The questions are inevitable. We should all be used to them by now.
When you're single everyone wants to know why you're not dating. When you're dating they want to know why you're not married yet. As soon as you tie the knot, they want to know when babies are coming, and look out if this takes longer than people find reasonable. As soon as you have the first baby, and especially after he or she starts having birthdays, they want to know when the sibling will arrive. And so on...
I vividly remember the young anesthesiologist in the operating room when Anna was about to be born. It wasn't the guy who couldn't successfully administer the spinal block, nor the guy who came to relieve him and give me the epidural. It was the guy who was up near my head during the whole surgery, watching my blood pressure and vitals. Needless to say, after all the (painful) drama surrounding the failed spinal block I was not exactly in a relaxed state! But bless his heart, he was trying to make conversation and trying to take my mind off of things. He asked if this would be my first baby and I told him I had a 2-year-old daughter. Did we know the new baby's gender? Yes, another girl, I said. His immediate reaction was my new favorite question (not): Are you going to try for a boy?
I looked up at him incredulously and managed a chuckle, telling him I was pretty positive this was it for me. It was such a ridiculous time to ask such a question that I even heard my doctor laughing from the other side of the drape.
That wasn't the only time we've heard the question. Really, I do know that most of the time people don't mean to offend or be rude or nosy. But I can't help but wonder sometimes whether people actually think about these questions or what they may imply? To me, whether the following things are all intentional or not, the "try for a boy" question implies:
1. That we aren't satisfied with two girls.
Sometimes I want to shout it from the rooftops -- We are completely satisfied with two daughters! Both my husband and I are extremely grateful that God gave us children at all. We think parenting two daughters is an honor and a privilege. Their relationship with each other as sisters delights us on a daily basis. Even though we long ago imagined ourselves with girls, this does not mean we wouldn't have been equally grateful for or satisfied with boys. Children are a blessing! When you've been through the valley to get to your children, you don't sit around wishing that God had given you a different kind. You thank him daily for remembering you, for answering your heartfelt prayers, and for giving you your heart's desire. Our girls are precious and silly and hilarious and beautiful and fun! They are full of joy and full of life, and sometimes when I look at them I see a lifetime of sharing special moments with them as my daughters and my friends. And oh, when I see the sweet and special relationship they have with their daddy, it melts my heart.
2. That we're missing out on the ideal family by not having children of both genders.
I think there are some people out there who really think every man should have a son. That if he doesn't, he's missing out on a special bond. I personally think that's ridiculous. One family member who likes to joke around even suggested that my
husband wasn't "manly" enough to produce boys. WOW. That may be the dumbest "joke" I've ever heard. Long before we ever had children, my husband and I had conversations about all the fun things he'd love to do with his daughter or son. And guess what? They were the exact same things. Who cares if you're playing with tea sets or trucks? The memories we've made as a family watching movies together, going to the zoo or the park, playing outside, having tickle fights, and going for ice cream would look much the same if we had girls, boys, or both. Those are the things that matter, not whether their rooms have pink curtains or blue ones. It makes my heart soar that I have a husband who cherishes his girls. Friends, there is nothing in the world more "manly" to me than a man who is secure enough in his masculinity to have a tea party and play with dolls with his daughters.
We've all heard that singsong response that people give sometimes when they have a boy and a girl: "One of each! Now our family is complete!" I'm here to tell you that MINE IS TOO. God completed his plan for our family when he gave us our two daughters.
3. That having children is easy or that it's all about getting the children we want.
I don't mind one bit when a friend asks whether or not we might try to have another baby. Someone who cares about me and my family, who knows a little (or a lot) about what we've been through, is certainly welcome to ask me about my family's future plans. But I have a hard time when it comes from an acquaintance who just wants to be nosy, or if it's phrased like having another child is just a walk in the park. I understand that it is, for some. But for so many it's not, and not only is it difficult, it's also painful to talk about sometimes. We don't all have the privilege of deciding exactly how many children we want and then going on with our lives, sitting back and watching it all fall into place with relative ease and convenience. I'm always tempted to respond to the question with either "None of your business" or giving the whole, long story of our struggle with infertility and miscarriage and everything it took to get to where we are. We fought hard to get here.
I'll admit, it gets under my skin when I hear others go on and on about their preferences when it comes to having children. Is that really what it's all about? I understand having a dream of one day having a daughter or son, specifically. I totally get that. But I believe that the decision rests with our Creator and that he alone designs each and every family as he sees fit. It's up to us to be the best parents we can be to the children he gives us (and in whatever way, by adoption or biologically). Each family is different and unique and special, and that's what makes it all so great. Of course, during the twelve years that my husband and I were married without children, we considered ourselves a family then, too. Families without children are just as special.
Believe me, I love little boys! I have nephews who are so dear to my heart that it feels like they came from my own body. Little boys are wonderful and I'm so glad to have some really special ones in my life. But God gave us wonderful, special girls. We love them with all of our hearts. We feel no need to "try for a boy." We are done, but even if we decided to have a third child, we'd be perfectly happy with a boy OR another girl.
We are content and satisfied. We have two girls. And we are complete.
Showing posts with label God. Show all posts
Showing posts with label God. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Beauty For Ashes
Writing about the babies we lost helps me to deal with the continued grief that is always there. There are things, like the passing of time, lessons learned, and the births of my daughters, that have helped to ease the burden of those losses, but nothing can ever take the pain or the memories away. And I've come to terms with that. Remembering them is important to me, and the process of giving each of them names has been part of my healing process as well.
Revisiting those experiences, one by one, felt like something I needed to do. Recurrent pregnancy loss has been a huge part of my life. I've been married to my husband for 15 years, more than half of which were nearly consumed by miscarriage and infertility. There was a lot of pain there, but we've come a long way. For that, I am thankful. And I'm constantly amazed and grateful that, by the grace of God, our story didn't end there.
After we lost little Aaron Joseph, our sixth baby, we experienced a new form of anguish: unexplained infertility. The weeks and months and, eventually, three years went by with no changes. After six pregnancies in six years, it seemed there might be no more chances. While we had some renewed hope and a new doctor, we still didn't know exactly why the first six pregnancies had ended too early. I wanted another chance. I hoped and prayed for another chance. But I was also terrified. Those three quiet years gave me some perspective. The fog had cleared a little bit and enough time had passed for me to realize that I never wanted to go back to that horror again. I knew, however, that it was a risk we'd have to take if we were ever going to see that dream realized and that longing fulfilled.
Above all I always trusted that my God was in control, even when my circumstances felt totally out of control. He's in the miracle business. That's what He does! Beauty for ashes; joy instead of mourning; praise instead of despair. (Isaiah 61:3)
He had something wonderful in store, and it was just around the corner. I'm just thankful that I held on for it.
Twelve years after we were married, nine years after we started trying to conceive, and eight years after the first positive pregnancy test, we finally looked upon the face of our daughter.
Two years and two months later, we held another daughter in our arms.
I don't know why it all happened the way that it did. I don't know why there was so much pain before the beauty, but I suppose that's what makes it all the more beautiful.
Revisiting those experiences, one by one, felt like something I needed to do. Recurrent pregnancy loss has been a huge part of my life. I've been married to my husband for 15 years, more than half of which were nearly consumed by miscarriage and infertility. There was a lot of pain there, but we've come a long way. For that, I am thankful. And I'm constantly amazed and grateful that, by the grace of God, our story didn't end there.
After we lost little Aaron Joseph, our sixth baby, we experienced a new form of anguish: unexplained infertility. The weeks and months and, eventually, three years went by with no changes. After six pregnancies in six years, it seemed there might be no more chances. While we had some renewed hope and a new doctor, we still didn't know exactly why the first six pregnancies had ended too early. I wanted another chance. I hoped and prayed for another chance. But I was also terrified. Those three quiet years gave me some perspective. The fog had cleared a little bit and enough time had passed for me to realize that I never wanted to go back to that horror again. I knew, however, that it was a risk we'd have to take if we were ever going to see that dream realized and that longing fulfilled.
Above all I always trusted that my God was in control, even when my circumstances felt totally out of control. He's in the miracle business. That's what He does! Beauty for ashes; joy instead of mourning; praise instead of despair. (Isaiah 61:3)
He had something wonderful in store, and it was just around the corner. I'm just thankful that I held on for it.
Twelve years after we were married, nine years after we started trying to conceive, and eight years after the first positive pregnancy test, we finally looked upon the face of our daughter.
Two years and two months later, we held another daughter in our arms.
I don't know why it all happened the way that it did. I don't know why there was so much pain before the beauty, but I suppose that's what makes it all the more beautiful.
Sunday, November 17, 2013
Aaron Joseph
This is the sixth and final post in the series I've been writing about the babies we miscarried. The time felt right to give them all names and to revisit the experience one by one, as a way of remembering and as a memorial. I appreciate the opportunity to use this blog as a step in the healing process, and I'm grateful to those who have faithfully read along, commented, encouraged, and prayed. These precious ones will always be part of our lives. I'm honored to call them by name.
Emily Grace, Callie Elizabeth, Luke Daniel, Adam Louis, Agnes Faith, and Aaron Joseph
***
Just four months after we lost our fifth baby, I discovered I was pregnant for the sixth time on December 11, 2006. It was really soon but we felt like we surely must be close. We'd had dozens of tests run, discovered a uterine septum and had surgery to correct it, and were planning to try the progesterone supplements and blood thinners again. Since our specialist was an hour's drive away, we were working with my local OB/GYN for lab work and treatment in the early stages of the pregnancy.
Pregnancy number six would be another roller coaster ride. We spent a long time with things up in the air, not knowing whether it was going to work out or not. It was hard and it was emotionally exhausting. And it was all happening right around the holidays, which seemed to make it harder.
Early signs showed that the pregnancy was going well. The first HCG results were higher than my previous pregnancy, and the progesterone was high. I started the nightly Lovenox injections in my stomach right away. A week later, on December 18, the HCG was rising as it should be. We scheduled an ultrasound at a local imaging center on December 21 but were only able to see a gestational sac. It was a start, but we had to leave that day knowing we would spend the Christmas holiday with the big question hanging over our heads. Oh, how we'd been hoping to spend Christmas with the knowledge that our baby was okay and growing.
