I look for you everywhere

Dear Baby,

You were so content riding in the cart at the grocery store. You kept looking at me and that now familiar sense of love and joy washed over me. You have your dad's eyes and long eyelashes. You have his sly, mischievous grin. Your calm, cheerful demeanor is your dad's too. Maybe you'll grow to be sensitive and determined like me. Maybe you'll be generous and thoughtful like your dad. Maybe you'll be freakishly picky about all things food like both of us. Maybe you'll have your dad's math skills and my reading skills (we can only hope it's not the other way around!).

But you're not in my cart, baby. You're in that other woman's cart. And those traits that remind me so much of my husband could have come from your mom for all I know. You're not mine. You're not my husbands. Why do I keep seeing you everywhere?

It's been 32 months since your dad and I opened our hearts to your arrival- 43 months since we've been married. You see we were worried in the beginning that we wouldn't have enough money to provide for you the way we wanted to. We worried that I wouldn't be able to stay home during the day and take care of you. Because of all our worries, we tried to avoid pregnancy those first 11 months of our marriage. Now we wonder if we hadn't of been so cautious and plan obsessed, would you be here today?

You see my dear baby, around the 11th month of our marriage, your dad did the math and said he thought it'd be okay if you arrived in nine months- that I'd be able to quit my job and spend my days taking care of you. My heart nearly jumped outside of my body with excitement. I went right over to my friend's house and told her you might be here soon! She was so excited to meet you too and told me what a good mom I was going to be.

I thought about how much fun you were going to have playing with all the kids in our neighborhood, how so many of them would be around your age. I thought about how I needed to take better care of myself to give you the healthiest start possible. I went to W.hole foods and bought the most expensive pre-natal vitamins I could find. I stopped drinking caffeine and alcohol. I ordered Dr. Sears' 'The Baby Book' and read all about pregnancy and childbirth. I even decided I would try to have a natural birth. I had always said I would have all the pain medication they could give me, but with the thought of your impending arrival, I had a new love in my heart- like nothing I had experienced before- and I thought for the first time, "I can handle the pain", because I so wanted you to have the very best start possible.

That month, I wondered a lot about whether or not you'd be making your debut soon. I googled every little thing I noticed going on with my body and without fail- every time-  I found at least 10 sites or message boards that said A B or C was an early pregnancy symptom! My anticipation only grew greater!

On a hot July day, I drove to W.algreens in a flurry, and awkwardly bought my first pregnancy test. I remember feeling worried about what people would think- if they could see I was married or if they thought poorly of me. I don't really know why I was so worried about other people, I guess was still a little immature.

I got home and ripped open the package with an indescribable euphoria. So many thoughts raced through my head. "How would I tell your dad?" "Did I still have time to go to his favorite bakery and buy a special cake with the announcement written on it?" "How long did I need to wait to tell everybody else?" "Crap, I think I did have some alcohol in the past 2 weeks, could I have hurt you?"

I followed the instructions and waited a few minutes to read the result. Only one line. That meant 'not pregnant.' But it just couldn't be right! What about all that stuff I read online? I threw the test in the trash and took another one. Same result. "Maybe it just takes longer than it says," I thought as I pulled the first test out of the trash to see if the result had changed. There was a faint line. I could swear. I quickly began googling and all the message boards said 'Congratulations! I had a faint line and my son/daughter was born 9 months later.'

But it only took a day or two for my hopes to be shattered- my period had arrived. I let a month or two more pass before I called our fertility care practitioner (the lady trained to read the charts of my cycles and see if anything problematic might be going on). She said it was normal for things to take a few months and recommended a couple supplements, which I purchased immediately. At the end of that month I knew something was wrong and went to my doctor.

I don't want to bore you with all the details, my dear baby. The doctor thought a few things might be off and gave me some medicine she thought would help. When it didn't help your dad and I argued about what to do next. Your dad was really worried that my doctor was missing something. He thought that if we could just find that missing puzzle piece, you'd be here any day.

We went to see a specialist who does many things that aren't in line with our beliefs. She was supposed to be the best. We thought we could get her help with finding out what was taking you so long and then go to a Christian doctor for treatment. We could never bare the thought of having you frozen and graded and treated like a product. You mean too much. I spent that month getting poked and prodded nearly every day. I hated all the examinations but I wanted answers. I wanted you in my arms. So I asked them for more tests. I knew there was a problem. They'd find it. We'd fix it. And you'd be here.

We met with the doctor in January and she told me in no uncertain terms there was nothing preventing your arrival. She said you'd be here within the year. And then she offered us chemicals if we wanted to "hasten your arrival." I wanted you here pronto, but what she was saying made no sense to me. I knew in my soul she had to be wrong. I started to cry. She clearly thought I was silly and told me to go see a therapist. I told her I knew there was something keeping you away. She said it just wasn't so. We left- your dad with renewed optimism- and me with a broken heart.

