Hold My Hand to The End of Infertility Highway

My hands felt clammy and fidgety. I laid on the exam table, legs in the stirrups. I was thinking about how funny I looked wearing dress socks with a paper blanket on my lap and nothing else. My brain had been playing these games for days. Think about anything else...

We faked at small talk for a moment while waiting for the ultrasound screen to announce the results. Do we still have a living baby? Although my conscious had been actively ignoring less than perfect thoughts, I knew my subconscious was screaming in fear. 9 weeks, this is where things went badly last time. My dreams the night before left me checking my teeth in the morning. My anxiety dreams commonly showcase my teeth crumbling and falling out. 

I feel Chris' hand grasp mine, I'm not sure if he is reassuring me or getting ready to protect me, but I hold on tightly. Having his hand in mine calms me. I think about how every step of the way, he has held me, loved me through this. I know I can make it, as long as we have each other.

The black screen starts to show an image....suddenly the image flips around like fish flopping on the line. Movement! Our baby was moving, seemingly turning towards us to say "hello." Soon we captured the rhythmic sound of a heartbeat like waves crashing against the shore, a beat of the new song we will dance to as a family of four. With a perfect report from the doctor, a shiny new due date, and a bright future ahead we celebrate an end and a new beginning and welcome you in rejoicing with us.

 Three more weeks of needles and syringes, the last vestiges of our walk along Infertility Highway. Along the way we met so many on the journey as well, we gathered supporters on the sidelines cheering us on, crying for us and with us. Thank you so much to those cheerleaders. We love you.

 We will not have to walk this road again for ourselves. However, these bumps and turns and ruts are so familiar, so much a part of our lives and what has shaped who we are. I will gladly walk the road holding the hands of another woman, another man, who are on it and feeling alone. Please reach for this hand if you need it. (Click here to read the last blog post).

Isaiah 41:13

For I, the Lord your God, hold your right hand; it is I who say to you, “Fear not, I am the one who helps you.

Is it one or two?

When I was a child I had strange urges to do 'risky' things. I jumped into Lake Tahoe fully clothed a number of times, much to my father's dismay as it required him to jump in and save me. I discovered I liked the thrill of doing these things. One obsession I had was 9 volt batteries and the shock they gave my tongue when I pressed it to the end of the charge. I would hold the battery, knowing what it would do to me, hesitant to experience it, but simultaneously anxious for the adrenaline driven decision to just do it!

I felt the same way heading into the doctor's office for our seven week ultrasound. My thoughts splintered into fractions. Part of me was excited at the prospect of finally knowing Will it be one or two? Another part of me was relentlessly scared. I was worried if I was really still pregnant. Would there even be a heartbeat? The joy and excitement that ultrasounds used to hold for me has been stripped away with the past grief, but I knew we just had to do it to find out what our future held in store for us. The idea of twins had grown fondly between Chris and I. We anxiously hoped the Lord would grant us with whatever blessings he could.

Going into the room, my confident facade was stripped down with my clothing. I held Chris' hand as the nurse practitioner asked me questions about how I've been feeling. No throwing up, not much nausea, but a couple of gag reflexes....I've been so worried about the lack of these symptoms. Worried it meant there was nothing really there.
My concerns were assuaged immediately when we saw the flicker of white among the pixelated image appearing on the screen. A heartbeat. Just one. But it was there, and it was strong.
Happiness and disappointment intermingled before being overcome by relief.

I still have a pregnancy. I have one beautiful heartbeat. For today I can release the worry. I have 2 weeks until the next peek inside. The nine week ultrasound is where things went south last time, so these two weeks will be difficult and slow. Many women have expressed to me about how the joy of pregnancy is stolen after miscarriage. The whole duration is wrought with fear and anxiety that at any moment things can go wrong. I didn't quite understand until now. I hope I won't have my tongue applied to the end of a 9 volt for this entire pregnancy. I don't want a thrilling ride, or the shock of frigid water to my system. I want a nice, calm, no need for adrenaline, sit on the front porch and watch the world kind of pregnancy.
(Click here to read the last blog).

"He will have no fear of bad news; his heart is steadfast, trusting in the Lord. His heart is secure, he will have no fear; in the end he will look in triumph on his foes. -Psalm 112:7

Carnival of Life

Cotton candy and kettle corn permeates the air. The shrill shrieks of children all around, frolicking in the fun. Families everywhere enjoying this carnival of life.

My family, fresh off the loop de loop, still feeling rattled like a rock thrown in a coffee can and kicked down the hill, now stands in front of the fun house. The past six months we have survived an intense round of fertility treatment,s, a Frozen Embryo Transfer, which led to a pregnancy, but was followed by a tragic miscarriage. We endured two surgeries this summer, and just completed another double embryo transfer. Our last two Ice Ice Babies 

Holding hands, as we face this crazy house, we see two entrance doors, each heading upwards. Each with its own fun and own scares.

