Never forgotten

A year ago, I felt lost and forgotten. Two particular memories have been on replay over the last few days.

Memory #1

It was the second day of Arbonne's training conference. It also was the day I was scheduled to take a pregnancy test after our first month trying to conceive after Olivia.

The past several days felt like others' pregnancies and my loss were thrown in my face. Not in any sort of personal way. It's just tough to escape other people's fertility when you're in a crowd of several thousand women. Pregnancy was everywhere I looked.

The first thing I noticed when I opened my eyes that morning was that boobs weren't sore anymore. The day before they were KILLING me. And I was SOOOO sure this was it.

I knew what small, painless boobs meant -- but I didn't want to believe it. I took the test anyway -- and to my chagrin discovered that I was also spotting. And of course the test was negative.

I cried as I took a shower and got ready, but tried to keep it together as I rushed to the meeting. Within minutes of sitting, a video started playing.

The face of a well-known Arbonne consultant filled the screen, her arms cradling a tiny bundle. This woman had recently given birth to her baby, and the baby had been in the NICU. She was just sending the video to let us know that "OF COURSE" her baby was OK. And that she missed being with us that year.

Arbonne had NEVER played anything even remotely like that in a training session before -- and I was completely caught off guard. Thanks to my loss, and to the losses in my pregnancy loss support group, I happen to know that a baby's health can never be taken for granted.

There is no "OF COURSE" when it comes to life and death.

So, I did what any reasonable, PMS'ing, grieving woman would do. I rushed out of the stadium seats, practically crawling over my teammates' legs, and beelined it to the first open bathroom stall. Where I proceeded to bawl like a baby for the next 30 minutes.

"GOD!!!" My heart screamed in my chest. "Have you completely forgotten me??? Are you seeing this? Don't you care?"

My eyes remained bloodshot the rest of the day, and most of my perfectly applied eye makeup had run down to my chin in a grotesque Picasso kind of fashion.

I managed to keep most of the tears at bay for a better part of the day -- but then the moment my dear friend's mom asked how I was, the tears erupted yet again. We had a party still to attend, so I mopped up my newest Picasso painting, and applied as much makeup as I thought might cover up my pain.

When I think back of this journey of grief -- there are just certain days where the pain in my heart wasn't just a dull aching, or a generalized sadness. There were days where I literally felt like my heart was ripping in two. That was one of those days.

Memory #2

Another time of frustration in the first months of grief revolved around a gift (of all things.) My lovely sister Sarah sent me an acorn to plant in memory of Olivia. It would eventually grow into a huge weeping oak.

At least, that was the theory.

For 3 months, we watered that stupid acorn faithfully. But as each week passed, there was nothing. Nothing. Just a dead acorn to commemorate my dead daughter. Really, 1-800-FLOWERS -- really? I guess it seemed appropriate. Olivia's life was supposed to grow just like that tree into a magnificent creation. But life it seems, sometimes just likes to be cut short.

On March 2, 2012, I walked by that stupid acorn. And here's what I saw:

The start of a beautiful tree.

Life had started.

I didn't know it at the time. (I couldn't have.)

The exact day our tree started growing, our special little girl was born.

 

Wasn't she adorable???

 

I didn't get to meet this little miss till she was almost a year old. During that time, we miscarried another baby, and had a failed foster placement. I truly thought I was forgotten by God.

But in His wisdom and love, He had already started to redeem my pain -- even as I was stuck in anger and disbelief. God had been actively working on his plan 6 months before we even got pregnant with Olivia.

Remember that day where my heart tore in two?

My baby was already almost 2 months old. I WAS NOT FORGOTTEN!!!


I don't know where you are at today. Maybe you are new in your grief. Maybe you're not 1 year out -- but 10 years or 20 years into your journey. Maybe you have received the gift of a child. Maybe you haven't.

No matter where you are, I want you to know that God has not forgotten you.

This week, I have been consumed with God's grace and mercy in my life. He has not taken away my pain. And even though He already had a plan, I fully believe God was with me every single step in this last year.  He cried every tear with me.

As my faith sometimes faltered, He patiently bore it without judgement, knowing that my eyes and my heart simply couldn't see what He could.

Today, as I go forward, I find that not only do I WANT to trust in Him, I am absolutely compelled to.

My God is very good to me indeed.

 

My arms are full once more.

One strange life

Life is strange.

Yesterday I sat in a meeting for foster care that was just a very weird experience.

I have to keep reminding myself that I am not taking anyone's baby. A baby needs a home, and we are making our home and family available to her.

Semantics, I know. But I must keep the metal tape deck playing to assuage the guilt that occasionally creeps in: "We are not taking a baby ... We are not stealing a baby ... We are not telling anyone else that they cannot have this baby."