We decided to go ahead with our travel plans. Spending that time surrounded by our family seemed like a much better idea than staying home alone and worrying. We packed up a basket full of injections, put the progesterone suppositories on ice, and headed for Louisiana and the comfort of home and family. As soon as we got back home and the office was open, I called to schedule more blood work on January 2, 2007. HCG came back: 95,000! After a week and a half of waiting, it was wonderful news! We planned for an ultrasound and the doctor told us that we should be able to get a look at our baby with numbers that high. We knew better than to let ourselves start celebrating but we felt sure that we would at least have an answer, one way or the other.
The ultrasound on January 4 didn't go as we hoped. There was a yolk sac this time but still no growing baby. We knew it wasn't good but we continued to hope and pray for our miracle. Later that evening I had a little bit of bleeding. My heart dropped into my stomach as I thought it was the end. To my surprise, though, the bleeding tapered off and then quit. I had another lab appointment on January 9 to be sure the numbers were still rising. They were. It was ultrasound time again. It had now been a month of injections, desperate prayers, and worry. And hope. Always hope.
We returned to the imaging center on January 15. At ten weeks along we knew we should be seeing our baby. As soon as the image of the yolk sac was visible on the screen, we could see that there was still no growth. No flickering heartbeat. Just an empty sac. This pregnancy had been a blighted ovum, which is when a fertilized egg implants but doesn't develop into an embryo. Conception occurs and your body prepares for pregnancy, but the yolk sac remains empty and the baby does not grow.
I had a D&C on January 22, 2007. It was three days before my 30th birthday. There was no party, no big celebration. My sweet husband had arranged for many of my friends and family to send special cards and letters, which he gave to me in a big bag on my birthday. My mom came and made my favorite cake: chocolate with chocolate icing. We spent a quiet day at home as I recovered.
In a way, after six times, I'd gotten used to dealing with the tough news and even the surgery and recovery. But you never ever get used to the pain and devastation of loss. Each and every time brought such overwhelming sadness and disappointment. And guilt. You name it. There were so many emotions and unanswered questions. We had to accept that we would probably never have those answers this side of heaven. Our specialist told us with regret that even she didn't know what else she could do to help us. We knew we'd reached the end of the road with her. The call came from the OB/GYN who told us she didn't think we'd ever have a baby. I felt like I'd hit rock bottom.
There's a familiar expression that I think applies here: "Don't put a period where God has put a comma." That's how I felt. I wanted a second opinion. And honestly, if another doctor looked at me and said no, and if we felt God leading us to stop, then we knew we'd need to find the strength to put it all to rest. But I just couldn't let go until I knew for sure. One thing was certain that even I in my weakest times never doubted, though. We were going to be parents. We just didn't know yet if our family would grow through a successful pregnancy or through the gift of adoption.
The weeks and months (and eventually, years) that followed were hard. We found a new doctor in the big city and had our first visit with him on July 16, 2007. For the first time we truly felt that we'd found a doctor who had the knowledge and experience to help us. The best part was that even after all he knew about our history, he didn't think we were a hopeless case. After six pregnancies and six miscarriages in six years, we had hope again. And it would keep us going as we faced something we didn't expect -- three years of infertility. But that's a story for another day.
I love the name we've chosen for our sixth baby. Aaron is a boy name that we've both loved for years. Joseph is my father-in-law's middle name, and was also my maternal grandfather's middle name. While getting ready to write this post I looked up the meanings of these two names we'd already picked, and what I read confirmed that they were right. It's one of those things that forms a lump in my throat and brings tears to my eyes.
Aaron means "mountain of strength."
Joseph means "God shall add."
This pregnancy holds a lot of meaning for me. Looking back at it now I can see that it was in some ways both the end and the beginning. Of course I didn't know it at the time, but praise the Lord, it was our last miscarriage. It was the end of a very long and painful chapter in our lives. But it was the start of a new decade of my life -- my thirties -- and while one chapter (well, it felt like an entire book) was closed, another was opened. I can look back on it years later and remember the sorrow I felt while at the same time appreciating that the old was gone and we were right on the edge of a new, fresh start. There were two beautiful miracles right around the corner. God shall add. And He had been my mountain of strength.
Aaron Joseph,
We had so much hope for you, precious boy, but we know that you are safe with Jesus right along with your brothers and sisters. Thank you for keeping hope alive within us and for showing us that the Lord would be our mountain of strength. We love you and miss you so, so much.
Love, Mommy
Emily Grace, Callie Elizabeth, Luke Daniel, Adam Louis, Agnes Faith, and Aaron Joseph
***
Just four months after we lost our fifth baby, I discovered I was pregnant for the sixth time on December 11, 2006. It was really soon but we felt like we surely must be close. We'd had dozens of tests run, discovered a uterine septum and had surgery to correct it, and were planning to try the progesterone supplements and blood thinners again. Since our specialist was an hour's drive away, we were working with my local OB/GYN for lab work and treatment in the early stages of the pregnancy.
Pregnancy number six would be another roller coaster ride. We spent a long time with things up in the air, not knowing whether it was going to work out or not. It was hard and it was emotionally exhausting. And it was all happening right around the holidays, which seemed to make it harder.
Early signs showed that the pregnancy was going well. The first HCG results were higher than my previous pregnancy, and the progesterone was high. I started the nightly Lovenox injections in my stomach right away. A week later, on December 18, the HCG was rising as it should be. We scheduled an ultrasound at a local imaging center on December 21 but were only able to see a gestational sac. It was a start, but we had to leave that day knowing we would spend the Christmas holiday with the big question hanging over our heads. Oh, how we'd been hoping to spend Christmas with the knowledge that our baby was okay and growing.
We decided to go ahead with our travel plans. Spending that time surrounded by our family seemed like a much better idea than staying home alone and worrying. We packed up a basket full of injections, put the progesterone suppositories on ice, and headed for Louisiana and the comfort of home and family. As soon as we got back home and the office was open, I called to schedule more blood work on January 2, 2007. HCG came back: 95,000! After a week and a half of waiting, it was wonderful news! We planned for an ultrasound and the doctor told us that we should be able to get a look at our baby with numbers that high. We knew better than to let ourselves start celebrating but we felt sure that we would at least have an answer, one way or the other.
The ultrasound on January 4 didn't go as we hoped. There was a yolk sac this time but still no growing baby. We knew it wasn't good but we continued to hope and pray for our miracle. Later that evening I had a little bit of bleeding. My heart dropped into my stomach as I thought it was the end. To my surprise, though, the bleeding tapered off and then quit. I had another lab appointment on January 9 to be sure the numbers were still rising. They were. It was ultrasound time again. It had now been a month of injections, desperate prayers, and worry. And hope. Always hope.
We returned to the imaging center on January 15. At ten weeks along we knew we should be seeing our baby. As soon as the image of the yolk sac was visible on the screen, we could see that there was still no growth. No flickering heartbeat. Just an empty sac. This pregnancy had been a blighted ovum, which is when a fertilized egg implants but doesn't develop into an embryo. Conception occurs and your body prepares for pregnancy, but the yolk sac remains empty and the baby does not grow.
I had a D&C on January 22, 2007. It was three days before my 30th birthday. There was no party, no big celebration. My sweet husband had arranged for many of my friends and family to send special cards and letters, which he gave to me in a big bag on my birthday. My mom came and made my favorite cake: chocolate with chocolate icing. We spent a quiet day at home as I recovered.
In a way, after six times, I'd gotten used to dealing with the tough news and even the surgery and recovery. But you never ever get used to the pain and devastation of loss. Each and every time brought such overwhelming sadness and disappointment. And guilt. You name it. There were so many emotions and unanswered questions. We had to accept that we would probably never have those answers this side of heaven. Our specialist told us with regret that even she didn't know what else she could do to help us. We knew we'd reached the end of the road with her. The call came from the OB/GYN who told us she didn't think we'd ever have a baby. I felt like I'd hit rock bottom.
There's a familiar expression that I think applies here: "Don't put a period where God has put a comma." That's how I felt. I wanted a second opinion. And honestly, if another doctor looked at me and said no, and if we felt God leading us to stop, then we knew we'd need to find the strength to put it all to rest. But I just couldn't let go until I knew for sure. One thing was certain that even I in my weakest times never doubted, though. We were going to be parents. We just didn't know yet if our family would grow through a successful pregnancy or through the gift of adoption.
The weeks and months (and eventually, years) that followed were hard. We found a new doctor in the big city and had our first visit with him on July 16, 2007. For the first time we truly felt that we'd found a doctor who had the knowledge and experience to help us. The best part was that even after all he knew about our history, he didn't think we were a hopeless case. After six pregnancies and six miscarriages in six years, we had hope again. And it would keep us going as we faced something we didn't expect -- three years of infertility. But that's a story for another day.
I love the name we've chosen for our sixth baby. Aaron is a boy name that we've both loved for years. Joseph is my father-in-law's middle name, and was also my maternal grandfather's middle name. While getting ready to write this post I looked up the meanings of these two names we'd already picked, and what I read confirmed that they were right. It's one of those things that forms a lump in my throat and brings tears to my eyes.
Aaron means "mountain of strength."
Joseph means "God shall add."
This pregnancy holds a lot of meaning for me. Looking back at it now I can see that it was in some ways both the end and the beginning. Of course I didn't know it at the time, but praise the Lord, it was our last miscarriage. It was the end of a very long and painful chapter in our lives. But it was the start of a new decade of my life -- my thirties -- and while one chapter (well, it felt like an entire book) was closed, another was opened. I can look back on it years later and remember the sorrow I felt while at the same time appreciating that the old was gone and we were right on the edge of a new, fresh start. There were two beautiful miracles right around the corner. God shall add. And He had been my mountain of strength.
Aaron Joseph,
We had so much hope for you, precious boy, but we know that you are safe with Jesus right along with your brothers and sisters. Thank you for keeping hope alive within us and for showing us that the Lord would be our mountain of strength. We love you and miss you so, so much.
Love, Mommy
Monday, November 11, 2013
Agnes Faith
This is the fifth post in a series about our babies in heaven, all miscarried in the first trimester. The first four can be found here: Emily Grace, Callie Elizabeth, Luke Daniel, Adam Louis. Thank you for remembering them with me.
