in my world can feel so out of control, especially when it relates to infertility.

When you are dealing with medically diagnosed infertility, especially "unexplained infertility," you can feel helpless. There's this feeling that if you actually knew what was wrong with you, then you could try to fix it or get the medical help that you need. But when it's "unexplained," it can be incredibly frustrating, because there's no more tests or procedures or medications that you can take (other than fertility drugs and treatments). It just "is what it is" (Bob hates when I say this!), but it's so true. Couple the "unexplained" with "secondary," and it's a whole new level of frustration. I know what my body is capable of. I CAN get pregnant; I've done it twice. So why can't I now? Why is my body failing me? And in reality, what I'm really feeling is that I have failed.

So when I do yoga, I can control my body and poses and breathing and my thoughts, even for an hour. And hopefully, my body will begin to remember just what it's capable of (hey, I can dream, right?) Or when we do resume treatments and I'm relying on doctors and medications to make my body do what it needs to do in order to become pregnant and stay pregnant, at least I'll have some sense of control in a very out of control time.

And to top off this post, I just happened to come across an article from Sunday's New York Times that talks about the benefits of yoga when you're dealing with infertility. Just to be clear, it's not saying that if you do yoga, you'll get pregnant. But it is saying that there are direct benefits of yoga while undergoing treatments and trying to get pregnant when you have infertility. Oh, and it's not saying, "Just relax and you'll get pregnant." Which, by the way, you should NEVER, EVER say to to someone who is struggling with infertility. That is, unless you don't want to make it out of the room alive!

And for your reading pleasure, here's that article: Yoga's Stress Relief: And Aid for Infertility? Enjoy!

Not "If" but "When"

"When you pass through the waters,

I will be with you;

and when you pass through the rivers,

they will not sweep over you.

When you walk through the fire,

you will not be burned;

the flames will not set you ablaze."

Isaiah 43:2 (NIV)

Faith is scary. Stepping out into the unknown, often all alone, can be very difficult, to say the very least. Often times, it feels like you're looking into a dark, black abyss. You have absolutely no idea what lies ahead because all you can see is what is lit directly under you or maybe a little in front you. The hardest part of faith is taking that first step and trusting. Just trusting God that he'll be there when you take that step.

Trust. That's also a tough one. Trusting people is even tougher. Because people will let you down. People will do things or say things that will hurt. Even Believers. If I rely on other people to encourage or build me up, I'll undoubtedly be disappointed. If I rely on the acceptance of other people as a gauge of who I am, I will never be satisfied. God's approval is all that matters.

This verse in Isaiah has been haunting me for weeks now. Every where I turn, I'm hearing this verse, so I'm convinced that God really needs to me listen, to get it. This verse screams faith to me. It says, "Hey, guess what? You are going to struggle and WHEN you do, I'll be there." Notice it doesn't say "if" but "when." I alone. I, the Lord your God, will be there. You are going to pass through waters, but I won't let them swallow you. You are going to walk through fire, but I won't let it consume you. I will allow you to lose a son, but I have not forsaken you. You will walk through the devastation of infertility, but it will not destroy you.

Now I realize that more than likely, this verse is referring to when the Isrealites walked through the open waters of the Red Sea and when Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego stepped into that firey furnace, but even more, it refers to faith.

The very title of my blog refers to stepping out in faith. So over the next several months, I'll be doing just that. Bob and I will be embarking on a new path in our fertility journey. Unfortunately, I'll be keeping my hand a little closer to my chest this time. I will not be posting a play-by-play like I have in the past. Perhaps I will share more after we're done, but not right now. I hope that people will understand. It's just that I think I've learned my lesson with my raw honesty; it makes people too uncomfortable. Who knows, maybe I'll change my mind and say, "screw it!" But for right now, my lips are sealed. I will ask for prayers, though. Prayers for wisdom and guidance as we take a huge step of faith. I know that God has already begun to write an amazing part of our story; I can't wait to see how it turns out.

Worth reposting

I posted this letter over a year ago and my feelings still ring true:

I want to share my feelings about infertility with you, because I want you to understand my struggle. I know that understanding infertility is difficult; there are times when it seems even I don’t understand.