We've been asked to love on a baby. And we are.

The whole foster-to-adopt scenario keeps me wondering, "Am I really old enough for this? And if I am, how did I get to this place? Could life really fly by so fast?"

Sometimes I still feel like the awkward junior high girl that doesn't fit in, and wonders if she ever will. I still feel like the college girl who flitted from coffee date to coffee date with friends, and whose life was wrapped up in papers, projects and potential husbands. I still feel like the girl with her first big job, thinking "Now I've made it!!" I still feel like the girl who got home from the hospital with a newborn, exhausted and overwhelmed, bearing the weight of 5 lbs 11 oz of sheer responsibility, wondering how in the world I had was supposed to care for this tiny creature.

I still feel like the bereaved mom who carries with her the sadness of having her babies die.

I guess I've never really shed those other girls as time marched on. They've just morphed and gotten more complex as I add to my life experience.

And now I'm adding on the girl who finds that the desires of her heart are being fulfilled in unexpected ways, and wonder if I am really be mature and old enough to run a household, take care of kids (plural!!!), and go through a (fingers-crossed) adoption? Is this really happening?

It honestly feels so surreal to have your life just change so quickly. Just a few weeks ago, I posted pictures of an empty crib, certain that it would forever remain a mausoleum of baby blankets and stuffed animals that had nowhere else to go.

And now that crib is full most nights with this cute little girl I can *almost* call mine. My hope and dream to adopt that I've had since I was a young girl now has a face, a name, and the most kissable cheeks you've ever seen.

The time of transition has gone quickly, and I found it to be both good and trying at times.

It's like when you're pregnant... There are days where you are happy and glowing, and you enjoy showing off your baby bump to all the world, wrapped delightfully in the latest belly hugging fashion.

But then there are the days where your reflux won't stop refluxing, your sciatic nerve feels like it has struck a nerve, and though you are completely exhausted, your big belly and aching back revolt against the idea of shut-eye.

Imagine, for me if you will, what it would be like to be pregnant when it's fun and convenient... Then for a few days when your body desperately needs a break, you could just go back to being not-pregnant ... Knowing full and well that your baby would be just fine, and you could resume the pregnancy in a few days when you felt better.


That's a little bit what transition has felt like to me. I've had the opportunity to be full-time mom for a few days at a time. But the full commitment hasn't quite sunk in yet, because for the last month and a half, I have to give her back. And I get a break to catch up on sleep, I go back to a normal schedule, and the housework I've invariably procrastinated on while she was with us finally gets done.

On days where she is with us, it is so much easier to accept this new reality that this is the way life will be because I'm all wrapped up in the joy of who she is.

It's on the days where she is gone when I struggle. I remember what it's like to just care for one, and wonder if I'm crazy for wanting to expand my life with a baby.

When she's here, I can't seem to keep the house picked up or laundry done (not to mention putting food on the table) ... And I really wonder if i'll ever have a clean home, or dinner ready at a decent hour again.

I am trying to give myself some grace. Trying to remember that when Maddy was born, I always felt behind in laundry, and grocery shopping was a big event. That things were cluttered and messy for a time as our household grew and stretched to accommodate all the gifts, baby gear, and furniture that came along with our new addition, until finally everything had its place and it felt like she'd always been there.

While our new little miss isn't very new... She's new to us. And we have the same growing pains as our hearts, household and schedule all stretch to accommodate her and everything that she brings.

But there is so much joy in her presence in our lives. I find myself holding her little tiny body so close to mine, and kissing her soft, squishy cheeks. We play peek-a-boo, and make raspberries, and pretend to cough and sneeze, all in hopes of making each other smile. I snuggle her soft, sweaty body each night as I rock her to sleep, and think there must be nothing more peaceful in this world, than rocking a sweet baby who seems to know you and trust you. And everything feels right again.

No matter if I'm ready or not ... Little miss will be moving in in just 2 short days!!! I hope that in the next few weeks, I can start to figure out a routine. I can start to figure out who this new me is who is a mom to 2 on earth and 2 in heaven.

And I hope I can put in the background some of those other "mes" that so often clamor for my attention... And my self-doubt. Because as much as I tend to be introspective... The truth is, it's not about me. And it never really was.

Change

It's really a very odd experience bringing a child into your home from someone else's home.

I love this little one. And, most days, I'm very excited.

Other days, I feel sad that she has to go through this. I feel sad for her first family, even as I recognize that it was a choice. (But then I wonder how much of a choice is it really, when they feel that God is leading them in this direction?) I feel slightly overwhelmed at times trying to figure out the appointments, paper work, and rules that I need to follow.