***
Every single loss is hard. Each one broke our hearts. It took a while for us to pick up the pieces after we lost our fourth baby. We thought surely, after finding out about the uterine septum and having it removed, we had figured things out and would be bringing home our baby. Instead we had another unfulfilled due date, in February 2006.
After the miscarriage we'd kept ourselves from the doctor visits. We didn't return until February, seven months later, for a consultation. Our doctor gave us a few suggestions that we could look into. It was good to have options, but it definitely felt a lot like grasping at straws. Try seeing a urologist for further sperm testing. Talk to a high-risk pregnancy doctor. Consult with a geneticist. Have lots and lots more blood work. (It's a good thing I'm not afraid of needles.)
My husband saw the urologist and was tested for sperm fragmentation. That turned out fine. No worries there. The high-risk pregnancy doc did some tests and thought we could try using blood thinners with the next pregnancy. My doctor was on board with this and we were willing to try it. The geneticist, after looking over all of our history, determined that she didn't think a healthy, full-term pregnancy was completely out of the question for us. Although we knew these were all just ideas and medical opinions, that was particularly nice to hear since our former OB/GYN would later call me on the phone and tell me that she thought I had a genetic problem that would prevent me from ever having a biological child. Wow. Talk about having the breath knocked out of you. Looking back I realize what an inappropriate opinion that was to give a patient, over the phone, when you aren't even qualified as an infertility specialist. Some days it truly felt like everything was working against us.
We knew the odds didn't look good. But we weren't ready to give up yet. There were many, many days when I thought about it. I felt incredibly weak. I was tired and discouraged, and depressed. It became increasingly harder for me to go anywhere and to face all of the questions about why we didn't have any children and what we were doing about it. Everyone had an opinion, a suggestion, and just the right answer for what we should be doing. They said we weren't thinking positively enough, we were worrying too much, we needed to take a break and relax. They said that this was all happening for a reason and that God wouldn't give me more than I could handle. And I began to hate hearing all of it. All of those words made us feel like we were doing something wrong; like it was my fault that our children couldn't survive in my womb. Or that God was trying to teach me a really hard lesson that I was apparently too dumb or had too little faith to grasp.
And so I started keeping it all inside and sharing as little information as possible with those people I knew didn't really care and were just curious. I stopped going to baby showers because it was just too hard. Even going to church was becoming almost unbearable. While I never turned my back on God, I definitely began to question His plan and wonder why this was happening to us, and why it happens to anyone at all.
Even in this state of mind, though, there was a determination inside of me. The desire to be a mother had grown, moving me forward and helping me to take another step, even if it felt small. I had a husband beside me who never gave up hope and always believed that we would have children. And through all of it, God really was teaching me new things about my weakness and His strength. He was teaching me about waiting and trusting and resting and hoping, and above all, about realizing that I serve a God who is infinitely bigger than my circumstances, my fears, and even infertility and miscarriage.
And so, after a new round of tests that revealed no obvious problem but with a few new options to try, we found out about our fifth pregnancy on July 27, 2006. With this pregnancy I began using daily Lovenox (blood thinner) injections in my stomach. Even with no fear of needles, it was a hard thing for me to get used to at first but became a bit easier as time went on. A blood test confirmed the pregnancy and we were back to waiting and hoping for good news. A few days later things were looking pretty good. The HCG levels were rising and progesterone looked good.
We were feeling confident. So much so that we made the (just over 2 hour) drive to Louisiana to celebrate my mom's birthday on August 6th. On Monday the 7th I went for more lab work. I felt hopeful as I waited to hear more good news, but it was not to be. The call would come later the next day, but before the phone ever rang I already knew. I woke up the morning of August 8, 2006 with cramps and bleeding, knowing I was losing the baby. I had been only about 6 weeks along.
It surprises me today to read what I wrote in my journal in the days after our fifth miscarriage. Somewhere inside I still believed it would happen and knew at that point that we would give it at least one more try. It might sound crazy but we suddenly had the feeling that we were getting closer. At that point it felt like we'd been climbing the mountain for so long that we must be near the top, even though we still couldn't see it. We had to be closer.
We've named this sweet baby Agnes Faith.
I know that Agnes isn't exactly a trendy name these days. While I consider it a classic, it's not one of those that is enjoying a big comeback. It was, however, my great-grandmother's name, and she was truly a treasure. She was the most precious, sweet, kind, gentle, French-speaking old Cajun lady that you could ever imagine, and we all adored her. My mom was particularly close to her grandmother, and Mom was always so pleased to have Granny's name, Agnes, as her middle name.
August 8th, the day I miscarried, was Granny's birthday. She passed away in 1999, but I have so many fond memories of her. There were exactly 101 years separating my Granny and my little Agnes. I'm incredibly honored to name my daughter after her and after my sweet mom as well.
My mom is amazing and has been such a huge supporter and great influence in my life, teaching me about faith and modeling the kind of mother I always hoped to be. When I think of the name Agnes, I have two wonderful and strong women who immediately come to mind. I like to think my sweet little Agnes would have followed in their footsteps.
Her middle name is pretty self-explanatory. Faith. It's something I can't imagine my life without and it's the number one thing that helped me through this struggle. Without my faith in God I don't want to imagine where I'd be today.
Agnes Faith,
Oh sweet girl, your name is very special to us and we love imagining what kind of woman you might have grown up to be. We miss you, sweet one, and love you so much! I can't wait to wrap my arms around you.
Love, Mommy
***
Every single loss is hard. Each one broke our hearts. It took a while for us to pick up the pieces after we lost our fourth baby. We thought surely, after finding out about the uterine septum and having it removed, we had figured things out and would be bringing home our baby. Instead we had another unfulfilled due date, in February 2006.
After the miscarriage we'd kept ourselves from the doctor visits. We didn't return until February, seven months later, for a consultation. Our doctor gave us a few suggestions that we could look into. It was good to have options, but it definitely felt a lot like grasping at straws. Try seeing a urologist for further sperm testing. Talk to a high-risk pregnancy doctor. Consult with a geneticist. Have lots and lots more blood work. (It's a good thing I'm not afraid of needles.)
My husband saw the urologist and was tested for sperm fragmentation. That turned out fine. No worries there. The high-risk pregnancy doc did some tests and thought we could try using blood thinners with the next pregnancy. My doctor was on board with this and we were willing to try it. The geneticist, after looking over all of our history, determined that she didn't think a healthy, full-term pregnancy was completely out of the question for us. Although we knew these were all just ideas and medical opinions, that was particularly nice to hear since our former OB/GYN would later call me on the phone and tell me that she thought I had a genetic problem that would prevent me from ever having a biological child. Wow. Talk about having the breath knocked out of you. Looking back I realize what an inappropriate opinion that was to give a patient, over the phone, when you aren't even qualified as an infertility specialist. Some days it truly felt like everything was working against us.
We knew the odds didn't look good. But we weren't ready to give up yet. There were many, many days when I thought about it. I felt incredibly weak. I was tired and discouraged, and depressed. It became increasingly harder for me to go anywhere and to face all of the questions about why we didn't have any children and what we were doing about it. Everyone had an opinion, a suggestion, and just the right answer for what we should be doing. They said we weren't thinking positively enough, we were worrying too much, we needed to take a break and relax. They said that this was all happening for a reason and that God wouldn't give me more than I could handle. And I began to hate hearing all of it. All of those words made us feel like we were doing something wrong; like it was my fault that our children couldn't survive in my womb. Or that God was trying to teach me a really hard lesson that I was apparently too dumb or had too little faith to grasp.
And so I started keeping it all inside and sharing as little information as possible with those people I knew didn't really care and were just curious. I stopped going to baby showers because it was just too hard. Even going to church was becoming almost unbearable. While I never turned my back on God, I definitely began to question His plan and wonder why this was happening to us, and why it happens to anyone at all.
Even in this state of mind, though, there was a determination inside of me. The desire to be a mother had grown, moving me forward and helping me to take another step, even if it felt small. I had a husband beside me who never gave up hope and always believed that we would have children. And through all of it, God really was teaching me new things about my weakness and His strength. He was teaching me about waiting and trusting and resting and hoping, and above all, about realizing that I serve a God who is infinitely bigger than my circumstances, my fears, and even infertility and miscarriage.
And so, after a new round of tests that revealed no obvious problem but with a few new options to try, we found out about our fifth pregnancy on July 27, 2006. With this pregnancy I began using daily Lovenox (blood thinner) injections in my stomach. Even with no fear of needles, it was a hard thing for me to get used to at first but became a bit easier as time went on. A blood test confirmed the pregnancy and we were back to waiting and hoping for good news. A few days later things were looking pretty good. The HCG levels were rising and progesterone looked good.
We were feeling confident. So much so that we made the (just over 2 hour) drive to Louisiana to celebrate my mom's birthday on August 6th. On Monday the 7th I went for more lab work. I felt hopeful as I waited to hear more good news, but it was not to be. The call would come later the next day, but before the phone ever rang I already knew. I woke up the morning of August 8, 2006 with cramps and bleeding, knowing I was losing the baby. I had been only about 6 weeks along.
It surprises me today to read what I wrote in my journal in the days after our fifth miscarriage. Somewhere inside I still believed it would happen and knew at that point that we would give it at least one more try. It might sound crazy but we suddenly had the feeling that we were getting closer. At that point it felt like we'd been climbing the mountain for so long that we must be near the top, even though we still couldn't see it. We had to be closer.
We've named this sweet baby Agnes Faith.
I know that Agnes isn't exactly a trendy name these days. While I consider it a classic, it's not one of those that is enjoying a big comeback. It was, however, my great-grandmother's name, and she was truly a treasure. She was the most precious, sweet, kind, gentle, French-speaking old Cajun lady that you could ever imagine, and we all adored her. My mom was particularly close to her grandmother, and Mom was always so pleased to have Granny's name, Agnes, as her middle name.
August 8th, the day I miscarried, was Granny's birthday. She passed away in 1999, but I have so many fond memories of her. There were exactly 101 years separating my Granny and my little Agnes. I'm incredibly honored to name my daughter after her and after my sweet mom as well.
My mom is amazing and has been such a huge supporter and great influence in my life, teaching me about faith and modeling the kind of mother I always hoped to be. When I think of the name Agnes, I have two wonderful and strong women who immediately come to mind. I like to think my sweet little Agnes would have followed in their footsteps.