You weren't here and I knew there was a reason. I went back to my other doctor. I kept asking for more tests. Eventually, my persistence paid off and the doctor realized I might have endometriosis. She sent me to a surgeon who agreed. I was so excited we were closer to an answer! I knew you'd be here soon now. I lamented to the surgeon that I just didn't know what I'd do if I didn't have endometriosis because I just had to know what was holding you back.

Surgery was only a couple weeks later and your dad sat with your grandma in the waiting room. He would never admit it, but your grandma said he was really scared. Your dad really loves me and he thinks he needs to hide his feelings to be strong for me. The surgeon came out and told your dad he had never seen so much endometriosis in someone so young. As soon as I woke up, I asked what they found and when we could again open our hearts to your arrival. The doctor said we need only delay a couple of weeks.

Six months went by and still no you. I wrote a letter to a doctor far away to see what he thought. I found out I would need another surgery. I wasn't scared because I just wanted to meet you. But then I needed 4 more surgeries. And I started to get scared. I began to fear the pain. I began to fear what might happen to me. I wondered if I'd die of complications from the anesthesia. There were days I could barely move I was in so much pain. I was angry at everyone. I was angry at the doctors for not giving me enough medicine. I was angry at your dad- for just trying his best to help me. I was angry at every pregnant woman I saw for having what I couldn't. During this very dark time, I found it especially difficult to pray. I tried to make a habit of asking Mother Mary to pray for me every time I walked past her statue in our living room. It was during the most painful period of my recovery that I walked passed Our Lady and I heard you cry out to me, "keep fighting for me, mommy."

How could I give up now? Every month I stick myself with needles and let strangers prod me with strange devices. I miss hours- sometimes days of work- to do seemingly trivial things the doctors tell me will help you get here.

Most of my days are spent fighting for your classmates. I don't know how to tell you this, but there are some mommies and daddies who don't think there children should be born. Even when they're already on their way, the mommies and daddies think about hurting their babies. I feel sad when I hear their reasons because a lot of them sound like the reasons we avoided welcoming you into our hearts. But I swear to you, baby, we would never hurt you. Most of the time, I feel powerless to help you get here. But Our heavenly Father has given me a little bit of influence when it comes to your friends' arrivals. When I talk to these pregnant women, I wonder if they aren't carrying your future spouse. I wonder if they aren't thinking about ending the life of your best friend or teammate. A lot of the time I want to tell them, "you will never regret your child's life! But if you end their life, you will forever regret the hole in your heart only this baby can fill." I'm not allowed to say those things though. So I try to listen.

And a lot of the time, I hear your voice, "keep fighting for me mommy." And because I know you will care about your peers, I know you want me to fight for them. And even though I have no more say in when you get here, I can fight for you. I can love the mommies and daddies I meet and help them to love the babies they haven't yet met. I can see you in their eyes and in the eyes of the babies I meet. I will keep fighting. I will keep loving. I am already your mommy. I care my sweet baby. I care. Even if I can't show it in the way I want to. I care. And I will answer our heavenly Father's call. Maybe you know when you'll get here. Maybe you don't. Could you pray for me? I am praying for you. I am holding you in my heart. I am seeing you everywhere. I love you.

"I look for you everywhere the stars, the trees, the whispers in the wind the reflections in the water the sunrising and sunset. And I will keep looking."

Opinions needed!

I had my CD 4 ultrasound today. It is intended to make sure my LUFs from the previous cycle have resolved before I take any other fertility drugs. As usual (thank God! and progesterone!) the LUF from last cycle is gone. However, I have over 13 follicles already and 2 are already over 1 centimeter. The US technician was surprised I wasn't on Clomid based on how stimulated my ovaries looked. Does anyone know what to make of this??? (FYI I had wedge resection for PCOS in 2012). My doctor is likely swamped with more urgent things and hasn't told me what to make of the US and cycle review yet. I worry about what this means for the quality of ovulation and if PCOS is back with a vengeance. 

Physical pain relieved, spiritual pain increases

Surgery left me with more pain than I was expecting and I ended up on a high dose of narcotics for a month or so. Stopping the pain pills was a challenge of its own. Thanks be to God, I never developed a psychological addiction to the medication but I did develop a physical dependence on it. When I stopped taking it- despite my efforts to gradually reduce the dose- I developed withdrawal symptoms. I barley slept for 7-10 days, I had a racing heart, restless legs- essentially I felt like I was on the verge of a panic attack for over a week. I did some research on the neurochemistry of narcotic withdrawals and it seems the symptoms are caused by an excess of norepinephrine, which plays a key role in the body's fight or flight response. This would explain my panicky feelings. The week spent getting through the withdrawal was hell. As a mental health professional, I like to think I have empathy for those struggling with addiction, but this experience undoubtedly gave me a new perspective. I realized I am very guilty of taking the struggles of those dealing with addiction for granted. I've been quick to blame addiction on a moral failing or a lack of will power. Though addiction is a complex problem, the physical component is very real and very powerful. The severity of withdrawal symptoms is related to the length of time the substance was used, and the time I was on narcotics was relatively short. I cannot imagine dealing with more intense symptoms than what I experienced. I found myself thinking, "I completely understand why people take their own lives." It was that bad. And I know it is a million times worse for so many others. I wanted to crawl out of my skin. I wanted the terrible feeling of my heart and mind racing to stop and there was little to nothing I could do about it. My doctor did agree to prescribe Clonidine- a medication commonly used to curb the anxiety caused by opioid withdrawal- but lucky me, the medication only increased my symptoms. I am finally feeling better and very grateful for it, but I'm struggling with feeling as though I've come unglued. Throughout the struggles of the past month, I've neglected my prayer life. I feel guilty and overwhelmed by the degree to which I've failed. I know God brought me through this struggle but I don't understand why God is allowing me to feel so spiritually discouraged right now...