We are in the middle of transition right now (where she goes back and forth between homes). Whenever she's not with us, I miss her. And I'm so happy to see her again when she comes back. But then toward the last day that it's time for her to go to her first family, I realize that I'm looking forward to the break.

Not so much a break from HER. Just a chance to go back to what is normal and comfortable with me.

Her time to move in permanently (or as permanently as it gets) is approaching, and I find myself both excited and terrified. It is easy to get swept up in the beauty of loving a baby. It is hard when you realize your priorities must shift. The way you organize your time. And even the attention you give to the rest of your family and friends.

A baby changes everything.

As wonderful of an addition she is, it's going to take us some time to adjust before things feel normal.

Maddy is loving having a little sister, and she's adjusted better than we thought. She also, seems to feel more "stressed" toward the end of our time. Maybe not stressed -- maybe just jealous. Like, "well, having a sister is fun. So when can we give her back and you can focus just on me again?"

She also doesn't seem to completely understand what is going on, and why.

The other day in the elevator, she turns to a complete stranger and tells him "Oh, this baby isn't ours. Someone just gave her to us."

As much as I want to correct her, but I guess on the level she understands, that's just about right.

(And I know you're probably wondering what that guy was thinking. I was too. He gave me a quizical smile, but before I could come up with the right words to explain the situation, it was time for him to get off. I think I secretly was hoping he wasn't dialing the police or anyone, thinking we had stolen a baby!)

Many people have commented on how happy I look when I am with her. And I am. I am very very happy.

But honestly, I'm still sad. I'm sad I missed her first year. I'm sad this little creature is on this journey at all. I still miss Olivia and baby Lewis. I wish both of them were here, and I knew them both. I'm still sad that I'm not sure if we'll ever have one of our own.

Pregnancy/baby announcements hurt less. So does walking through a baby aisle. But when a character on a TV show this week gave birth, I found myself crying.

It's a weird path that I feel that I'm walking.

In other news, I need to find a new counselor. Not because I want to (because I don't.) But she feels like there's a better counselor for me who can help me more -- so, off I must go (dragging my feet.)

Also, I went to see my rheumatologist yesterday. UGH. What a disappointing experience. He just looked at me like, "so, why are you here?" He didn't feel like he had enough lab work to come up with any diagnosis (if there is any.) When my miscarriages came up, he simply dismissed them with an "oh, that's normal."

I wanted to say, "Well, next time your kid dies, I hope someone tells you that's normal."

Instead, I just kept my lips sealed.

He ordered about 10 more tests, and I'm supposed to get an x-ray on my lungs the next time I have chest pain. (Which I've had two episodes of chest pain since my appointment yesterday, but I don't really want to go in. Well, I don't really want to pay for a chest x-ray -- that's really the issue.)

I was told the appointment would take about 40 min. Instead, he was with me for MAYBE 10, and I felt really on edge the whole time. He never asked if I had questions, and rushed me out the door for bloodwork, and literally almost ran out of the door to head on to his next patient.

I got a call back on the bloodwork, but when I called back, I was put on hold for 15 minutes. After that, I just gave up. Maybe I'll try again tomorrow. Or maybe not.

OK, I think that's all the updates from me. OH -- this post wouldn't be complete without some pics. :)

Answers? Or -- maybe not.



Looking at the ocean and sky always reminds me of God's bigness,
and that He's always in control.
Image from: http://photos.alphacoders.com/photos/view/9959

 

 

You may remember me saying that I just KNEW my hormones were off.

Turns out, I was wrong.

They weren't off at all -- they were perfectly within the normal range. And I don't mean they were on one extreme or the other of the normal range. They were right, smack dab in the middle of normal. My hormones are the average of average.

GRRR.

I think that should have made me feel better, but it certainly didn't. Not that I WANT something to be wrong with me, but I absolutely believe something is ALREADY wrong with me, and I just want to know what it is so I can fix it.

Thankfully, 6 weeks ago I scheduled a doctor's appointment so I could go over all my questions.

And boy, did I have a lot.

Here was my list I went over:

• Anti-depressants:
• Anxiety
• Weight loss
• Exhaustion
• Definitely depressed, but need a new prescription.

• My miscarriage in October:
• Any affect on my fertility prognosis?
• What about my low progesterone during that pregnancy?
• Why did my baby not develop, but I made it to 8 weeks?
• Is there still any chance it was ectopic?

• Hormones:
• I feel imbalanced. Skin broken out, low sex drive (Sorry if tmi), horrible PMS, short cycles, lots of spotting and weird bleeding. How could I NOT be imbalanced?
• Do I need to be on birth control?
• Do I still need a progesterone supplement?
• Was the timing right on my hormone testing?
• Is there a chance I have a leutal phase defect?