Her middle name is pretty self-explanatory. Faith. It's something I can't imagine my life without and it's the number one thing that helped me through this struggle. Without my faith in God I don't want to imagine where I'd be today.
Agnes Faith,
Oh sweet girl, your name is very special to us and we love imagining what kind of woman you might have grown up to be. We miss you, sweet one, and love you so much! I can't wait to wrap my arms around you.
Love, Mommy
Friday, July 6, 2012
Ten Years
Today is the tenth anniversary of my first miscarriage. Ten years. An entire decade.
I'm finding it difficult to summarize it all in a blog post. We have lots of anniversaries like these -- six different miscarriage dates and six different unfulfilled due dates to go along with them. But this day in particular always carries so much emotion for me. It was the beginning of everything, the beginning of things I couldn't even imagine were yet to come. It was the end of a lot of things, too. The end of a certain sense of security and innocence that I had back then, at the age of 25. I thought my life was settling down after a difficult childhood with divorced parents and an alcoholic father and having just enough to scrape by. Against all odds I'd finished college and found a wonderful man to marry. We'd moved to a different state to follow a great job opportunity for him, and we'd just bought our first house. Now, I thought, we'll have a baby. Start a family.
Recurrent pregnancy loss was nowhere on my radar. I'm sure it never is for anybody. I'd known a few people who'd had a miscarriage before (my mom, included). But I didn't know anyone personally who had been through it over and over and over again. Not yet, anyway. Or it could have been that I knew them but just never knew their struggle. And I think that's entirely possible because, for some reason, people don't really talk about miscarriage. I went through a time like that myself. It felt like such a personal and private struggle and I became almost reclusive. I stopped wanting to socialize with people because I didn't want to let anyone in for fear they would trivialize what I was going through. I thought they could never understand, so I quit trying. All I kept hearing were things like, "Oh, you're young. It will happen if you just stay positive." "Something must have been wrong with the baby." "At least you know you can get pregnant."
All of those things hurt so much more than they helped. How did anybody know that I would eventually have a healthy baby? Was there any guarantee, really? Was it my fault for not thinking positively enough? What comfort could there be in thinking something was so wrong with my baby? And finally, what good was it doing for me to keep getting pregnant if my babies kept dying? How was that any consolation?
There were so many questions and never seemed to be any answers. Doctors couldn't give me any, and even my prayers seemed to be falling on deaf ears sometimes. I trusted that God had a plan but I had no idea what it was or how long it would take. Years passed and my babies continued to stop growing during the first trimester. We were desperate for help. The next 7 years went by in a blur of doctors, tests, surgeries, waiting, wondering, and most of all, more loss. I thought about giving up; thought it had become more than I could handle. Hope would return, though, and I would think What if the next time is the one? And what if it's the last chance we'll ever get?
Fast forward to 2010. After a new doctor, new tests (although not many new answers), and three years of infertility, the chance finally came. I still don't know exactly what was "right" about that time and what had been so "wrong" about every other time before. All I know is that somehow, miraculously, we held our daughter in our arms for the first time that September. She grew inside my body and arrived healthy and whole. And here I am in 2012, halfway through another pregnancy that is going well, hoping to hold another beautiful, healthy girl in November.
We've come so far and yet the hurt is still there. I still don't know how to answer the question, "Is this your first pregnancy?" A nurse at my doctor's office asked that just last week. She wasn't making small talk; I was there for blood work, another screening test. She was noting something on my chart. I stumbled over my words as I tried to answer, "No, it's not. It's my second. Well, it's actually my eighth pregnancy. But I only have one baby..." She stopped writing and looked up at me. "Oh, bless your heart," she said. I appreciated her kindness, but I hadn't been looking for sympathy. I was just trying to describe it all succinctly.
Sometimes I think I don't know how I got here... but oh, I do know. Simplified in my mind the years look like this:
2002-2007: Loss (x6)
2007-2009: Waiting...
2010-2012: Joy (x2)
But we all know that it's not summarized so easily. Because, broken down, I remember all too clearly the tears, the pain, the sleepless nights, the entire painful journey that led us to here and now. And the joy, too. Thank God for the joy that finally came and will come again!
I look back on the decade with lots of different emotions swirling around. I know this day will always make me remember, because it was the beginning of so much. It was the beginning of a lot of heartache, but it was also the beginning of the miracle that was to come. When I look at it all together, in hindsight, I can see much more clearly just how far we've come, and, amazingly, I can be thankful.
I'm finding it difficult to summarize it all in a blog post. We have lots of anniversaries like these -- six different miscarriage dates and six different unfulfilled due dates to go along with them. But this day in particular always carries so much emotion for me. It was the beginning of everything, the beginning of things I couldn't even imagine were yet to come. It was the end of a lot of things, too. The end of a certain sense of security and innocence that I had back then, at the age of 25. I thought my life was settling down after a difficult childhood with divorced parents and an alcoholic father and having just enough to scrape by. Against all odds I'd finished college and found a wonderful man to marry. We'd moved to a different state to follow a great job opportunity for him, and we'd just bought our first house. Now, I thought, we'll have a baby. Start a family.
Recurrent pregnancy loss was nowhere on my radar. I'm sure it never is for anybody. I'd known a few people who'd had a miscarriage before (my mom, included). But I didn't know anyone personally who had been through it over and over and over again. Not yet, anyway. Or it could have been that I knew them but just never knew their struggle. And I think that's entirely possible because, for some reason, people don't really talk about miscarriage. I went through a time like that myself. It felt like such a personal and private struggle and I became almost reclusive. I stopped wanting to socialize with people because I didn't want to let anyone in for fear they would trivialize what I was going through. I thought they could never understand, so I quit trying. All I kept hearing were things like, "Oh, you're young. It will happen if you just stay positive." "Something must have been wrong with the baby." "At least you know you can get pregnant."
All of those things hurt so much more than they helped. How did anybody know that I would eventually have a healthy baby? Was there any guarantee, really? Was it my fault for not thinking positively enough? What comfort could there be in thinking something was so wrong with my baby? And finally, what good was it doing for me to keep getting pregnant if my babies kept dying? How was that any consolation?
There were so many questions and never seemed to be any answers. Doctors couldn't give me any, and even my prayers seemed to be falling on deaf ears sometimes. I trusted that God had a plan but I had no idea what it was or how long it would take. Years passed and my babies continued to stop growing during the first trimester. We were desperate for help. The next 7 years went by in a blur of doctors, tests, surgeries, waiting, wondering, and most of all, more loss. I thought about giving up; thought it had become more than I could handle. Hope would return, though, and I would think What if the next time is the one? And what if it's the last chance we'll ever get?
Fast forward to 2010. After a new doctor, new tests (although not many new answers), and three years of infertility, the chance finally came. I still don't know exactly what was "right" about that time and what had been so "wrong" about every other time before. All I know is that somehow, miraculously, we held our daughter in our arms for the first time that September. She grew inside my body and arrived healthy and whole. And here I am in 2012, halfway through another pregnancy that is going well, hoping to hold another beautiful, healthy girl in November.
We've come so far and yet the hurt is still there. I still don't know how to answer the question, "Is this your first pregnancy?" A nurse at my doctor's office asked that just last week. She wasn't making small talk; I was there for blood work, another screening test. She was noting something on my chart. I stumbled over my words as I tried to answer, "No, it's not. It's my second. Well, it's actually my eighth pregnancy. But I only have one baby..." She stopped writing and looked up at me. "Oh, bless your heart," she said. I appreciated her kindness, but I hadn't been looking for sympathy. I was just trying to describe it all succinctly.
Sometimes I think I don't know how I got here... but oh, I do know. Simplified in my mind the years look like this:
2002-2007: Loss (x6)
2007-2009: Waiting...
2010-2012: Joy (x2)
But we all know that it's not summarized so easily. Because, broken down, I remember all too clearly the tears, the pain, the sleepless nights, the entire painful journey that led us to here and now. And the joy, too. Thank God for the joy that finally came and will come again!
I look back on the decade with lots of different emotions swirling around. I know this day will always make me remember, because it was the beginning of so much. It was the beginning of a lot of heartache, but it was also the beginning of the miracle that was to come. When I look at it all together, in hindsight, I can see much more clearly just how far we've come, and, amazingly, I can be thankful.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Amazed
Today was my appointment with the maternal fetal medicine doctor. This was the visit that the melanoma surgeon wanted me to do before we schedule the surgery, just to have the baby checked out and all of my questions answered before we move forward.
It was a great experience from beginning to end. I felt an immediate rapport with this doctor when I spoke with her on the phone last week, and she was just as kind and friendly in person. We had to drive about an hour to get there and we arrived about a half hour early but didn't have to wait long before we were called back to start the ultrasound. I'm still amazed hours later as I sit down to try and put the experience into words. I had a couple of 3D ultrasounds during my pregnancy with Lily and they are always pretty amazing, but I've never had the experience so early on in a pregnancy before. I think that's what was so awesome to us today, to see so much of the miracle of new life in such detail at a little over 9 weeks. It served as a wonderful display of a God who performs miracles and whose timing is always perfect! I've been in awe of Him all afternoon.
My eyes filled with tears as we saw that tiny, perfect baby on the screen. We saw his or her heart beating, and brand new little arm and leg buds. For the first time in this pregnancy we saw the baby moving around, too, which was the next big milestone we were hoping to see at next week's ultrasound. It was a very special moment, and at one point I exclaimed, "Wow!" and Lily echoed the word back in her sweet little voice. :)
After we got a good look at the baby and all of the appropriate measurements were taken (baby is growing "right on target," which is music to our ears), we sat down with the doctor for a while to talk about everything and ask any questions we had. I found out a few days ago that they will not have to test the lymph nodes around the melanoma site, which is great news. The doctor today cleared me to go ahead with the surgery whenever we can get it scheduled. I still have about three weeks to go until the second trimester, so it shouldn't be too much longer before we can get it all taken care of.
I have to honestly say that today is the first day during this pregnancy that I've begun to feel RELIEVED. We still have some relatively small hurdles coming up, but I'm starting to let myself believe that this is going to happen and that it will be okay -- that this baby will survive growing in my body and actually come home to live with us. I'm trusting, believing, and hoping. I saw this quote on a devotional site this week and loved it: "Trust (in God) chooses faith over fear, confidence over cowardice, and power over panic." That's exactly what I want to do!