This struggle has provoked intense and unfamiliar feelings in me and I fear that my reactions to these feelings might be misunderstood. I hope my ability to cope and your ability to understand will improve as I share my feelings with you. I want you to understand.

You may describe me this way: obsessed, moody, depressed, envious, obnoxious, aggressive, antagonistic, bitter, and cynical. These aren't very admirable traits; no wonder your  understanding of my infertility is difficult. I prefer to describe me this way: confused, rushed and impatient, afraid, isolated and alone, guilty and ashamed, angry, sad and hopeless, and unsettled.

My Infertility makes me feel confused. I feel confused as to why this is happening. I feel confused when I get diagnoses such as unexplained secondary infertility. A title I do not want. Surely if I try harder, try longer, try better and smarter, I will have another baby.

My infertility makes me feel rushed and impatient. I learned of my unexplained secondary infertility after we’d suffered the loss of our second son and began trying to become pregnant again. I not only grieve the loss of a child, but now I grieve the loss of my own fertility. And I wait. I wait for medical appointments, wait for tests, wait for treatments, wait for other treatments, wait for my period not to come, wait for pregnancy. At best, I have only twelve opportunities each year. How old will I be when I finish having my family?

My infertility makes me feel afraid. Infertility is full of unknowns and I’m frightened because I need some definite answers. How long will this last? What humiliation must I endure? What pain must I suffer? Why do drugs I take to help me, make me feel worse? Why can’t my body do the things that my mind wants it to do? Why do I hurt so much? I’m afraid of my feelings. I’m afraid of my undependable body.

My infertility makes me feel isolated and alone. Reminders of babies are everywhere. I must be the only one enduring this invisible curse. Sometimes I have to stay away from others, because everything makes me hurt. No one knows how horrible my pain is. I feel so alone and I wonder if I’ll survive this.

My infertility makes me feel guilty and ashamed. Frequently I forget that infertility is a medical problem and should be treated as one. Infertility destroys my self-esteem and I feel like a failure. Why am I being punished? What did I do to deserve this? Am I not worthy? Am I not a good enough mom? It is easy to lose self-confidence and feel ashamed.

My infertility makes me feel angry. Everything makes me angry, and I know much of my anger is misdirected. I’m angry with my body because it has betrayed me. I want and need an advocate to help me. I’m angry with my medical caregivers because it seems that they control my future. They humiliate me, inflict pain on me, pry into my privacy, patronize me, and sometimes forget who I am. I’m angry at my expenses; infertility treatment is extremely expensive. I’m angry that insurance companies do not value my basic human right to have a family, even if it means that I need medical intervention to do so. I’m angry that they would rather provide coverage to terminate pregnancies than to help a family’s dream of being parents. Finally, I’m angry with everyone else. Everyone has opinions about my inability to become and to stay pregnant. Everyone has easy solutions. Everyone seems to know too little and say too much. 

My Infertility makes me feel sad and hopeless. Infertility feels like I’ve lost my future, and no one knows of my sadness. I feel hopeless; infertility robs me of my energy. I’ve never cried so much or so easily. I’m sad that my infertility places my marriage under so much strain. I’m sad that my infertility requires me to be so self-centered. I’m sad that I've ignored many friendships because this struggle hurts so much and demands so much energy. Babies, pregnant women, playgrounds, baby showers, birth stories, kids’ movies, birthday parties and much more, surround me. I hate that I must miss out on things in my friends lives for my own self-preservation. Sometimes I feel so sad and hopeless. 

My infertility makes me feel unsettled. My life is on hold. Years spent doing treatments has put so much on hold. The more I struggle with my infertility, the less control I have. This struggle has no timetable; the treatments have no guarantees. The only sure things are that I need to be near my partner at fertile times and near my doctor at treatment times. Should I pursue adoption? Should I take expensive drugs? Should I pursue more specialized and costly medical intervention? It feels unsettling to have no clear, easy answers or guarantees. Occasionally I feel my panic subside. I’m learning some helpful ways to cope; I’m now convinced I’m not crazy, and I believe I’ll survive. I’m learning to listen to my body and be assertive, not aggressive, about my needs. I’m realizing that good medical care and good emotional care are not necessarily found in the same place. 