• What other tests can we run:
• I just learned blood clotting runs in our family.
• Could it be my thyroid?

• Diet:
• Am I underweight, and could that be contributing to some of my issues?
• Am I eating too few calories?
• Is vegan OK?

• Future pregnancy:
• Is she OK that I'm going to be a high-needs patient?
• Will I need to do the quantitative hCG again? If so, is there a way that I could choose NOT to find out my specific levels unless I ask?
• Is there anything else she recommends I do that I'm not currently doing?

That was my long litany of questions, that Maddy (amazingly) played through very well, in spite of the fact that my appointment already started an hour late.

My Dr. was SUPER patient and acted like she had all the time in the world to go over all my questions. So here was the rundown of her answers:

• She took me off Zoloft, and put me on Celexa with a smaller dosage, in hopes of counter balancing some of the anxiety the Zoloft caused.

• With my miscarriage, she doesn't feel that it puts me in the infertility realm -- although she said she would refer me to a fertility doctor in case I wanted that. (Since my insurance does NOT cover infertility at all, we decided that was not an option.) She did not say why my progesterone was low, but did say she thought either it was a bad egg or bad sperm and something was just not going right there. She felt very confident, however, that the baby cleared my tubes and did implant in the right place this time.

• As for my hormones, she went over all my numbers and the averages, as well as my ultrasound pictures of my (empty) uterus with my last pregnancies. Everything hormone and uterus-wise looks pretty normal. She would be OK with me taking progesterone again, and did not feel I had a leutal phase defect.

• She looked at my charts, and did confirm that I was ovulating regularly, albeit early in my cycle. The bleeding and spotting I'm having is NOT normal, neither is my crazy PMS, acne, etc. She didn't WANT me to have a thyroid issue, but thought that would be the easiest solution. She ordered that blood test.

• Since my hormones (regular though they were) were not being very nice to me, she said I either needed to get pregnant right away, or I needed to take a break for about 6 months and go on birth control in hopes of regulating them more. In order to help me get pregnant, she prescribed Clomid and gave me instructions on how to use that.

• With the clotting issues our family has, she said taking the baby aspirin every day wouldn't hurt.

• As far as my diet, I am underweight (I know, big shocker there). She said that my body might not have enough reserves to sustain a pregnancy, and so my body is sort of "going on strike" refusing to get pregnant if it doesn't feel it can sustain it. Her solution was to put ice cream in my protein shakes and add more oil, cheese, avocados, yogurt and full-fat dairy to my diet. While I will be trying to add more healthy fats to my diet, I must admit that this weekend I really just ate whatever I wanted.  I do miss cheese, so I don't think I will mind adding that back in for a little while. She said in most cases, she would be thrilled to have a patient come in and have a diet like mine -- however, in my case it's simply not enough. She wants me to gain 5 - 10 lbs. And so I am now on a mission to gain weight.

• As far as a future pregnancy, I really feel that she is fine with me being high-needs as was evident by the fact that she took 40 min with me, even though she just came from surgery and was an hour behind in her rotations. And yet I never felt rushed, not even for a moment. She still felt confident I could carry a baby to term. And she understood that the ups and downs of quantitative testing might be too much for me, and said she could instruct her nurses not to give me the numbers unless I asked. (But she would keep me in the loop as far as how things were generally going.)

At the end of the appointment, I let her know about the blood clotting family history. And as a side note (thinking it was irrelevant), I let her know that I was also made aware recently that I have a family history of lupus.

That seemed to set her on edge a bit, and right away ordered testing for an autoimmune disorder. Down for blood work I went, where the phlebotomist knew me now by name.

After my appointment, I felt so much better. Finally, I had some answers. I had the plan. I had the prescriptions. I felt ready to move on with pregnancy, and get this thing going!

But, as it seems to happen these days, having a plan doesn't last for long.

The next day, I got a message from the nurse that they needed to go over my blood work with me.

 Right away, I knew that wasn't a good sign. Usually, when things are fine, they just leave a message saying all is well. You only get told to call back when there is a problem.

I must admit I was hoping for a thyroid issue, as my doctor said that would be the easiest answer. But my thyroid was fine. Instead, my autoimmune panel came back positive for ANAs (anti-nuclear antibodies) and rheumatoid arthritis.

Of course, the nurse couldn't actually TELL me what that meant. She just said that I would be referred out to a rheumatologist, and my new doctor would contact me for an appointment and more testing.

I must admit, I cried when I found out.