Through the darkness

Written February 2013 I prayed fervently on the drive to work this morning. I asked God to give me His strength. I told Him that I feel the aching reality of my humanity- of my limits. I am in the trenches and He seems to have withdrawn His consolation. The devil however, has reared his ugly head quite a bit lately.  

I received some particularly challenging news about my health this Tuesday.  I've been having quite a bit of pain along with other weird symptoms.  An ultrasound confirmed that I had 2 complex ovarian cysts and my ovary was enlarged to almost 3 times what it should be. I have a significant family history of ovarian cancer and the doctor was quick to inform me they would normally be quite concerned about cancer with something like this, but because I just had surgery it just can't be (apparently it doesn't grow that fast).  He did say that we need to repeat an ultrasound in 3 weeks and if things aren't looking better surgery will likely be necessary.  This would mean my 4th surgery within a year's time. I can honestly say that another surgery doesn't scare me all that much.  It would likely be a quick procedure and pale in comparison to the long long surgery I had in December.  What does scare me is that we will be in this state of limbo forever.  I had a knee-jerk reaction when he mentioned surgery. I told him to just "take everything" so we can be done with this and my husband will come to terms with the fact that we'll never have biological kids and we can finally move forward with adoption! 

Of course I didn't completely mean what I said.  If there is no medical reason necessitating the removal of "everything" then I would, of course, never pursue such a drastic procedure. The part I did mean was the part about adoption. I am so ready to adopt.  I feel like I have been ready to adopt my whole life.  Ever since I learned there were children without loving homes- and before I understood where babies came from- I reasoned that people shouldn't have anymore babies if there were babies without homes. I promise I was not a mini secular humanist, it was just my childlike mind trying to address the reality of suffering children. My husband is not opposed to adoption but is not ready to consider it at this time.  I have to respect where he is at.  I cannot pressure him to move forward with a life-changing decision he is not open to making.  God has put adoption on my heart and I have to trust that he will open my husband's heart to this miracle if it is His will for our family. It would however be "easier" if I could move the process along by "forcing" my husband to come to terms with our infertility- say through the dramatic loss of my reproductive system. There is just something so painful about ambiguity.  I grieve and then hope. Grieve and then hope. Grieve and hope. There never seems to be a moving forward- a moving beyond. 

And so this news from the doctor left me feeling pretty raw.  I was sad, discouraged and confused.  The rest of the day, for whatever reason, the raw hideousness and heart-wrenching evil of abortion was made clear to me multiple times throughout the day through various random and seemingly unrelated events.  It truly felt as though Satan was taunting me. The cruel irony of having my infertility weighing so heavy on me while also being bombarded by the cruel reality of "unwanted" babies being slaughtered.  I had already been feeling ill-equipped to serve the clients at my work since returning after my 6 week recovery.  I had been feeling brain-dead and incoherent.  Now I was feeling like God was allowing me to see in a profound way the dark reality of abortion.  He was allowing me to feel the weight of my cross, that of struggling with infertility and being surrounded by women who are pregnant with babies they don't want. 

I prayed fervently on the drive home from work today.  I told Him how tired I am.  I told Him how scared I am.  I told Him I just don't know if I can do it anymore.  


In many of the trials of life we are told by well-meaning people to focus on the light at the end of the tunnel.  Infertility doesn't seem to be a situation where that kind of advice is helpful.  There is no "getting through" this because there may never be an "end" to this trial.  We may never become pregnant.  We may never know that we will never become pregnant.  We may never adopt. We may never know that we will never adopt. There is no amount of work we can do that can bring this dream to fruition and there is little reason to expect the ambiguity we wade through at this time will be miraculously parted like the Red Sea.  I just don't know but perhaps that's what God is asking of me now. To sit in the uncertainty, like He did in the Garden of Gethsemane, praying, "Father, if it be your will, let this cup pass from me."  Even though Christ knew he was called to suffer for humanity, He experienced ambiguity in the garden. He had to sit in the uncertainty of God's will, while his closest friends simply fell asleep. I have to believe that this unknowing- this being stuck in the land of uncertainty is part of a call to union with Christ. There's something a little bit easier about knowing what pain is coming your way- it's the anxiety associated with the unknown that I find the most debilitating. If Christ was called to suffer this anxiety, than why not me?