Through one side we will encounter a funny mirror that stretches my body out, makes me gaunt....long in the face. We may walk through those halls just the three of us, and never any more. However....through the other door will be a mirror that distorts horizontally. It's farther away. As we approach it my body will widen, and expand. My cheeks will be thick...my smile will stretch from one ear to the other. This hallway will grow our family in number. Which of these mirrors will we look through? Which entrance shall we walk towards?

As you know, we've just been on the last roller coaster ride available (see my last post here). We've used up all of those little green tickets from the carnival box at the gate. I know for others it feels like a 'just happened' event. For us the weeks have felt like a Stretch Armstrong time machine.

Suddenly, a bright red clown phone rings on the porch. It is incessant. The "brrrr-ring" is exciting. It is scary. I find my hand on the receiver. By all appearances it is steady and my voice is collected. The words from the nurse on the other end tells us which door to take. Chris and I look at each other. He leans down to pick up Noah, and adjusts him on his hip. I open the door, and as a family we walk towards the mirror.

The mirror shows good news for our future. 

Join us in celebration and in prayer for the miracle that God has worked in our lives. We give the glory of creating this child to him, and pray that he will let us see this little one grow for a long, long time. 

Psalm 113:9     

 He gives the barren woman a home, making her the joyous mother of children. Praise the Lord!

Psalm 139:13-16

For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother's womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them.

Ice Ice Baby

Ice Ice Baby

All right stop, Collaborate and listen Ice is back with my brand new invention Something grabs a hold of me tightly Flow like a harpoon daily and nightly Will it ever stop? Yo, I don't know 

It takes a lot of stopping, and listening, and collaboration to make a baby. Especially the way we have to make babies. This adventure requires family members, friends, bosses, co-workers, medical professionals....and of course the potential momma and daddy to all be in cahoots. To collaborate. To support. I thank you. Noah's Grandma for taking care of him through all these procedures, my bosses, Chris' boss...being flexible and understanding. The messages, texts, the offers of help, and the words of support. Not to mention the organization of my clinic Nevada Center for Reproductive Medicine to provide the best care. I thank you all, I'm so appreciative of you. 

I remember walking through a park, talking with another woman who happens to be "Part of My World" (click to read). Struggling with the secrecy of this 'deep dark secret' of infertility, she asked me, "How can you be so open about this?"
I learned many years ago, this can eat you alive. It festers like a nasty tumor, it starts in your heart and turns your insides hard and bitter. Frustration, anger, jealousy. It makes your beauty turn into a beast. When I started sharing, at first just with family and close friends, it allowed people to give me grace. It developed empathy in their hearts. It gave me the safety net, so when I had to jump out the burning building of my insides, someone caught me. People care. They want to help, but they can't protect you and comfort you if they don't know that you need it. That's why I share. It's educational for those who have no idea this world exists. It's a self-preservation technique. I no longer had to make up excuses for not attending baby showers. It's providing me with a group of cheerleaders. Most importantly I'm connecting with so many others who can relate...when I share, they don't have to. They can connect privately and know they aren't alone. 

        Today we transferred our Ice Ice Babies. Having been frozen for over three years now, the last of our embryos, it's time to go Encino Man here and let them into the world. The past 6 months has been a complete roller coaster ride....Will it ever stop? Yo, I don't know. 

     But Something grabs a hold of me tightly. My friends, my family, the people in my life are wrapping their arms around me in support, they are stopping to listen. I love them for it.

Our Ice Ice Babies survived the thaw beautifully. They both recovered 90% of their cells and both continued to multiply and divide, and progress. One of them has even begun "hatching" from it's shell, the cytotrophoblastic shell, so it is ready to nestle in. We transferred both, and have been given a 75% chance of a positive pregnancy test. I am now on bed rest for the next three days, which puts a lot of pressure on Chris. Thank you honey. Please continue to pray, to support, and encourage us. 

1 Thessalonians 5:11
Therefore encourage one another and build one another up, just as you are doing.

Part of Your World

One month's worth medication and supplies for Frozen Embryo Transfer

Look at this stuff. Isn't it neat?
Wouldn't you think my collection's complete?
Wouldn't you say I'm a girl,
A girl who has, everything? 

I've got gadgets and gizmos a-plenty. I've got whozits and whatzits galore.
You want thingamabobs? I've got TWENTY!

I'm trying so very hard to be positive. I used to get so excited before we would start a new cycle. The chance to create life was right around the corner. But to be frankly honest....I'm scared now and cautious. I'm tired and feeling a bit drained with the process and the procedure. We've had a lot going on lately,  (click here to see what) and the past two operating room visits have left me feeling a bit, well, stuck "Under the Sea."