It just seems that as I am on this quest for answers, I just keep stumbling upon more questions. It's like the journey toward answers is the same as the journey for grief -- you just keep going in circles, and when you finally think you've gained some ground, you realize you were right back where you started.

For several days now, I've known that I likely have an autoimmune disorder. Which actually makes HELLP syndrome, shingles at a young age, and my mononucleosis make more sense. It makes more sense why I've always been kinda "sickly." (ugh, I hate that word.)

But I don't know for sure that I do have a disorder, or if it's something else. Or if it's just a false positive. I don't know what kind of tests the rheumatologist will run. I don't know how that positive result will affect my fertility.

If I do have lupus, it will double my risk of preeclampsia (or so I've read). Will I be ULTRA high-risk now?  I don't know for sure though if it's lupus. I don't know if I am facing a life of chronic pain, or if it's just really no big deal.

I have no idea what to think. And since I'm already anxiety-prone, not knowing if I have a chronic condition that will interfere with my quality of life is stressing me out. It's so hard for me not to go down the road of what-ifs.

It also further makes me hate my body. I think my body is a baby killer, and I hate it for that.

So, I guess I will keep waiting for a call. And if I haven't heard back from the rheumatologist by Monday, then I will call Tuesday and see if I can go ahead and just set up the appointment.

Well, at least I had some answers for a whole day, right? That has to count for something.

Into the fog

In December, a fog settled in.

It doesn't want to leave.

When I look back to last month, it feels a little surreal. Like I wasn't really present for it -- even though I know I was. And I know certain days felt hard. But certain days were good, too. Even still, depression was with me no matter what my circumstance was each day. It has become a constant friend.

My sister and her family came for a few weeks, and I had quite a bit of time with them. And really, that was last month's only saving grace. The only light shining through the fog, helping me stay on course.

As the new year approached, I was dreading it. Sure, it's a new start. But I remember having hope that 2012 would HAVE to be better than 2011. And now I looked to 2013 realizing I am even more broken than before.

Grief has compounded so I don't even know what I'm grieving anymore -- or who I'm grieving for. I just know that I'm broken. I cry almost every day. And nights are especially hard.

January has felt somewhat better than December. But only by a smidge.

I honestly thought I'd be doing better by now. I THINK my anti-depressants are helping. But I also think they are causing more anxiety, just as they did last time I was on them.

I feel like I'm juggling 20 balls in the air -- with a broken arm and a patch on one eye. I feel emotionally handicapped and unable to function normally.

I don't mean to be a Debbie-downer. I don't mean to say that my life is horrible and you should feel sorry for me. I just seriously don't know how to function right now.

I am trying to make some changes that hopefully will help. First, of course, is starting the anti-depressants. I'm just finishing my first month -- so I know that it still might take a while to fully feel the effects.

I've decided to take a break from Facebook for a while. I think I'm addicted to checking it, and I'm on it far too much. It's become a crutch. I told Ryan today I think it's like the woman's version of video games. Gaming fulfills a need in a guy to conquer -- Facebook "fills" a woman's need to connect and feel important.

I put "fills" in quotes because I don't really think my life is all that much better now that I have Facebook. I don't feel "fulfilled" after time on Facebook. I would certainly argue that having it available 24/7 on my phone has actually made life less enjoyable. I feel a compulsive need to check it. I check it while I'm with other people. I check it while eating breakfast with Maddy. I check it while watching movies with Ryan.

I remember my life before my smartphone, and I actually remember being more present with people. How much better it would be for me to focus on talking with Maddy during breakfast than browsing my newsfeed and reading about what everyone else is having for breakfast and doing with THEIR kids.

Recently, I thought -- man, I'm glad my mom never had a phone in her hands all the time. I'm glad when I was a kid I didn't have to compete with a device.

Maddy should never have to compete with a device.

Not that FB has been ALL bad. Or that I regret everything about it. But I do regret how dependent I am on it. I want to reclaim my life pre-smart phone.

In addition to a phone/FB fast, Ryan and I have decided to go church shopping.

No, there hasn't been some scandal to spawn this change. I just need a change. I need to be fed. I need to connect and belong. And I need to have some say over where I want to do that.

As a family, we had been contemplating this change for several months, half-committed to looking, and half-committed to staying because staying is always easier. Really, the last thing keeping me tied to our church was singing on the worship team. I loved being a part of the worship team. Singing with them is the only thing that ever made me feel like I belonged.

In December I was asked to step down from the worship team because I was not faithfully attending the services. At the time, it hurt. But now I see that maybe it was God's way of severing that last little tie binding me to a church that maybe isn't the best fit.

So -- for the first time in a LONG time, I don't have a church to call "home." That makes me both sad, and a little excited.