I’m trying to be more than an infertile person.

Follow-up to yesterday's post...

Here's an article from October from The Washington Post : Infertile Couples cope with prolific Facebook friends

And although there will still be those who view me as the bitter, complaining infertile (which are also those who have NEVER dealt with infertility), there are those can relate and are able to show empathy. And for those who HAVE dealt with infertility, well, there's just no excuse. IMO, you should know better. I'm just sayin'...

Walking through a Minefield aka: "The rantings of a bitter infertile"

Everyday I open my eyes, walk out my door or turn on my computer, it's like walking through a minefield. Will something or someone trigger those unmistakable feelings that stem from grieving infertility and the loss of a son? I hate that those possibilities are even there. I hate that I never know when something may trigger and, "BOOM!" I hate that my mind can so easily hone on a detail that reminds me.

Case in point - my job. I love my new job. I love that I get to interact with people again. But part of my job involves checking in kids to childcare while parents are working out. I must find their card to hand over with name tags. When I see the kids and scan the card for names, I see the birth dates and my mind instantly goes to how old Robert would be. If the child's birthdate is close to his, I begin to study the child, looking at what they're doing. How they're communicating, interacting with their mom or dad. And then once again, I grieve what I've lost. It doesn't happen all the time, but it does occasionally, and it's just enough to remind me once again.

Next, facebook. Ugh. I don't even know where to begin with this one. In the wake of media like facebook and twitter, we're absolutely bombarded with instantaneous, personal details of our "friends" lives. Besides not caring what you just ate for lunch or the size of your bowel movement (okay, so I'm slightly over-exaggerating, but only slightly. Have you seen some of those crazy posts?!), then those of us who are struggling with loss and infertility feel the barrage of baby banter and news. So I may innocently hop on my fb news and BAM! Completely blind-sided by another baby announcement! Now can they do whatever they want? Absolutely! Should they be happy that they're pregnant? Yes! But do I have to read it? Nope! Love hiding those feeds or a person altogether. Do I have to be incredibly happy for them, plaster on my fake smile and give a congrats? Nope. Am I obligated to respond to invitations on fb or by text?!?!? to a baby shower? Nope!

But does this mean that I'm a bitter infertile? No. It means that infertility and loss is devastating. It means that I walk in grief and have constant reminders around me. It means that I will never, ever forget what this feels like. Because if I am able to become pregnant again and bring that sweet baby home, I would never, ever want someone else to feel this pain. And now that I know how it feels, I have absolutely no excuse. Now it's true that I don't know how it feels to be pregnant after infertility, but I know what it feels like before, and that's enough to know that I won't be making any big announcements on fb. Read my blog? Fine, because then this would become a blog about my pregnancy and new baby. It's a choice to come here. But if and when we get our good news, I'll be using the old-fashioned way to let friends and family know.

And last, those pregnant bellies. Sometimes I feel like I'm a magnet for pregnant women. Or I can't walk through Target or go to church without seeing bellies everywhere! And the hand! Oh, the hand on the belly! Yes! We all know that you're pregnant. And yes, I realize that sometimes it's just comfortable to rest your hand there. But really? Do you have to sit and just caress it, every stroke screaming, "Look what I have! Look what you don't have!" Ahhh!!! It's torture.

And I clearly realize that I may have offended some people with this post. But, hey, it's nothing personal. And it's my blog and I can say what I want to (as I blow raspberries!) I think I actually feel a little better getting that out.

Rant over.

A Case of the "What-if's?"

"But forget all that- 

it is nothing compared to what I am going to do.

For I am about to do something new.

See, I have already begun! Do you not see it?

I will make a pathway through the wilderness.

I will create rivers in the dry wasteland." 

Isaiah 43:18-19 (NLT)

I admit it. I have a case of the "what-if's?" That's when you find yourself thinking over the past and asking, "What if...?" You fill in the blank. Maybe it's a question of regret. A lot of the what-if's are based on regret, in my opinion. 

"What if I'd been a different major in college?"

"What if I'd made better choices when I was younger?"

"What if? What if? What if?"

Much of my what if's are over the last few years. It's mostly at night, lying in bed, when everything is quiet and it's just me and my thoughts. 