However, I'm still swimming and flipping my fins! We started another frozen embryo transfer cycle this month. My arms are collecting the tell tale "track marks" of constant blood work and my tooshie is feeling like a pincushion already. The amount of medication that has to be injected into your body in order to prepare the perfect "growing soil" and to prevent your body from rejecting the embryos as a foreign object is insane. These pictures show my medication and supplies for just one month. We start small with Estrogen shots every Tuesday and Friday, next week we will add in Progesterone in oil injections. It is literally oil, it acts as the medium to let your body soak in the hormones. Sesame oil to be exact. It is thick and the needles are big. Imagine putting peanut butter in the fridge and then trying to push it through a straw. That feeling in your arm after you get the flu shot, or a tetanus shot? Yeah. Just like that. In your butt. Every. Single. Day. For 12 weeks. This becomes such a part of our life's routine. We brush teeth, then we get the syringes ready, Chris has learned how to be an expert needle poker. He knows where it hurts the least, how much skin to pinch and how fast to push the plunger to get it over with, but not do damage. Noah watches mommy get her shot then the cutie, pulls down his jammies and asks Daddy, "Wanah's Turn. Shot, too." Daddy proceeds to "give Noah a shot too."

The purpose of estrogen is to help the uterus build a nice thick lining for the embryo to implant in. I had an ultrasound last week that declared my lining looking good. The progesterone is meant to sustain an embryo and a pregnancy. In a natural pregnancy, a woman will grow one egg in a follicle on one of her ovaries. That egg with burst from the follicle, and the corpus luteum (the follicle that housed the egg) will start producing progesterone in preparation for a potential pregnancy. The progesterone is what makes a woman get cranky, and weepy, and sore engorged boobies before her period. Those who experience PreMenstrual Symptoms (PMS) and their partners know how much fun this is. In a frozen embryo transfer the egg has already burst and been fertilized in the lab and then cryopreserved. Therefore there is no ovulation, no corpus luteum to produce progesterone in my body. The estrogen prevents the ovary from even trying to grow an egg. What this means though is my body has NO CLUE that it is about to become pregnant (hopefully). It will not produce enough progesterone on its own. So we have to manufacture this response with injectable progesterone, and suppository progesterone. PMS on steroids basically. It is not a fun time. I do my best to maintain composure. I try my darndest to curb the emotions. It is incredibly difficult.

I saw a woman at the grocery store the other day. She was complaining that she couldn't drink at the party because she is pregnant, she went on to gripe about her feet swelling, and her nausea. I used to see other women who get pregnant so easily and the jealousy would be a battle I would have to deal with. I would think "What would I give to be Part of  your world?" The world of easy conception, of easy pregnancies, of less financial strain, and emotional strain, and physical strain. I can tell now how these experiences and the journey we've been on has helped me grow as a human being. I'm not a jealous creature any more. I am much more grateful. I think I am a much better mom to Noah because of our hurdles, than I would have been before jumping them. I think I appreciate the trials of motherhood, and although it is hard at times....I cherish the moments. The good ones and the bad ones. Parenting is hard work. A toddler can be difficult.The lack of sleep is draining. Not once have I ever felt like this was harder than the struggles we went through to get this child. So although going through another procedure and treatment cycle sucks....I know how worth it this is. I have proof positive of the rewards it will bring...and you know what? I don't ever want to be a part of a world that doesn't understand how miraculous it is to have a child screaming his head off because he wanted the blue cup, not the green one. 

I think I'll stay in this part of my world. 

Romans 5: 3-5. Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; 

perseverance, character; and character, hope. 

And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us.

Embracing the Suckers

Embracing the Suckers

I believe wholly that the forest within me will begin to heal and recover....
Those words ended my last post (click here to read). My forest is growing, but not how I expected it to.

In our backyard we planted two Chokecherry trees. They have a deep purple leaf that provides a contrast to the typical green. For being so beautiful, they produce a bitter fruit. One that my mother has fine-tuned a jelly recipe for. The birds love them, and the trees are hardy. They grow wild in Wyoming, where my own roots run. When Chris and I were picking out trees for our barren yard last Spring, we found these on sale at the nursery. I couldn't wait to plant them and envisioned many canning sessions with my mom and sisters.

The excitement at watching them grow and offer a cooling shade, a wind barrier and freeway-noise blocker has become hampered by the fact that all the "growing energy" for these trees has gone into creating what the horticulturists call "suckers." They are tiny trees growing out of the roots from the big stem, the main trunk. Those tiny sprouts suck the energy out of the growing capacity for the 'big' tree, and you have to pinch them off, or hack them down continuously.The last pruning resulted in Chris punishing those wayward sprouts with a hedge trimmer.

Metaphorically I just can't help but connect this to my life. Here we are trying to be a big, sturdy tree that offers food, protection, comfort, and beauty. Next thing you know our lusciousness is hindered by this sucker that comes in the mail to be paid, and this other sucker that pops up over there and demands attention.

Recently, I've had a lot of suckers popping up in my soils. Unexpectedly I had to have another surgery to remove a bunch of polyps from my uterus before we could move forward with our family building plans. We went in for an ultrasound to begin our next attempt at creating life, and left with a surgery booked. Now my uterus is growing suckers too! They weren't just suckers....they were mother-suckers.