It seems to me that the more I experience life, the less I realize things are either ALL bad or ALL good. Usually there's just enough of the good in the bad to make you wonder if it's really bad. And there's usually just enough bad in something good to make you wonder if it's good enough.

I digress.

In addition to the other changes, I've been reading some good books. I'm reading "Love & Logic," which I'm enjoying. It's important to me that I raise an emotionally healthy child. I think I'll try the "emotionally intelligent child" book after I finish this one. Although Madelyn has gotten much easier  to parent as she's gotten older -- she is still definitely a high-needs, high-attention child with insomniac tendencies, a strong will and a short fuse.

As sweet as she is, she's still a tough cookie to parent.

I also read "To Heaven and Back" which I would recommend. It's about a surgeon's near-death experience. I used to not put much stock in near-death experiences -- but after reading "Heaven is for Real" and learning about my own grandma's experience when she died last year and was revived, I'm much more of a believer. I have found much comfort in knowing that death in itself is not something to be feared. The author has also experienced the loss of a child. So I could relate.

I'm seeing my therapist more. For a while I felt like we were just going in circles -- we'd talk through everything that happened the previous week -- which was needed -- but I felt like I wasn't making any headway on tackling my bigger issues like anxiety, depression and low-self-confidence.

We've come up with a game-plan to manage our time together better. I'm hoping I'll make some more headway soon. She's a really amazing person, and I'm so very thankful to have her to talk with every week.

One last thing that's been helpful. We had the chance to watch a precious little baby last weekend. It was so amazing. I told Ryan it was the happiest I can remember being in the last year. He told me that it was the most stressful (ha ha!). 

I will say I slept HORRIBLY that weekend. Not because of her -- she was a great sleeper. It was me, worrying that she'd stop breathing, or something would happen to her while I slept. So only got between 3-4 hours of interrupted sleep a night while she was with us.

Even still, having her was the best.

I know that saying I NEED to nurture a baby doesn't always compute with people, or even with myself. I remind myself that all my basic human needs are met -- and that I have Maddy to nurture.

But sometimes you don't always know you need something until it's been satiated.

You know that feeling when you've been starving all day, you sit down to a feast of deliciousness, and that hunger is finally satiated with absolute contentment? That's how I felt rocking and singing a baby to sleep. Totally filled up and at peace.

We might be able to watch this baby again in a few weeks, and I simply can't wait. It's one of the few things I feel like I have to look forward to.

Ryan and I have to decide this month if we are going to try for our own baby, or if we are going to wait for foster care. I know it's in God's hands whether we conceive or not. But if we are going to have a placement soon, I don't want to complicate that by being pregnant already or by going through another loss.

Sometimes it feels like neither decision is the right one.

So -- if you're  of the praying sort, please pray for God's wisdom for us. Pray that I can navigate the fog, and for Ryan's patience as I try to get through it. (He, by the way, has been very good to me through this.)  Pray that God either fills this need in me or takes it away. Pray that God would protect me from another loss, because I don't know how I could handle it. Or just pray for us in whatever way God leads.

Love to you all. And sorry for the uber-long post. Brevity isn't a strength of mine. :)

Rachel

Making peace

Pregnant with Maddy.
Is it even possible to look back at a picture of yourself and be jealous?
It must be. Because that's how I feel sometimes. I'd give anything to be her again.
She had no idea how good she had it.

I'm not sure what to make of my pregnancy history these days.

Before this season in life (aka loss and possible fertility issues), I had a very difficult pregnancy. At the time, I thought it was the worst pregnancy you could ask for.

Morning sickness for 9 months, a miscarriage scare, threatened premature labor, bed rest, preeclampsia, HELLP syndrome, heart rate issues for baby, emergency c-section, symptoms of ptsd, postpartum depression + horrible acid reflux in baby = one stressed out momma.

Then 2012 happened.

I realize now that my pregnancy history really could have been worse. Much worse. I could have left my first pregnancy with empty arms. Or I could have not had the experience at all.

I could have not been a mother.

I could have been a mother by definition only -- but be denied the very act of mothering my child.

Every memory in the last four years could have simply never been. Just like that.

Just. Like. That.

Before Olivia, I looked at my pregnancy with Madelyn and felt mostly fear. What if I had died? What if she had died?

Now I feel mostly shame.

I hadn't wanted to be pregnant. Not yet. When the test came back positive, I cried like a baby, and blubbered some incoherent nonsense to Ryan. "We're going to have a boy, I know it. He'll grow up, and when he's a teen, he'll get a girl pregnant, and then we'll have a teenage pregnancy on our hands. What in the world will we do then?!?"

Yes. Those were my real (oh-so-rational) words.