"What if Robert had not died?" Yeah, that seems to be a reoccurring one for me lately. I find myself playing over and over in my head what I did during my pregnancy. What I ate. What I drank. My activities. Could I have prevented it? And of course, in the end, it's a fruitless pursuit, only ending in sadness and disappointment. What if?

"What if we had gone through with our 2nd IVF cycle?" If I had done my cycle as planned and become pregnant, I would be due in two months, right around my 34th birthday, in fact. I'd be planning for a new baby. A new brother or sister for Mason. A new start after the nightmare of loss and infertility over the past 2 1/2 years. What if?

"What if we do try IVF again and it doesn't work?" I'm acutely aware that there are no guarantees when it comes to fertility treatments. That after the money is spent and the cycle is complete, we could still be right back where we are now. What if?

2 Corinthians 10:5 reminds me to keep my thoughts captive. In fact, the "what-if's" draw me further from   knowing God because it causes me to selfishly focus on me and what I want, rather than on Him and what He wants to accomplish through me. So when I do feel a case of the "what-if's" coming on, I can ask Him to help me redirect my thoughts. 

The only place that the "what-if's" live is inside my head. Essentially, I'm living in the past instead of embracing my present and looking forward to the future. It's easy to get stuck living in the past. In fact, that's how the enemy would prefer we live. Drudging through the guilt and regrets of our past holds us back from living a truly abundant life. A life right in front of me, not behind. 

Bob and I are in the process of praying over and making some big decisions for our family this year. More infertility treatments, possibly abroad? Adoption, either domestic or international? But I know that the only way I'll be able to move forward is to quit looking back. 

Today Lord, I surrender all my "what-if's." 

Sometimes you just have to try harder

One of the most precious times of the day for me is the 15 or so minutes that I lay with Mason each night before he goes to bed. After the shower and teeth brushing, medicine taking and reading books time is done, we simply "relax" together (as Mason would call it) and it gives me a chance for Mommy and Mason time.

We talk about his day, the good and the bad. We pray together. We act silly and role-play with his stuffed animals. We just have time together; such precious time.

So a few evenings ago, I was caught off guard when Mason said, "Mommy, I don't think God likes me very much." Of course I replied with, "Why Mason, what would make you say that?" And what came next was enough to break a mom's heart. Mason continued, "I've been asking God for a brother or sister for a long time now and He still hasn't brought me one. He must not like me."

By this time, the tears were silently flowing as I held my sweet little guy in my arms even tighter than before. Of course, I told him that God not only likes him, but he loves him. And that fact that he still doesn't have a brother or sister here with him does not mean that God doesn't like him. I told him that he needs to keep praying and be patient for what God has for our family. "If I keep praying does it mean I'll get one?" He quietly asked. "Nope. It doesn't, " I reply. "It's important to be specific when we pray, but God is not a genie in a bottle," I explain. "Just because we ask, doesn't mean we're going to get it. If it brings glory to God and it's His plan for our family, then it will happen when it's supposed to happen."

I went on to tell him what a wonderful big brother that he's going to be and that I am so proud of him to be so honest with me and with God.

I told him that mommy and daddy wanted another baby, too, and that we were trying very hard to make that happen. To which Mason replied, "Well mommy, sometimes you just have to try harder!" Definitely brought a smile to my face. If he only knew just how hard we've tried and continue to try.

That answer seemed to satisfy and he went on to rattle off baby names that he likes, including Boo-boo bear and poopy baby (yeah, what can I say, he's 5 1/2).

It was then that I realized another unintended impact of infertility. Infertility doesn't just effect those who are infertile. Its reaches are far greater. There are grandchildless grandparents. There are onlies longing for the love and comfort of a sibling. There are friends who want to be good friends, but don't know how to announce their new pregnancy to you without devastating you. It's never just about the infertile.

So now I catch him periodically, quietly talking to God and continuing to ask for a brother and sister  (yes, he put in his order for both). The last time I asked him about it, he proceeded to tell me that God said he'd bring him a sister by Friday. If only it happened that quickly.

Playing Catch up

I've been so not consistent with writing on my blog. There's been plenty going on, but I just haven't been in the mood to write.