I now have several bills coming in from two different surgeries, explanation of benefits sheets spread all over....the confusion of which insurance has covered what and which bill matches which EOB, Suckers here, suckers there, suckers everywhere!

My family experienced the loss of my grandmother recently. Couple that death with our miscarriage...that's a big sucker.

The constant dread of dealing with suckers has somehow taken over lately.

What happens if I embrace these suckers? If I stop trying to prevent them, and hack them down, and stress over their existence? I googled "Chokecherry tree care" and found lots of discussion threads. People shared their experiences and successes at pruning down a chokecherry to remain a tree. Others however shared that they let the suckers join in the growing, and although what they had envisioned to be a tree, a sturdy dense hedge formed instead. Those that successfully ended with a tree stated that it took a long time, and a lot patience, and constant care.

What was my goal again? Bird attraction, shade, noise -blocker....could a hedge do that just as well or better? Should I let these suckers grow and embrace them instead of fighting them?

Well, I can't just let the bills "grow" I have to deal with them. Unexpected medical issues...grief...I have no control over those things. Those suckers will just have to grow up around my trunk. They will meld together to create a sturdier base. When the next Nevada wind storm rips through my yard those sturdier bases will help my tree stay rooted in the ground.

Ezekiel 17:5-6

"He also took some of the seed of the land and planted it in fertile soil. He placed it beside abundant waters; he set it like a willow. "Then it sprouted and became a low, spreading vine with its branches turned toward him, but its roots remained under it. So it became a vine and yielded shoots and sent out branches.

Applying for a Baby Quest Foundation Infertility Grant: 15 Tips from a Veteran Recipient

Applying for a Baby Quest Foundation Infertility Grant: 15 Tips from a Veteran Recipient

Tacked to the wall were hundreds of baby pictures. Twins, some triplets, mostly singletons. Photos that were beginning to show signs of aging, curled at the corners. Babies in outfits that came straight from the 90's. Poor kids. Dressed in plaid 'skorts' and denim from head to foot for the whole clinic to see. I walked by these same photos every appointment. Sometimes they filled me with hope. I'd smile and think of all the miracles that were made right here in these sterile rooms. Other times, I'd grimace, and grit my teeth. How many women didn't get to put a baby on the wall?  

Dr. Whitten came into the room, offered his kind smile and drinks...No thanks Doc. Not unless it's two fingers of the hard stuff. We were here to discuss the next steps. 3 intrauterine inseminations, 1 surgery to remove endometriosis and a cystectomy, 6 more intrauterine inseminations of which some were canceled mid way due to eggs growing on the wrong ovary....all failed. "You will need Invitro Fertilization." I knew what this meant. He just signed the death sentence to our dream of having children. We didn't have any more money. Or valuables. Or credit. We were just informed that $12,00 to $15,000 was the ticket to a baby. Maybe. If it works. 50% chance. I was not really in a good place emotionally. (Click here to read my post The Infertility Hell Under the Rug, the prequel to this post).

Our insurance covered none of the previous treatments of IUIs, and they weren't going to cover an IVF either. Something about it being a 'lifestyle choice' to have children. I have plenty to say about that...but will save it for another time.

That night I found Baby Quest Foundation. www.babyquestfoundation.org A 501c(3) charity that provides financial assistance to people needing help to start a family. It was a new charity, and the site must have only been active for a few days, otherwise I would have found it before. I read through it voraciously. A woman named Pamela Hirsch and her daughter Nicole, started the charity after Nicole experienced infertility at its worst...miscarriages leading to a surrogate. Over the next few days, I worked on the application, getting the information from the doctor, and Chris wrote a beautiful essay telling our story. We sent off the package and waited. 'Hurry up and wait' is always the game you play in infertility land. About a month later, we received an email from Pamela asking us to please call her since Baby Quest was going to reward us with a grant.
 
I felt my inner Whoopi explode right out of me. It was a tremendous day.

Through the generous gift of a grant we were able to conceive Noah. My Lucky Charm. He was delivered on March 17, 2013 (BTW his photo is the Baby Quest banner as seen above). Over the last several years I have stayed in close contact with Pamela. She is on my speed dial. We bounce ideas back and forth to bring more money into the charity, to get publicity, and to help others like me. There are two main branches on this charitable tree, one is the applicants and recipients of grants. Those who need help. The other branch is fundraising efforts. The generosity of others to provide the financial support needed. Therefore I am directing this post towards two different audiences. You might be on the receiving branch and want to apply. Or you might be on the giving branch. Even if it is $20. Those donations add up. If you want to give please go to www.babyquestfoundation.org and click "Donate Here." This charity is run by volunteers only. Almost every dime goes to an applicant. Few costs are incurred in running it. If you want to apply for a grant, please keep reading. I'm going to give you some insider tips. Things I learned through our application process, and things I have learned from participating in the charity.