**I never want anything I post here to cause any additional pain to anyone who is hurting from infertility or miscarriage, which is why I've always refrained from posting ultrasound images, pictures of pregnancy tests, or belly pics on my blog. I want to make a picture from today's appointment available for you to see if you want to, though, so I'll attach it through the following link. It's the image that left me feeling completely overwhelmed -- in a good way -- today: Ultrasound Picture
It was a great experience from beginning to end. I felt an immediate rapport with this doctor when I spoke with her on the phone last week, and she was just as kind and friendly in person. We had to drive about an hour to get there and we arrived about a half hour early but didn't have to wait long before we were called back to start the ultrasound. I'm still amazed hours later as I sit down to try and put the experience into words. I had a couple of 3D ultrasounds during my pregnancy with Lily and they are always pretty amazing, but I've never had the experience so early on in a pregnancy before. I think that's what was so awesome to us today, to see so much of the miracle of new life in such detail at a little over 9 weeks. It served as a wonderful display of a God who performs miracles and whose timing is always perfect! I've been in awe of Him all afternoon.
My eyes filled with tears as we saw that tiny, perfect baby on the screen. We saw his or her heart beating, and brand new little arm and leg buds. For the first time in this pregnancy we saw the baby moving around, too, which was the next big milestone we were hoping to see at next week's ultrasound. It was a very special moment, and at one point I exclaimed, "Wow!" and Lily echoed the word back in her sweet little voice. :)
After we got a good look at the baby and all of the appropriate measurements were taken (baby is growing "right on target," which is music to our ears), we sat down with the doctor for a while to talk about everything and ask any questions we had. I found out a few days ago that they will not have to test the lymph nodes around the melanoma site, which is great news. The doctor today cleared me to go ahead with the surgery whenever we can get it scheduled. I still have about three weeks to go until the second trimester, so it shouldn't be too much longer before we can get it all taken care of.
I have to honestly say that today is the first day during this pregnancy that I've begun to feel RELIEVED. We still have some relatively small hurdles coming up, but I'm starting to let myself believe that this is going to happen and that it will be okay -- that this baby will survive growing in my body and actually come home to live with us. I'm trusting, believing, and hoping. I saw this quote on a devotional site this week and loved it: "Trust (in God) chooses faith over fear, confidence over cowardice, and power over panic." That's exactly what I want to do!
**I never want anything I post here to cause any additional pain to anyone who is hurting from infertility or miscarriage, which is why I've always refrained from posting ultrasound images, pictures of pregnancy tests, or belly pics on my blog. I want to make a picture from today's appointment available for you to see if you want to, though, so I'll attach it through the following link. It's the image that left me feeling completely overwhelmed -- in a good way -- today: Ultrasound Picture
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Consultation and Jumbled Thoughts
My mind is racing today and I'm finding it difficult to rest right now even though Lily is napping. I thought it would be best to just write it all out here and hopefully feel some relief.
Yesterday was my first trip to MD Anderson as a patient. I've been to the big, famous cancer hospital twice before with two different friends who were receiving treatment for breast cancer, but this was my first time to go for me. I can say from experience that, every time you go there, it's a memorable and a sobering experience.
I want to start by saying this: I know that I'm going to be okay. I don't wish to sound remotely melodramatic about this melanoma diagnosis. I know that, while it is a very serious and potentially fatal disease, I'm fortunate that mine was found early and can be treated successfully with surgery. I have friends and family members who have fought different types of cancer -- some who have survived and some who have not. Knowing that my chances of even undergoing any type of chemotherapy or radiation in this case are between slim and none, I would never compare this experience of mine to any of those life-threatening ones.
It is a scary thing, however, to face cancer of any kind growing in or on your body. And scarier still, for me, is the fact that I'm already in the riskier stages of pregnancy. I was reassured yesterday by no fewer than three doctors that they will take the utmost care of me and my baby, and I believe that they will do just that. I know that, even without the skin cancer diagnosis, I would be feeling just as nervous about simply being 7.5 weeks pregnant right now.
I didn't get as many questions answered yesterday as I'd hoped, because for some reason my pathology slides had not arrived. This was disappointing because the doctor wasn't able to review them and decide on exactly what my treatment will be and when. I do know that I'll be having surgery, and my doctor was pretty sure that he wants to wait until I'm in my second trimester to do it. He said that, especially considering my history with first trimester miscarriage, he wants to go the safest route. That means it will probably be at least 6 more weeks. I hate to have to wait, but obviously I trust his opinion (he is the best melanoma surgeon in the country, after all!) and I'm willing to do whatever is best for the health of the baby. So, at the least, I'll have the skin around the area of the mole removed to make sure they get all of the cancer. At the most, I'll have that surgery plus a procedure to test the lymph nodes around the site. We don't know if that part will be necessary until he can review the slides, so I'm waiting to hear back from them on that and to get the date scheduled. And I met with more than one doctor who reassured me that there will be someone from maternal fetal medicine who will monitor the baby before and after the surgery and make sure everything is okay.
I know that I'm in good hands and will receive excellent care. But I'm being perfectly honest with you when I tell you that I'm stressed. Really stressed. It's unnerving, to say the least, to spend the day talking to doctors about cancer and surgery and pregnancy all at once. It felt like an out-of-body experience when I signed a consent form to participate in a research study about cancer and pregnancy. It was one of those I-can't-believe-I'm-doing-this kinds of feelings. All the while, though, I couldn't help but think of people (a few I know and so many that I don't) who have sat in rooms like those and heard much, much scarier things. Several years ago I had a dear friend who learned toward the end of her pregnancy with her third child that she was facing leukemia. I still think about her all the time, and how brave she was and what her struggle must have felt like as she fought for her life with three young children at home. That sweet friend is in heaven now but she is often in my thoughts.
I'm grateful that that isn't the road I'm on right now. And although it's so hard to imagine, I know that my God would see me through a trial such as that one just as He did my friend, who took the time to call and encourage me about recurrent miscarriage even as she fought leukemia. Actually, I feel very very weak when I think about people as strong as she was.
Even though it feels scary, I know that this is going to be okay. I'm not saying that I know for sure that everything will go exactly the way I want it to and be perfect. I don't know that. But I know that, whatever happens, the Lord will take care of me. Perhaps you don't believe the same way that I do, but I have complete faith and trust in my God. I've been through miscarriage before and I know that if it happens again He will see me through. I've been through surgery before, too, and I know I won't be alone when it happens again.
Although I feel uncertain and shaky right now, I'm keeping my eyes on Him because it's all I know to do. The words to this Bebo Norman song have been playing in my head and comforting me today. Thought I'd leave you with the chorus:
Yesterday was my first trip to MD Anderson as a patient. I've been to the big, famous cancer hospital twice before with two different friends who were receiving treatment for breast cancer, but this was my first time to go for me. I can say from experience that, every time you go there, it's a memorable and a sobering experience.
I want to start by saying this: I know that I'm going to be okay. I don't wish to sound remotely melodramatic about this melanoma diagnosis. I know that, while it is a very serious and potentially fatal disease, I'm fortunate that mine was found early and can be treated successfully with surgery. I have friends and family members who have fought different types of cancer -- some who have survived and some who have not. Knowing that my chances of even undergoing any type of chemotherapy or radiation in this case are between slim and none, I would never compare this experience of mine to any of those life-threatening ones.
It is a scary thing, however, to face cancer of any kind growing in or on your body. And scarier still, for me, is the fact that I'm already in the riskier stages of pregnancy. I was reassured yesterday by no fewer than three doctors that they will take the utmost care of me and my baby, and I believe that they will do just that. I know that, even without the skin cancer diagnosis, I would be feeling just as nervous about simply being 7.5 weeks pregnant right now.
I didn't get as many questions answered yesterday as I'd hoped, because for some reason my pathology slides had not arrived. This was disappointing because the doctor wasn't able to review them and decide on exactly what my treatment will be and when. I do know that I'll be having surgery, and my doctor was pretty sure that he wants to wait until I'm in my second trimester to do it. He said that, especially considering my history with first trimester miscarriage, he wants to go the safest route. That means it will probably be at least 6 more weeks. I hate to have to wait, but obviously I trust his opinion (he is the best melanoma surgeon in the country, after all!) and I'm willing to do whatever is best for the health of the baby. So, at the least, I'll have the skin around the area of the mole removed to make sure they get all of the cancer. At the most, I'll have that surgery plus a procedure to test the lymph nodes around the site. We don't know if that part will be necessary until he can review the slides, so I'm waiting to hear back from them on that and to get the date scheduled. And I met with more than one doctor who reassured me that there will be someone from maternal fetal medicine who will monitor the baby before and after the surgery and make sure everything is okay.
I know that I'm in good hands and will receive excellent care. But I'm being perfectly honest with you when I tell you that I'm stressed. Really stressed. It's unnerving, to say the least, to spend the day talking to doctors about cancer and surgery and pregnancy all at once. It felt like an out-of-body experience when I signed a consent form to participate in a research study about cancer and pregnancy. It was one of those I-can't-believe-I'm-doing-this kinds of feelings. All the while, though, I couldn't help but think of people (a few I know and so many that I don't) who have sat in rooms like those and heard much, much scarier things. Several years ago I had a dear friend who learned toward the end of her pregnancy with her third child that she was facing leukemia. I still think about her all the time, and how brave she was and what her struggle must have felt like as she fought for her life with three young children at home. That sweet friend is in heaven now but she is often in my thoughts.
I'm grateful that that isn't the road I'm on right now. And although it's so hard to imagine, I know that my God would see me through a trial such as that one just as He did my friend, who took the time to call and encourage me about recurrent miscarriage even as she fought leukemia. Actually, I feel very very weak when I think about people as strong as she was.
Even though it feels scary, I know that this is going to be okay. I'm not saying that I know for sure that everything will go exactly the way I want it to and be perfect. I don't know that. But I know that, whatever happens, the Lord will take care of me. Perhaps you don't believe the same way that I do, but I have complete faith and trust in my God. I've been through miscarriage before and I know that if it happens again He will see me through. I've been through surgery before, too, and I know I won't be alone when it happens again.