(Any wonder why I don't think it's a good idea to make life or death decisions when pregnancy hormones are ridiculously raging?)

I didn't understand why God chose me for this baby. Or more specifically, why God chose THIS baby for me at THIS particular time. When so many women were infertile -- when more than anything they wanted a baby -- why "bless" me with a pregnancy when it really wasn't wanted?

I don't relay my initial reaction to you with pride. Instead, I'm ashamed of how I felt.

I'm ashamed at the time I spent complaining instead of thanking God for His miracle. I hate that it all felt wrong because of the timing -- never stopping to appreciate that Madelyn might have been my ONLY time to have a baby. I saw mostly the negative -- and very little of the good.

And the shame shadows many more memories. All my complaints, all my ignorant comments. All along knowing other people had miscarriages -- other people struggled with infertility. But I always acted in denial that said people could actually be my friends, my clients, or my coworkers.

I guess I assumed that if someone struggled with infertility or pregnancy loss, then I would know about it. Maybe I thought they'd announce it in the weekly staff meeting just as one announces a healthy pregnancy. Maybe I thought they'd wear t-shirts that said "I'm infertile. Be sensitive." Maybe I just thought I'd have a sixth sense and just KNOW when I was around someone who struggled with pregnancy.

But they didn't announce. They didn't wear the t-shirt. And my sixth sense was nonsense.

The truth was, these people were an invisible people.

And until my loss, I never knew how many invisible people there truly were.

At my Arbonne parties, I was occasionally asked if I had tried our supplements.  Before I became aware of these invisible people, I would quip, "Oh, I'm just awful at taking pills. That's why I have a baby!"

Ha. Ha. Ha.

Usually people would laugh. Or at least smile. But now I wonder... How many of those laughs were simply out of courtesy? How many women smiled on the outside, inwardly holding in tears, raging anger, or the saddest sort of jealousy for me? How many of them excused themselves to the bathroom for some solitude? How many others fought the urge to flee the "in-your-faceness" of my fertility?

How many women stared at my belly as I complained about nausea, acne, sciatic pain, bed rest, contractions, awful medicine and so on . . . willing their bodies to trade places with mine just to have their very own child?

My most shameful memory happened at Christmas. A few girls and I got together to celebrate. I knew very well that the hostess who had organized the party had been trying for a few years for a baby. Well, in my most brilliant moment (absolute sarcasm there), I figured we should talk about pregnancy since having a baby was clearly on this girls' mind.

Poor thing. I can only imagine how she must felt as we regaled our pregnancy histories and horror stories, all while she just sat there taking it all in.

I wonder now if she felt like a hostage in her own house. Sitting there silent while I imagine holding in a assault of emotions that batter her soul. And yet in her politeness and friendship, she said nothing.

If I had been in her shoes, I don't know if I would have been as gracious as she was.

I have never asked how she endured the evening. I did, however, apologize once I was on the other side of (in)fertility and ask for her forgiveness. She was very gracious to grant it.

As a Christian, I know shame is not to be a part of my life. Repentance for wrongdoing -- absolutely. But God does not call us to shame.

Nor does He call me to look back on all of my memories of my pregnancy wondering if, why, how and who, beating myself up for every hurt -- real or imagined.

I wish I could take every insensitive word or action away . . .  but I can't. I  wish I could have understood others' pain without personally experiencing it . . . but I couldn't. I want others to understand the deep sadness I feel, but they don't. Not unless they have walked through infertility or loss. And I would never wish that on them.

I cannot be bitter at others for not getting it -- because I didn't get it. Neither should I make myself relive every moment of past insensitivity and pour condemnation on myself. God had intended my pregnancy to be one of His greatest gifts to me. And I must see it as such.

The only real solution, I've decided, is to offer and receive GRACE.

Offering grace to others always. Offering grace to the old me who at times was a letdown to the new me. Offering grace to this new me as I walk on a journey I never would have chosen, toward a destination I can't yet see.

He giveth more grace as our burdens grow greater,
He sendeth more strength as our labors increase;
To added afflictions He addeth His mercy,
To multiplied trials He multiplies peace.

 

When we have exhausted our store of endurance,
When our strength has failed ere the day is half done,
When we reach the end of our hoarded resources
Our Father’s full giving is only begun.

 

Fear not that thy need shall exceed His provision,
Our God ever yearns His resources to share;
Lean hard on the arm everlasting, availing;
The Father both thee and thy load will upbear.

 

His love has no limits, His grace has no measure,
His power no boundary known unto men;
For out of His infinite riches in Jesus
He giveth, and giveth, and giveth again. 