If I would have delivered on my original due date, tomorrow would have been Robert's 2nd Birthday; it's almost hard to believe. I don't even know why I thought of my due date today. It mostly hits me on the day I found out Robert died or the date I delivered him. I can't help but to think of what my life would be like now with a 5 1/2 year old and a two year old. Two boys. Two brothers. It's been over two years now since Robert died and I still miss him. Grief is a funny thing (um, not funny "ha, ha"). It's peculiar. You're able to move forward, but you never forget. You never know when or how it will hit you, even years after your loss. There's no statute of limitations on grief.

It's important for people to remember that no matter how many other children you have or may have in the future, you must be allowed to grieve the child you've lost. I know that people don't mean to be malicious or mean spirited, but there must be a sensitivity when it comes to loss, specifically referring to miscarriage or still birth. There are things that if others knew, they may not make the mistake of saying or doing something that can be devastating to those who've suffered a loss. Maybe this will help others to understand.

~20 Things Those Who've Suffered a Loss Wish People Would Understand~

1.     I wish you would not be afraid to mention my baby. The truth is just because you never say my baby doesn't mean he doesn't deserve your recognition.

2.     I wish that if we did talk about my baby and I cried you didn't think it was because you have hurt me by mentioning him. The truth is I need to cry and talk about my baby with you. Crying and emotional outbursts help me heal.

3.     I wish that you could talk about my baby more than once. The truth is if you do, it reassures me that you haven't forgotten him and that you do care and understand.

4.     I wish you wouldn't think that I don't want to talk about my baby. The truth is that I love my baby and need to talk about him.

5.     I wish you could tell me you are sorry my baby has died and that you are thinking of me. The truth is it tells me you care. 

6.     I wish you wouldn't think what has happened is one big bad memory for me. The truth is the memory of my baby, the love I feel for my baby, the dreams I had and the memories I have created for my baby are all loving memories. Yes, there are bad memories too but please understand that it's not all like that.

7.     I wish you wouldn't pretend that my baby never existed. The truth is we both know I had a baby growing inside of me.

8.     I wish you wouldn't judge me because I am not acting the way you think I should be. The truth is grief is a very personal thing and we are all different people who deal with things differently. 

9.     I wish you wouldn't think if I have a good day I'm "over it" or if I have a bad day I am being unreasonable because you think I should be over it. The truth is there is no "normal" way for me to act. 

10.  I wish you wouldn't stay away from me. The truth is losing my baby doesn't mean I'm contagious. By staying away you make me feel isolated, confused and like it's my fault.

11.  I wish you wouldn't expect my grief to be "over and done with" in a few weeks, months, or years for that matter. The truth is that it may get easier with time but I will never be "over this".

12.  I wish you wouldn't think that my baby wasn't a real baby and it was blood and tissue or a fetus.  The truth is my baby was a human life. He had a soul, heart, body, legs, arms and face. I have seen my baby's body and face. My baby was a real person.

13.  My babies due date, Mothers Day, celebration times, the day my baby died and the day my baby was delivered are all important and sad days for me. The truth is I wish you could tell me by words or by letter you are thinking of me on these days.

14.  I wish you would understand that losing my baby has changed me. The truth is I am not the same person I was before and will never be that person again. If you keep waiting for me to get back to "normal" you will stay frustrated. I am a new person with new thoughts, dreams, beliefs and values. Please try to get to know the real me --- maybe you'll still like me.

15.  I wish you wouldn't tell me to have another baby. The truth is that I want the baby I lost and no other baby can replace him. Babies aren't interchangeable. 

16.  I wish you wouldn't feel awkward or uncomfortable talking about my baby or being near me. When you do, I can see it. The truth is it's not fair to make me feel uncomfortable just because you do.

17.  I wish you wouldn't think that you'll keep away because all my friends and family will be there for me. The truth is, everyone thinks the same thing and I am often left with no one.

18.  I wish you would understand that being around pregnant women is uncomfortable for me.

19.  I wish you wouldn't say that it's natures way of telling me something was wrong with my baby. The truth is my baby was perfect to me no matter what you think nature is saying.

20.  I wish you would understand that what you are really saying when you say "next time things will be okay". The truth is how do you know? What will you say it happens to me again.