15 Tips for a successful application

1. This charity does not discriminate on race, geographic location (within US) and family type. Therefore if you are a part of the LGBT community, you are in the right place.
2. Read the website. Read the entire application process, familiarize yourself with the deadlines, and forms. 
3. Mail your application in BEFORE the deadline (May and November). They receive hundreds of applications. The committee starts reading them as soon as they come in. Nevertheless, tons show up right at the last minute....in big 'ol piles. Now in my mind, I want mine to stand out. I would want mine to be the only one that came in one day, and get all the attention to itself that night. Right? 
4. Don't ask for a signature of receipt from the post office. All this does is cause problems when picking up the application. If mail is checked when the post office is closed....then your application won't be looked at until Monday. The charity sends out email confirmations within a few days of receipt. Make sure you receive this confirmation. This will assure you that Baby Quest has your correct email and that your packet was received.
5. Write your email CAREFULLY on the application form. Print if necessary but print CLEARLY!
6. Don't forget your application fee. Your application will not be processed and it will be a waste of your time and energy putting it together. Baby Quest accepts personal checks or cashier's checks. NOT money orders.
7. Be HONEST. I remember trying to make our application show our need. When filling in how much money we needed and how much we had to contribute, I wondered if we put nothing in the contribution box would it show us as more needy, or if we could contribute a couple thousand would that make it look like we didn't really need the help?  The truth is, the less you ask for, the more likely you have a chance. About 2 weeks after sending in our application, I found out from my clinic they qualified us to receive a 25% discount. I wasn't sure what to do with this, as it changed the amount we would need. I called Baby Quest and told them the updated information. Little did I know, this moved us up in finalist ranking. 
8. Keep Baby Quest updated on changes! If you get a discount, if you are successful and get pregnant...etc.
9. If you own a 'second home' or rental properties, or a BMW, or go on a cruise every year to 'take a break from your treatments' etc..you are probably not in the same financial hardship as many others. Try to show in your application the sacrifices you have made to pay for your infertility on your own. For example, we sold this Jeep, used the money for treatments
   
    and instead my husband drove this old POS Ford that he bought for $500 and did some backyard mechanical work on to get it running. True story. Sacrifice.
   
   My point being, if you have a rental property AND your home. What do you think the committee will think??? 
10. Do not start your essay with "We met in highschool and...blah, blah, white picket fence"....etc. It is cliche. Too many others do the same thing. 
11. If you are not selected, do not send scathing emails or phone calls showing your anger. It is natural and normal to feel anger when your hopes are let down. However, many times applicants are chosen the SECOND time they apply. So be nice. Don't exclaim "How could they be more deserving than us?" This is the hard part. Everyone is deserving of their dream. Sometimes decisions are not about who is more deserving, but about how much money there is to give, how much money different folks need, doctor success rates, what medicine Baby Quest can get donated, and willingness of applicant's clinics to negotiate discounts.
12. Research your clinic's success rates. If you are seeing a doctor with very low success rates, and there are others in your general area that have better rates, communicate if you are willing to switch doctors. If you need suggestions on other clinics. Ask. 
13. Get your doctor on board with you for applying for the grant. MOST doctors are willing to work with the charity to negotiate a discounted price. Your doctor may be more willing to help out a little if you have shared with them your entrance to the applicant pool. 
14. Creativity is appreciated in your application, but don't go overboard. Scrapbook, photobook and super crafty ideas are not necessary, they only take up much needed space in the Post Office box, and become hard to copy. Photos are also not necessary, but are extremely helpful. Once again, don't over do it, 2 is a good number. 
15. If you are not selected, ask for feedback. Call or send an email and ask for suggestions. These are people who know A LOT about the infertility world. They are exposed to so much and have knowledge that only a wider perspective can provide. Taking their feedback might help you if you decide to apply again. 

To this date Baby Quest has 10 babies born, 10 pregnancies (3 sets of twins!) and 8 new recipients who received grants May 2015. The charity has given over $200,000, and has negotiated $300,000 in donated services and medications. They have given grants to several same sex couples, couples undergoing IUI, IVF, and FETs, Those who have suffered through cancer, or needed surrogacy and egg donations, and even egg freezing for a teenage girl with advanced ovarian failure! I recommend reading all the amazing stories about the recipients on the web page, as it is quite inspirational and encouraging. Don't feel like you have to have this crazy, movie material story in order to be chosen. We were just a teacher, and ex-military man working his way through college, that couldn't get pregnant.

 Please comment with questions you have about the application process.

Also feel free to connect with me through reading my other posts. I love connecting with those living this same struggle. You might also 'Like' Baby Quest Foundation on Facebook to show your support!

Look for my next blog post on Baby Quest Foundation and my adventures with The View!

Baby dust to all,
Amanda

The Infertility Hell Under the Rug: A Miracle That Saved Me

As I deal with the emotions I struggle with each day, I try to flashback to 3 years ago before my first miracle to remind myself of before. The picture in the words below show me in my most vulnerable state. The bitterness, the anger, and pain a woman feels in this situation is often hidden under her rug. Swept away when company comes, it is embarrassing to that woman. Please give her grace.