 

He Giveth More Grace

by Annie J. Flint

 

 

Lord, of grace in me, please giveth, and giveth and giveth again.

 

Secondary infertility

A few nights ago, Maddy tells me she wants to get rid of our house.

"Why Maddy? Don't you like living here?" I ask.

"Mommy, I want to live in a different house. One that has kids in it -- you know -- friends? Who live there all the time? I want to get rid of this house, and live in a house that has friends."

Poor girl. She thinks it's the house.




You know that part of you that dies inside when you see a need in your child you can't meet? That crappy, helpless feeling when your little one is sick, and you can't make their hurt go away? Their best friend has moved, grandma has died, or a pet is suddenly gone?

And you just can't fix it?

I wonder if this is how an acquaintance of mine feels (on a much bigger scale) when her young children long for their father -- a dad who loved them dearly but unexpectedly passed away. I wonder if it's how women in Africa feel when their child is sick or starving and they can do nothing but watch as their child dies.

Now, I know Maddy's not dying. And you could argue that she doesn't "need" siblings. But it sucks to see a such a strong desire in her and feel completely helpless to do anything about it.

The night after the "house conversation," a friend of Maddy's was over. She was 3, and wanted to know why Maddy had 2 beds in her room. "Well, one is my bed," she answers, "and one is Olivia's."

Of course. After all, doesn't everyone have a sister in heaven and an empty crib in their home?



I read a blog the other day on secondary infertility, and it so resonated with me. Did you know more couples deal with secondary infertility than those who have primary infertility?

[Quick rundown: Primary infertility = inability to get pregnant or carry a baby to term. Secondary infertility = inability to get pregnant OR carry a baby to term AFTER having at least one live child.]

Am I infertile?

That's the question I keep coming back to. It seems to me -- and maybe this is just me -- that grief in pregnancy loss is complicated by the inability to get pregnant again.


If we ever get pregnant again, I don't think I will feel free to post on Facebook as some of my dear friends do about their pregnancy. Which is fine for them. But I don't think it will feel fine for ME.

I won't be posting about nausea -- because I remember how eager I was to be nauseous with my last pregnancies just so I could feel like my body was doing something RIGHT. I don't think I'll post on things that I buy for the baby. I won't be posting weekly updates. I'm sure I will eventually post SOMETHING for my friends and family who live far away. But it just won't be something I'll do a lot.

It's not that I won't be happy or joyful or want to celebrate. I just think I'll be a hermit about it. I think that as often as I'm pretty open about loss, I'll be pretty private about pregnancy.


I think part of it is because even as I don't know that I'm infertile, I certainly feel that way.

At this point, I would say I'm not just struggling with the loss of 2 children. I'm struggling with the loss of my hopes and dreams for my family. The loss of trust and confidence in my body to ever procreate again.


It feels like my body is only capable of producing false hope and chronic disappointment.

And because I know what that feels like, I would just want to protect some of my friends who might be in that place of hurt.

Then again -- maybe I'll still be blogging about it. I guess I'll just have to cross that bridge if we come to it.




JUST in case we are dealing with secondary infertility, I set up an appointment with my OB this month. I actually never had a follow-up appointment after our miscarriage in August. I don't think I really wanted to know what she would say. I think now that we are a few months out, I'm ready to hear it. (Whatever IT is.)

I know my hormones are out of balance. My skin has yet to clear up from my pregnancy with Olivia. (Super lame-o.) So -- what to do about it? She prescribed progesterone a while back, but I'm not sure when to start it in my cycle. I'm wondering if I'm going to have to go on birth control for a while to get things they way they should be.

I wonder if my losses are more than a fluke. I'm wondering still if my last miscarriage could have been ectopic. I need to touch base with her on my anti-depressants as they've been making me nauseous. And I want to know when (or if) we'll start any kind of testing.




Tonight Maddy and I prayed together as usual. But tonight I didn't ask God for a baby. (I didn't even ask Maddy if she wanted to ask God for a baby, which I occasionally do. I guess I secretly hope God would at least answer a prayer from a 4-year-old if He won't answer mine.)

Instead, tonight I just asked for patience as I wait.

That's really been on my heart these last few days as the new year approached. Giving up disappointment in this last year. Acknowledging that God has a plan. And trying to just accept that God has chosen not to give us a baby -- or a promotion -- or a foster child -- for whatever His reason.




So -- here's to 2013. I'm thankful this year has forever tucked away 2012. And before me is a year of scary unknowns. A year with potential in so many ways, for good and for bad. A year that I'm going to just have to take a day at a time -- because I think that's just about all I can do.

Maybe in 2013 we won't have to get rid of our house. Maybe -- just maybe -- Maddy will have some forever friends here to stay.