Although I feel uncertain and shaky right now, I'm keeping my eyes on Him because it's all I know to do. The words to this Bebo Norman song have been playing in my head and comforting me today. Thought I'd leave you with the chorus:
I will lift my eyes to the Maker
Of the mountains I can't climb
I will lift my eyes to the Calmer
Of the oceans raging wild
I will lift my eyes to the Healer
Of the hurt I hold inside
I will lift my eyes, lift my eyes to You
Of the mountains I can't climb
I will lift my eyes to the Calmer
Of the oceans raging wild
I will lift my eyes to the Healer
Of the hurt I hold inside
I will lift my eyes, lift my eyes to You
Monday, January 23, 2012
The Sweetest Thing in My Garden
My sister is a second grade teacher at a private Christian school. Last week she sent me the words to a poem that her class was studying in their readers. This little poem spoke to my heart and brought tears to my eyes (and my sister's, which left her students a bit bewildered!). I think you'll see why it was so special:
It almost leaves me speechless, just how perfect this sweet little poem is and how much it reflects this mother's heart.
I have a sixteen-month-old girl who walks (finally) and talks and just today wore her very first set of pigtails -- and oh be still my heart, it was the cutest thing I'd ever seen.
This little one keeps me busy, busy, busy, from morning until night, but I am forever grateful for the chance to be her Mama.
She absolutely is the "sweetest thing in my garden," my pure and spotless Lily Rae. Thank you, Lord, for letting her grow in my tummy and in my heart.
The Lily by W.T. Vlymen
The sweetest thing in my garden,
On bush or vine or tree,
Is the snow-white shining Lily
that God has sent to me.
How wise He must be to make it!
How good to put it here,
For me to watch and care for,
So very sweet and dear!
There's nothing more fair and spotless
In all the world I know;
It is fairer than the moonlight,
And whiter than the snow.
I love you, beautiful Lily,
made of the sun and dew,
I wish my heart could always be
spotless and pure, like you.
The sweetest thing in my garden,
On bush or vine or tree,
Is the snow-white shining Lily
that God has sent to me.
How wise He must be to make it!
How good to put it here,
For me to watch and care for,
So very sweet and dear!
There's nothing more fair and spotless
In all the world I know;
It is fairer than the moonlight,
And whiter than the snow.
I love you, beautiful Lily,
made of the sun and dew,
I wish my heart could always be
spotless and pure, like you.
It almost leaves me speechless, just how perfect this sweet little poem is and how much it reflects this mother's heart.
I have a sixteen-month-old girl who walks (finally) and talks and just today wore her very first set of pigtails -- and oh be still my heart, it was the cutest thing I'd ever seen.
This little one keeps me busy, busy, busy, from morning until night, but I am forever grateful for the chance to be her Mama.
She absolutely is the "sweetest thing in my garden," my pure and spotless Lily Rae. Thank you, Lord, for letting her grow in my tummy and in my heart.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Letter to My Daughter
Dear Lily,In two short weeks you will be one year old! It has been the most wonderful, challenging, beautiful, and chaotic year of my life. Sometimes I still can't believe that you are real, that you are here, and that you are ours.
There are so many things I want to tell you and teach you. I pray that we'll have a lifetime to try to cover it all, but for now I want you to know how special you are. Your daddy and I waited a long time for you. One day, when you're a little bit older, I'll explain to you how you weren't the first baby that God created inside Mommy's womb. There were six other precious ones who, just like you, were fearfully and wonderfully made and were so loved and wanted in our family. For reasons I won't understand here on earth, those babies -- your brothers and sisters -- went to heaven before we could meet them. That makes us sad, but we trust the One who made us and loves us and understands it all. And we know that one day there will be such a sweet reunion when we're all together again.
Lily, God made you in His perfect way and in His perfect timing. Even though Mommy and Daddy got married in 1998, you weren't supposed to be born until 2010. Despite everything that happened before and despite our odds, you lived longer than 6 weeks and 9 weeks and 12 weeks. You lived and grew inside for 39 weeks before you were born all pink and chubby and healthy. Now you've grown from 8 pounds to 20 pounds and it's going by so fast that we can hardly keep up.
A few times in my life I've seen a beautiful wildflower growing and thriving in some crazy place where it shouldn't have made it, like in a tiny crack in the middle of some concrete. That's what I think about when I imagine how God allowed you to grow in my tummy. Sometimes He does things that seem impossible to us and leave us totally in awe of His power and goodness. I'm reminded of that when I look at you.
I wish I could tell you that, because of all of that, we are going to be perfect parents who never get tired or frustrated. Even though we had to wait so long for you and even though we love you beyond words, we're going to make mistakes and we're going to fail sometimes. You'll have to be patient with us because we're still new at this and we still have so much to learn! We are aware, though, that you are a very special little girl and for some reason God chose us to be your parents. We plan to keep trying to do the best job that we can, and most of all, to pray for you and remind you every day with our words and our actions how much we love you and are grateful for you.
You didn't come to us by accident or mistake! You are here as a result of many years of praying, pleading, crying, hoping, trusting, and believing (and yes, sometimes doubting). Daddy and I will always, always give God the glory for giving us you, our little miracle girl. He is so much bigger than our plans, our doubts and fears, our worries, and our hurts. I hope you'll always remember that, and always take the small things and the big things to Him -- knowing that He's got it all in His hands.
I know that we can't protect you from life's disappointments forever. All we can do is pray that God will use the difficult times and the trials that I know will come to teach you and help you to grow in your faith in Him, just like He has for us. It's easy to trust Him and find joy when times are good, but it's a whole different thing to do that when they're tough, and I know that's something you'll have to learn on your own. We have lots of stories to tell about the lessons we've learned while waiting for you.
It has been a remarkable year! As much as we adored you the very first time that we saw you, our love has increased substantially as we have watched you grow, learn, and change. I can't imagine how our hearts could hold any more love in them, but I know that somehow, with each passing year, they will.
I love you with all of my heart, Lily Rae!
Love,
Mommy
You and me: together at last! 9/21/10Thursday, July 7, 2011
An (Extra)Ordinary Day
Yesterday was an ordinary day.
I got up early with my girl and our day was filled with playing, eating, naps, and diapering. It was a typical day around here with a nine month old who is becoming more active by the minute.
But nine years ago yesterday I lost the first baby that I carried.
I don't know that baby's gender, name, or face, but it was the first of our children that we loved, wanted, and cherished. It had been the first positive pregnancy test for a young couple who thought they would become parents nine months later... instead of nine years later. When we found out that we would lose the baby it was the first time my heart was really and truly broken, and that same deep hurt would be felt five more times in the years that followed.
I never did mark the day on my calendar, but it was a date that I always remembered. This year was no different. I was mindful of it all day long even as my hands were constantly occupied with toys and baby food. While we drove to pick up my sister from the airport yesterday I remembered our late-night drive to the hospital. She was with us then, too, pregnant with her second child. Our babies were due one month apart. My nephew will turn nine years old this December, and I wonder what it would be like to have a child that age...
July 6, 2002 is a day I've thought about often. It was the day that changed everything for us and started us down a path we never imagined we'd take: recurrent miscarriage. But God has been faithful. He was good then and He is still good today.
Here's one example of how He was good to me yesterday:
It seems incredible to me, but during my "ordinary" day, my baby girl said "Mama." She had been babbling it for about a week or so, but yesterday she said it for real. I was able to mark the date of July 6, 2011 on her calendar with the sticker "Says Mama."
She's not the first baby I loved or carried, but she is the first one I've had the privilege to hold and sing to and rock to sleep. I'm so thankful that there's someone here who calls me Mama.
After waiting nine long years to hear that word, hearing it yesterday was particularly special. And it sure turned my ordinary day extra-ordinary.
I got up early with my girl and our day was filled with playing, eating, naps, and diapering. It was a typical day around here with a nine month old who is becoming more active by the minute.
But nine years ago yesterday I lost the first baby that I carried.
I don't know that baby's gender, name, or face, but it was the first of our children that we loved, wanted, and cherished. It had been the first positive pregnancy test for a young couple who thought they would become parents nine months later... instead of nine years later. When we found out that we would lose the baby it was the first time my heart was really and truly broken, and that same deep hurt would be felt five more times in the years that followed.
I never did mark the day on my calendar, but it was a date that I always remembered. This year was no different. I was mindful of it all day long even as my hands were constantly occupied with toys and baby food. While we drove to pick up my sister from the airport yesterday I remembered our late-night drive to the hospital. She was with us then, too, pregnant with her second child. Our babies were due one month apart. My nephew will turn nine years old this December, and I wonder what it would be like to have a child that age...
July 6, 2002 is a day I've thought about often. It was the day that changed everything for us and started us down a path we never imagined we'd take: recurrent miscarriage. But God has been faithful. He was good then and He is still good today.
Here's one example of how He was good to me yesterday:
It seems incredible to me, but during my "ordinary" day, my baby girl said "Mama." She had been babbling it for about a week or so, but yesterday she said it for real. I was able to mark the date of July 6, 2011 on her calendar with the sticker "Says Mama."
She's not the first baby I loved or carried, but she is the first one I've had the privilege to hold and sing to and rock to sleep. I'm so thankful that there's someone here who calls me Mama.
After waiting nine long years to hear that word, hearing it yesterday was particularly special. And it sure turned my ordinary day extra-ordinary.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Just Lucky?
Thanks for the encouraging comments on my last post. It's good to know that I'm not alone in my feelings, but at the same time I always hate that others are struggling with some aspect of infertility, too.
We had a lovely anniversary. It was on a Monday this year, so it was a regular work day for my husband and a regular day at home for Lily and me. That evening the three of us went out to dinner together to celebrate. We weren't at all sad that we weren't able to go out alone on that day. That's nice to do, but it was really great to be together. We had 12 anniversaries without children and were so happy to have her with us for the occasion this year.
Two days later we had our follow-up visit with our RE. We have to drive into Houston to get there so we dropped Lily off with her aunt (my sister-in-law), who was very excited to spend some one-on-one time with her. (That evening Lily stayed with her aunt again for a couple of hours while we went out to dinner to celebrate our anniversary... again. We had a very nice time but we sure did miss our girl! It was so sweet to come back to her smiling face.)