 I crumpled to the bathroom floor. Eyes streaming…unbelieving. I stared at that damn stick, showing only one pink line. Again. I hated these sticks. The whole process of using them. Anxiously carting myself to WalMart, perusing the brands, Maybe E.P.T this time…but First Response is cheaper, and I can get three sticks in one box…Seeing the mother of three dragging her children past the toy aisle. Eyeing the teenage girl, belly protruding from under a shirt with “Hello Kitty” splashed across the front. Shooting daggers at the employee on her cigarette break as she scratches her blue-clad baby bump. Watching the family clicking through the tiled produce section obviously wearing their Sunday best from church….one quick errand before heading home from the service.

Church. I hated that process now too. “Let’s turn to the congregation for prayer requests…” What am I supposed to say? It’s not like raising my hand and asking, “Please pray for my cousin in Afghanistan” or “My uncle goes for another scan this week, pray the cancer is gone.” Those are the kinds of prayer requests that are accepted and expected. I can’t say, “Pray for me. The damn stick was negative for the 48^th month in a row. I’m a jealous creature who hates other women who are ripe with child. In fact, I’m desperate and angry. So angry with God, that I think I hate him too.” I can’t say that. Those old women would “tsk, tsk, tsk” look at me bewildered. Confused….Did she just say she hated God?

Chris and I had been trying for years. We had undergone multiple treatments. Wiped out our savings account…several times. Had surgery. Had garage sales….what else do we have that we can sell? We had prayed. Attended church, politely asked for prayers from others. None of it worked. I was to the point that I couldn’t speak about God without the sarcasm slipping into my voice. Why had he done this to me? Why did he create me, a soul who loved children, became a teacher even, then refuse to give me my own child? What did I do to deserve this? Is it because we had premarital sex? Is this my punishment? Forgive me!

This month was the last shot. The 9th intrauterine insemination. The doctor had informed us the only other option was Invitro Fertilization. $15,000. We had nothing left. No choices. No money. No patience. No hope. No faith. Only pain and tears and resentment.God had sure showed me. He stripped me down. He humbled me. He forced me to turn to him. I couldn’t turn to the bank account, I couldn’t turn to the doctor, I couldn’t just work harder, get a moonlight job, sell more trivial junk from the garage. I had no choice but him.

I begged. On that bathroom floor, I poured out my heart. I asked for forgiveness. For mercy. For help. For healing.

Soon after I was directed (by whom? God?) to a website that I hadn’t come across yet in my addictive midnight googling for answers. A brand-new charity called BabyQuest, was offering up grants to help pay for treatments. It was a long shot…but hey, we tried everything else. Chris and I put together an application and mailed it off. Waited, checked emails…prayed.

The day we heard from Pam at BabyQuest, was the day I knew God hadn’t abandoned me. This was going to be done His way. BabyQuest was a prayer answered. A mother of two girls who struggled to create their children, woke up one morning thinking how unacceptable it was that fertility treatments were a solution only for those who could pay up. She launched BabyQuest, and we were her first chosen couple. With her help we scheduled the big tamale. We underwent IVF. We allowed God to just guide us.

Now, I sit here on the couch, computer on my lap, trying to finish this story, eat, and fold this basket of laundry before my son, Noah, wakes from his nap.

Did BabyQuest make this happen? Or did God? Did He lead Pam to start this charity? Did he humble me, and guide me to find BabyQuest? We will never know what happened behind the scenes. But I do know that I am healed. I am a mother, and I am happy. My faith is paramount to what it was, and I am ever grateful. BabyQuest Foundation was a gift to us from God, and my answered prayers.

http://babyquestfoundation.org/

Stay tuned for my next blog post on more information about Baby Quest, and tips for being chosen as a recipient!

Photo Credit: Rug http://claire-marsh.com/sculpture/

Image of Noah Taken by I Spy Photography https://www.facebook.com/pages/I-Spy-Photography/219612748060806

Cycles of Nature: Miscarriage Recovery

We drove through a recent area damaged by forest fire. Looking across the landscape at skeletons of trees peppering the once beautiful landscape. Hacked down trunks lay on the forest floor, barren of much foliage. Black scorched sides of others still standing was a stark contrast to the backdrop of green healthy mountainsides set afar. How sad. I thought to myself. I wish our lands were protected from this damage. I wish people would be more careful, as so much of this ruin is senseless...due to people's irresponsibility. 

But the truth of it is...wild fire isn't always a bad thing. The density of tree growth can cause the underlying foliage to falter in growth due to lack of sunlight. The soil becomes stripped of its nutrients and new generations of seeds can't begin their life. A fire comes along and creates more fertile growing capacity because the heat of the fire strips the nutrients out of trees and plants and replenishes the soil composition. New growth begins, the soil is restored, and the cycle of nature continues.