It felt very strange to be back at the doctor's office. There was a couple in the elevator with us on the way out who looked nervous and uncertain, and we both wondered what kind of news they had gotten or what they were facing. We said nothing to them, though, because we know there just aren't any words that help during that time. Still, our hearts were very sensitive to those around us who were still waiting on their babies. And while I would have liked for Lily to have met Dr. G, I was glad she was happily playing at Aunt Allie's house instead of in the waiting room with us, just in case it might have caused anyone additional sadness or hurt.
As I wrote in the last post, I was unsure what to expect from this appointment going into it. I was not expecting that it would be treated as my well-woman exam. Frankly, I thought I was going to remain clothed during the visit and was a bit surprised when we were led to an exam room and I was instructed to undress from the waist down. No harm done, of course -- I'm used to those appointments by now. And I don't have to worry about having another well-woman visit for a whole year, which is always good.
The checkup didn't take long and we did have a little bit of time to chat with the doctor. My main question that I wanted to ask was whether he thought that using Femara and Ovidrel was what made the difference for this pregnancy. Did it help our chances because we started with a really good egg? I had, of course, hoped that the answer would be yes. Unfortunately, his response was that we had either started with a really good egg... OR we had just gotten lucky this time.
Now, I know that you know that I attribute Lily's existence to God and His power. That won't ever change! I won't dwell on the whole matter of God or luck in this post because I think it's clear to you what I believe. And I don't think that the doctor was trying to discount that either. I think that, in his medical opinion, he simply can't determine medically whether the fertility meds aided in the success of our seventh pregnancy, or whether it was just the one that worked.
To be honest with you, it was the answer I feared. It would have been great to know that we could identify exactly what to do to increase our chances of another successful pregnancy. It would have been so reassuring to know that we had a solution -- a way to avoid going back to where we've been so many times in the past when we've gotten pregnant and lost the baby.
If/when we do try again, we will have to make the choice of either trying on our own or doing what we did last time. Either way, I know it will be in God's hands.
I'm thankful that we do have Lily. I'm grateful that God intervened and gave us a beautiful daughter to love here on earth. I'm confident that He knows what my future holds even when I feel scared to move forward.
And, no matter how it turns out, I'm relieved that I can trust Him instead of relying on luck.
We had a lovely anniversary. It was on a Monday this year, so it was a regular work day for my husband and a regular day at home for Lily and me. That evening the three of us went out to dinner together to celebrate. We weren't at all sad that we weren't able to go out alone on that day. That's nice to do, but it was really great to be together. We had 12 anniversaries without children and were so happy to have her with us for the occasion this year.
Two days later we had our follow-up visit with our RE. We have to drive into Houston to get there so we dropped Lily off with her aunt (my sister-in-law), who was very excited to spend some one-on-one time with her. (That evening Lily stayed with her aunt again for a couple of hours while we went out to dinner to celebrate our anniversary... again. We had a very nice time but we sure did miss our girl! It was so sweet to come back to her smiling face.)
It felt very strange to be back at the doctor's office. There was a couple in the elevator with us on the way out who looked nervous and uncertain, and we both wondered what kind of news they had gotten or what they were facing. We said nothing to them, though, because we know there just aren't any words that help during that time. Still, our hearts were very sensitive to those around us who were still waiting on their babies. And while I would have liked for Lily to have met Dr. G, I was glad she was happily playing at Aunt Allie's house instead of in the waiting room with us, just in case it might have caused anyone additional sadness or hurt.
As I wrote in the last post, I was unsure what to expect from this appointment going into it. I was not expecting that it would be treated as my well-woman exam. Frankly, I thought I was going to remain clothed during the visit and was a bit surprised when we were led to an exam room and I was instructed to undress from the waist down. No harm done, of course -- I'm used to those appointments by now. And I don't have to worry about having another well-woman visit for a whole year, which is always good.
The checkup didn't take long and we did have a little bit of time to chat with the doctor. My main question that I wanted to ask was whether he thought that using Femara and Ovidrel was what made the difference for this pregnancy. Did it help our chances because we started with a really good egg? I had, of course, hoped that the answer would be yes. Unfortunately, his response was that we had either started with a really good egg... OR we had just gotten lucky this time.
Now, I know that you know that I attribute Lily's existence to God and His power. That won't ever change! I won't dwell on the whole matter of God or luck in this post because I think it's clear to you what I believe. And I don't think that the doctor was trying to discount that either. I think that, in his medical opinion, he simply can't determine medically whether the fertility meds aided in the success of our seventh pregnancy, or whether it was just the one that worked.
To be honest with you, it was the answer I feared. It would have been great to know that we could identify exactly what to do to increase our chances of another successful pregnancy. It would have been so reassuring to know that we had a solution -- a way to avoid going back to where we've been so many times in the past when we've gotten pregnant and lost the baby.
If/when we do try again, we will have to make the choice of either trying on our own or doing what we did last time. Either way, I know it will be in God's hands.
I'm thankful that we do have Lily. I'm grateful that God intervened and gave us a beautiful daughter to love here on earth. I'm confident that He knows what my future holds even when I feel scared to move forward.
And, no matter how it turns out, I'm relieved that I can trust Him instead of relying on luck.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
My First Mother's Day
Sunday was my first Mother's Day to celebrate.
I feel like I've been a mother before this year, of course, but this was my first one with a baby in my arms. In previous years I had the heart of a mother, but I'd never been able to hold my babies, see their faces, or even know their names. Unfortunately, no one really recognizes you as a mother in that case, besides maybe a few caring family members and special, sensitive friends.
I think it will always be a day of mixed feelings. I can't erase all the years of hurt that I used to feel on that day, but I will rejoice for the child that I've been given. I'll always miss the six little ones who aren't here, and I'll always feel a heaviness in my heart for all of my precious friends who will be hurting and grieving and dreading the day.
For a long time I didn't know whether I'd ever be on the other side of recurrent miscarriage, but I did know that if it ever did happen to me, I wouldn't care about feeling honored or celebrated on Mother's Day. For me, the gift was my daughter, my miracle, my answered prayer, and my healing heart. It wasn't a day about me; it was a day about the power of my God. Although it was a long and rocky road to get there, He finally brought the two of us together in His own time and His own way. Sometimes I didn't wait patiently. Sometimes I felt angry, confused, bitter, and hopeless. But God mercifully made a way for a baby to grow in my womb, and that's what I celebrated on Mother's Day.
I wanted to have a simple, sweet day with my husband and daughter, and that's exactly what it was. It was a beautiful day here in Texas, and although I specifically told my husband that I didn't expect gifts, flowers, etc., he did all of that anyway (which is true to form). It was really, really special. After a sweet morning at home just the three of us, we went to church in a nearby town where we'd been invited to watch my dear friend's daughter perform in a play. It wasn't a Mother's Day service at all, but the pastor did recognize the occasion briefly during the welcome. I was touched that, on my first time in church on Mother's Day in probably 5 or 6 years, this particular pastor made a point to pay tribute to all women present. He had the men and children come forward to take a flower and hand it out to mothers, grandmothers, aunts, teachers, or any other women who had impacted their lives, and I thought that it was done just right. It was a far cry from some of the really isolating, lonely Mother's Day church services that I'd experienced in the past. I'm sure it may be true that my heart is different now, but I genuinely felt that it was the kind of moment that would have left most women in just about any circumstance or stage of life feeling pretty appreciated and special. It was great.
We had lunch with our friends afterward (I was so proud that Lily again sat so well through the entire service!) and returned home to a fun afternoon of ice cream and a walk in the park. It was a perfect and lovely day.
Of course I did miss not being with my own mom on that day. We knew after being there for the past two weekends that we wouldn't be together for Mother's Day, but my mom was able to spend the day with her mother, who hasn't been doing well lately. And my sweet mom sent me a precious card that touched my heart so much. I wanted to share with you what she wrote that brought tears to my eyes when I read it.
To God be the glory!
Amen, Mom. Amen.
Mother's Day 2011, My Longing Fulfilled
I feel like I've been a mother before this year, of course, but this was my first one with a baby in my arms. In previous years I had the heart of a mother, but I'd never been able to hold my babies, see their faces, or even know their names. Unfortunately, no one really recognizes you as a mother in that case, besides maybe a few caring family members and special, sensitive friends.
I think it will always be a day of mixed feelings. I can't erase all the years of hurt that I used to feel on that day, but I will rejoice for the child that I've been given. I'll always miss the six little ones who aren't here, and I'll always feel a heaviness in my heart for all of my precious friends who will be hurting and grieving and dreading the day.
For a long time I didn't know whether I'd ever be on the other side of recurrent miscarriage, but I did know that if it ever did happen to me, I wouldn't care about feeling honored or celebrated on Mother's Day. For me, the gift was my daughter, my miracle, my answered prayer, and my healing heart. It wasn't a day about me; it was a day about the power of my God. Although it was a long and rocky road to get there, He finally brought the two of us together in His own time and His own way. Sometimes I didn't wait patiently. Sometimes I felt angry, confused, bitter, and hopeless. But God mercifully made a way for a baby to grow in my womb, and that's what I celebrated on Mother's Day.
I wanted to have a simple, sweet day with my husband and daughter, and that's exactly what it was. It was a beautiful day here in Texas, and although I specifically told my husband that I didn't expect gifts, flowers, etc., he did all of that anyway (which is true to form). It was really, really special. After a sweet morning at home just the three of us, we went to church in a nearby town where we'd been invited to watch my dear friend's daughter perform in a play. It wasn't a Mother's Day service at all, but the pastor did recognize the occasion briefly during the welcome. I was touched that, on my first time in church on Mother's Day in probably 5 or 6 years, this particular pastor made a point to pay tribute to all women present. He had the men and children come forward to take a flower and hand it out to mothers, grandmothers, aunts, teachers, or any other women who had impacted their lives, and I thought that it was done just right. It was a far cry from some of the really isolating, lonely Mother's Day church services that I'd experienced in the past. I'm sure it may be true that my heart is different now, but I genuinely felt that it was the kind of moment that would have left most women in just about any circumstance or stage of life feeling pretty appreciated and special. It was great.
We had lunch with our friends afterward (I was so proud that Lily again sat so well through the entire service!) and returned home to a fun afternoon of ice cream and a walk in the park. It was a perfect and lovely day.