Cycles of nature. We learn and accept from a young age that the moon sets each night, followed by the sun rising, the seasons continue their pattern, tadpoles turn to frogs, and caterpillars to butterflies. As we age we learn about other cycles....children one day become their parents caregivers, life leads to death and so on.

Today, I intimately learned about other cycles in nature. Natural selection at the core. A built in biological population control, so to speak. Results of our genetic testing came back and we met with the doctor this afternoon. Our baby, a boy, had an extra chromosome. Number 7 to be exact. As it was explained to me, when egg cells go through meiosis and split their cells, then match up with a sperm cell with the other half of those split cells, a healthy embryo is created. Sometimes, meiosis doesn't happen correctly, this particular egg didn't actually split it's number 7 chromosome. Therefore when matched up with the sperm cell it ended with three chromosome sevens. We were told that research shows that even in the healthiest most perfect eggs from the most fertile women....about 1/3 of the eggs have chromosomal abnormalities. It is so common. This baby would never have made it. Even if the pregnancy lasted and the child was born into the world, he would have died shortly after. Missing major portions of brain, or other critical body parts.

Knowing this information has done several things. It's releasing me of the guilty feelings. (click here to read my version of the stages of grief).  I didn't cause this miscarriage. It would have happened no matter what. Knowing the science behind it, and the commonality of this genetic mishap, has made me come to peace a bit. 25% of pregnancies end in miscarriage, and the doctor said it is likely higher than that because so many pregnancies go undetected. Knowing that most of those are caused by the mis-matched socks of genetics makes me feel like it was more normal than abnormal. Also, I've come to acknowledge that this was the best possible outcome for us and this baby. I would rather have an early pregnancy loss than a late, or an infant loss.

This loss was our wildfire. It is sad. Has left an ugly landscape. But under the burned debris of a destroyed forest will be a new seedling sprouting and reaching for the sunshine. It will have all the nutrients it needs and all the light possible. It will grow and thrive and it will change the desolate looking land. It will be the hope and celebration of life, and it will be much more appreciated due to the fire before. I believe wholly that the forest within me will begin to heal and recover. My soils will be rich and the sun will shine brightly.
"These have come so that your faith--of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire--may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed." 1 Peter 1:7

Stages of Grief After Miscarriage in Real Time

Last week when doing laundry, a red bandana that was intended for the "dress-up box" I've been meaning to compile, somehow found it's way into the laundry. Along with a book, a cloth diaper, and a bottle of silver glitter nail polish. Obviously Noah was helping put things away, and in my rush to get chores done, I dumped the basket and all it's contents into the wash without much ado.
As you can imagine, red bandanas and vulnerable white clothing items in the wash together results in just what you would expect. Pink tinges. Pink cloth diaper (So sorry Bear Bums Diaper Service), pink  t-shirts, onesies and socks.

As I maneuver my way through the day-to-day tasks of this new reality of mine, trying to stay engaged with my job, my husband, friends, and especially Noah...I find myself all the sudden incredibly upset, for what would appear on the outside, no reason at all. Logically I know my hormone levels are still out of whack. I know my emotional tea kettle has exceeded its pressure threshold. I know I'm really not upset because the lawn hasn't been mowed....even if that is the thing that sets off my whistler. I am fully aware that these overgrown grass induced meltdowns are external evidence of the shredded mess within. (Click here to see what happened).

Although I know being the "I'm going to research what's wrong with me" type has only led me and my trusty colleague, Web MD, to diagnose myself with rare diseases such as Neuroaxonal Dystrophies, causing more unnecessary stress due to the inaccuracies of my Google Doctorate's Degree.... I still do it. Behold, I was researching the stages of grief. My hopes were to determine where I was on the continuum and how far I had to go in order to achieve some sort of closure. How many more steps do I need to take to get this awfulness over with?

I have come to the conclusion that I'm either a bizarre case, or that stages of miscarriage grief must not be easy to outline in a "text-book" definition. Therefore I've been drafting my own stages in real time. I've come to determine that grief isn't just 'stages', or steps that you take until you become 'sober' again. Instead it's like the red bandana. It finds the vulnerable places within you, the purest, whitest places and tinges them. It permeates throughout the entirety and colors all that is good and clean with a shadow of the pain. It won't come out. It may lighten over time, and several washings, some heavy duty cleaner... But it will always be evident. At some point, these clothes will become put away, used for 'painting only' or just boxed up when they are out-grown. Then one day, they will resurface and the memories of red bandanas will rise to the top with them.

Here are the stages I have experienced....but there isn't a clear beginning and end. They intermingle and come or go as they please.

The Numbness Stage. It doesn't seem real yet. You are sad, but as I tried to describe to friends....you feel like you are watching a very sad movie. You are outside of your body and watching, like a wall flower. It's not really denial as Kubler-Ross describes. It is touching something so hot you feel the intense burn momentarily but then the pain turns to numb. You know its going to hurt again soon. When your senses get over the initial shock.

The "What if" Stage. It is ever consuming. What if I hadn't gone to New York? What if I hadn't forgot to take my vitamins for a few days? I drank a cup of caffeinated tea every once in a while, and I was told no caffeine. I lifted a 27 pound toddler several times a day, what if I hadn't carried him around? The guilt tears you up. I'm partially praying for genetic testing results to report a chromosomal abnormality so that I can have something other than myself to blame.

The Sadness Stage. The numb begins to wear off, and the white hot pain sears in such intensity. Your heart feels broken. You cry yourself to sleep, when you are alone you cry while awake, and sometimes even when you aren't alone. Someone can habitual just say, "hey how are you doing?" The sorrow pours out, and they get more than they anticipated. Hopefully that person is caring and supportive and will just hold you and pat your back and help you return from the dark cloud you just got sucked into.

The Control Stage. About a month ago the lawn mower broke. Chris tried to fix it a few times, with not much luck. With the stress of our world lately the grass grew and grew until it was a jungle all around. So much is out of your control. Your body is out of control. Your emotions. Your plans are screwed up. You grapple for the reins on something. Simple house cleaning tasks, projects. Paying bills. Getting the lawn mowed. I tried to hire someone to come out and mow, I couldn't get any lawn service to call me back, I couldn't get a teen age kid....I was so desperate to get control of the yard that I ended up borrowing a mower from a friend, pushing it across Robb drive and down our street like it was a stroller. I primed that motor, and pulled and pulled the cord....couldn't get the damn thing to start. I just lost it. A total meltdown. The frustration of not being able to control the big things was only exacerbated by not having control of the little things either.

Eff you. Eff you. And you can go eff yourself stage. This is the tea-kettle stage. The steam from all that sadness and lack of control builds up and the anger spews with a rumble and flash of lightening. Someone gets struck. Unfortunately, its usually the someone who loves you the most. Irritation, jealousy, and crazy hormones creates a nasty beast. I'm sorry honey.

Between all of these is the Pretend Stage, which fills in the gaps, pretend you are okay and move along with your life. Nobody wants to continuously be around someone who is such a hot mess....so you have to fake it sometimes.

I don't believe my rendition of the Grief Model is complete. Likely I will add a few more stages before I get to a "healed enough to function well again" place.... but I need to finish the laundry story.... as I was shaking out, folding and putting away, pink and not pink clothes, I discovered sparkly silver glitter subtly decorating each piece. It made me smile. Maybe amongst all the pink tinged grief that losing this baby has caused,  I will be able to find the silver glitter. The sparkle that life does provide.

Breaking out of Baby Jail

I had a terrible nightmare last night. I dreamed we were at our follow up appointment with Dr. Whitten. We arrived to the clinic, sat across from this nurses counter and she pulled out a half-formed skull the size of a plum. The doctor came in and proceeded to explain that we lost our baby, not due to chromosomal mishaps but because I had something wrong with my heart. I needed a pacemaker and I also had something wrong with my baby making machine and so I needed an "IVF pump" which resembled an insulin pump.

Upon waking I knew immediately that there was no such thing as an IVF pump, and possibly it represented the copious amounts of hormones Chris has been injecting me with. There is something wrong with my heart though. It's broken. I have lost my baby. We have lost my baby. Our baby. When something is a part of YOUR body it feels like it's yours, your arm, your leg, your heart. I have to remind myself that I'm not alone. It was ours. We made it together. Chris, and I....and the doctor that is.

After a successful Frozen Embryo Transfer, we were 9 weeks pregnant. Having gone through 7 years of infertility, leaving us with one beautiful and healthy child, and four frozen potential babies, I thought we had our success formula all figured out. We knew our struggle was getting that positive test, but carrying a child I was good at! No worries after we got to that point. Well. I was wrong. Miscarriage can happen to me too. Just because we struggled on the first end, didn't mean we had hit our ratio of "bad things" in the baby making department.

We are now 6 days post D&E surgery....yes that's an E. I didn't even know there was such a thing. E means evacuation. My baby was evacuated. It sounds awful. It is awful. We are 10 days past the world stopping its spin, when we found no heartbeat. I'm going through the motions of each day. "Faking it till I make it."

Each day I perseverate on something different, and those thoughts stick with me the entire day. I'm in a jail cell. The bars holding me in are guilt, and anger, and 'what ifs?' I'm learning a lot about myself through this grieving process, and yes I think I will come out of this a better person. However, right now, I'm a horrible person. The guilt is consuming.

People say to me, "It will be okay." I know they are right. I know it will turn out. I know God has his own plan and this is part of it. Somehow I have to close the gap between where I am at right now, and to that place of 'okay'ness. I'm such a planner that I want to organize out on the calendar my grief and my steps moving forward. Being faced with the reality that it doesn't work that way is forcing me to address the loss in a different way.

I plan on riding writing through the storm. My hopes are through this blog I can grieve, I can learn, I can document. I want to break out of Baby Jail.