Of course I did miss not being with my own mom on that day. We knew after being there for the past two weekends that we wouldn't be together for Mother's Day, but my mom was able to spend the day with her mother, who hasn't been doing well lately. And my sweet mom sent me a precious card that touched my heart so much. I wanted to share with you what she wrote that brought tears to my eyes when I read it.
Stace,
It is with great awe of our heavenly Father that I am able to send you this card. Years ago I found this card... I kept this waiting and praying for God to give you a miracle and the desire of your broken heart. Oh, what a beautiful blessing He gave to all of us... our sweet, precious, and beautiful Lily Rae!
You are the wonderful mother I always knew that you'd be. Cherish each minute, because they grow so fast. My heart just overflows with love every time I see her. Enjoy your first Mother's Day, and to God be all the glory!
I love you,
Mom
It is with great awe of our heavenly Father that I am able to send you this card. Years ago I found this card... I kept this waiting and praying for God to give you a miracle and the desire of your broken heart. Oh, what a beautiful blessing He gave to all of us... our sweet, precious, and beautiful Lily Rae!
You are the wonderful mother I always knew that you'd be. Cherish each minute, because they grow so fast. My heart just overflows with love every time I see her. Enjoy your first Mother's Day, and to God be all the glory!
I love you,
Mom
To God be the glory!
Amen, Mom. Amen.
Mother's Day 2011, My Longing FulfilledFriday, July 9, 2010
On Infertility and Faith
(Normally when I get ready to type a post, I sit down and write what I want to say and hit "publish." It usually takes me about an hour to write and proofread it. This post, however, is one that I've been chewing on for several days before putting it out there. It's been on my mind this week after the combination of an article I read and an e-mail from a friend. I'd be interested in your feedback if you wish to share it!)
I wish we lived in a world where people who desperately wanted to have children could always succeed. I think it will always hurt my heart that this isn't so.
One of the many things about infertility that is so hard to grasp is that it's not the kind of journey where it always ends the same way and everyone gets a baby. I know that, and while it may be hard to hear this from me at this time in my life, that's where I thought my journey might very well go. While I always prayed, hoped, and wished for children of my own to love and raise here on earth, I had no guarantee that it would really happen one day. I had absolutely no way of knowing whether I would ever have a normal pregnancy. Even though that's what I hoped for and tried to achieve, in my mind I knew that I needed to plan for either outcome. Children or no children. That was by far one of the hardest parts of my journey, aside from losing my babies to miscarriage.
There are so many positive-sounding pieces of advice that we've probably heard all of our lives, like "If you work really hard at something and don't give up, you will succeed." Or, to quote Back to the Future (part one), "If you put your mind to it, you can accomplish anything." And there's the old standby, "Good things come to those who wait." These might work 99% of the time in business or many other areas of life, but they just don't apply to infertility. "Hang in there" and "don't give up" don't necessarily always work with having a baby. With that being said, I firmly believe that you should pray and try and seek medical help for as long as you can or want to or have the means to, if your desire is to have a baby. I think you should give it your all and plead with the Lord to intervene. But I don't think that the right combination of effort, good luck, positive thinking, and strong faith are what will make a baby.
I always would cringe when someone told me that my pregnancy would work if I had enough faith or if I just thought happy, positive thoughts. You can imagine how I felt when it didn't work. What was wrong with me? How did I manage to mess this up again? Was my faith really so weak?
While I'm not always the world's most positive person, I think I do okay at having a decent attitude most of the time. And I certainly am a person of faith. Without my faith, I don't know where I would be. But I don't think that having faith in my amount of faith will get me very far! And I don't even think that the key was having faith that I would one day have a baby, because I knew deep down in my heart that it might not happen for me. I could have faith as small as a mustard seed or as huge as a mountain, but the size of my faith doesn't affect my ability to carry a baby to term. (Stay with me here!)
Faith in my Lord's ability to act, on the other hand, is what matters. One of the lessons I learned through recurrent pregnancy loss was that I needed to focus my faith and my trust on my Savior, and on Him alone: on who He is and what He can do. My job is to believe, but it's His job to act. I was beginning to place all of my faith in having a baby someday, just knowing that if I could do that I would be happy and fulfilled. I came to see that God was the only one who could make this happen for me. He was the only one who could give me joy, peace, and fulfillment, and He was certainly the only one who could put life in my womb. Now, that didn't mean that he ultimately would make that happen. What it meant to me was that I needed to trust Him and have faith in His ability to act no matter what. As hard as it was for me to grasp, I had to learn that He would still be Lord and He would still be sovereign even if I never had children.
As I wrote about in my last post, the Bible tells us that nothing is impossible with God. This is a wonderful promise for the barren woman today, just as it was for Elizabeth way back then! I firmly believe that sometimes this is the message that might just help someone to keep pressing on when they feel like giving up. God can do the impossible, which is immensely encouraging when you feel that your situation is impossible! That's where I was without a doubt. I couldn't see how my crazy, death-trap of a womb would ever become a good home for a baby. I had tried and failed six times and had no real answer or solution, no guarantee that our seventh attempt would be any different. But we hoped and prayed for a miracle anyway, and we trusted that it was up to the Lord to give and sustain life to this baby.
Believing in the impossible (translated = believing that God could do the impossible and praying that He would) helped us to carry on and find the courage to give it another try. And by His grace, our baby is surviving. It's not because we had faith in our amount of faith (because believe me, I know I didn't). It's because God acted and because He is God. I don't think for one second that I'm still carrying this baby because I finally figured out the right formula. On the contrary, I take every opportunity to make sure that it is God and only God who gets the glory for this miracle.
(I recently read a great article about this topic of faith on the Desiring God blog that I thought was so helpful. It certainly explains things much better than I could. Here's the link if you'd like to check it out: Peter: When the Rock Sunk Slowly)
I've come to realize that there are several other places in Scripture where we see examples of this. It appears that Jesus healed many people on the basis of their faith. It would be easy to think that they were healed simply because they had tremendous faith. But if we look closely, we can see that they had faith specifically in the fact that they knew and believed that Jesus was able:
As Jesus went on from there, two blind men followed him, calling out, "Have mercy on us, Son of David!" When he had gone indoors, the blind men came to him, and he asked them, "Do you believe that I am able to do this?"
"Yes, Lord," they replied. Then he touched their eyes and said, "According to your faith will it be done to you"; and their sight was restored... (Matthew 9:27-30)
(See also Matthew 9:20-22; Luke 7:1-10)
Something else that I've seen in my reading this week is the reminder that there is power in prayer. I believe this with all of my heart, which is why I've prayed for so many years for our children and why I continue to pray diligently for each of you. I'm reminded of Hannah's story in 1 Samuel, as well as this verse in Genesis 25:21, "Isaac prayed to the LORD on behalf of his wife, because she was barren. The LORD answered his prayer, and his wife Rebekah became pregnant." The Bible invites us again and again to approach the Lord with confidence and bring our requests to Him with expectant hope. (Ephesians 3:12; Hebrews 4:16; 1 John 5:14-15)
At this point let me say that I know that some people who have walked the road of infertility and/or miscarriage will prayerfully come to a time when they feel that it's right for them to stop pursuing pregnancy or treatment. I think this is a brave decision that takes far more trust and faith in the Lord that I can fully imagine. And I don't believe that it is lack of faith or "giving up." I don't understand why loving, caring, wonderful people who want to have children sometimes won't have the opportunity to do so. I'll never understand that, and knowing some of the truly wonderful women in my life who haven't had children and yet always wanted to will always make my heart ache. Another thing I've learned on this journey is that adoption, as wonderful as I think it is and as much joy as I've seen it bring to families over the years, just isn't realistically an option for all couples in all situations all the time.
I believe that sometimes God may be telling us to stop. I would never, ever second-guess a person who felt like this was where they were on their infertility journey. I have absolutely no doubt that it is also in His ability to give that person peace and fulfillment in their life. (That may very well be the part of your situation that feels impossible!) That is my prayer for all of us, no matter what the end of our struggle may look like.
But, unless that is where your journey has taken you, I'll be here to encourage you to keep pressing on and believing that God can do the impossible. He can change our hearts and even our circumstances. I'm living proof.
I wish we lived in a world where people who desperately wanted to have children could always succeed. I think it will always hurt my heart that this isn't so.
One of the many things about infertility that is so hard to grasp is that it's not the kind of journey where it always ends the same way and everyone gets a baby. I know that, and while it may be hard to hear this from me at this time in my life, that's where I thought my journey might very well go. While I always prayed, hoped, and wished for children of my own to love and raise here on earth, I had no guarantee that it would really happen one day. I had absolutely no way of knowing whether I would ever have a normal pregnancy. Even though that's what I hoped for and tried to achieve, in my mind I knew that I needed to plan for either outcome. Children or no children. That was by far one of the hardest parts of my journey, aside from losing my babies to miscarriage.
There are so many positive-sounding pieces of advice that we've probably heard all of our lives, like "If you work really hard at something and don't give up, you will succeed." Or, to quote Back to the Future (part one), "If you put your mind to it, you can accomplish anything." And there's the old standby, "Good things come to those who wait." These might work 99% of the time in business or many other areas of life, but they just don't apply to infertility. "Hang in there" and "don't give up" don't necessarily always work with having a baby. With that being said, I firmly believe that you should pray and try and seek medical help for as long as you can or want to or have the means to, if your desire is to have a baby. I think you should give it your all and plead with the Lord to intervene. But I don't think that the right combination of effort, good luck, positive thinking, and strong faith are what will make a baby.
I always would cringe when someone told me that my pregnancy would work if I had enough faith or if I just thought happy, positive thoughts. You can imagine how I felt when it didn't work. What was wrong with me? How did I manage to mess this up again? Was my faith really so weak?
While I'm not always the world's most positive person, I think I do okay at having a decent attitude most of the time. And I certainly am a person of faith. Without my faith, I don't know where I would be. But I don't think that having faith in my amount of faith will get me very far! And I don't even think that the key was having faith that I would one day have a baby, because I knew deep down in my heart that it might not happen for me. I could have faith as small as a mustard seed or as huge as a mountain, but the size of my faith doesn't affect my ability to carry a baby to term. (Stay with me here!)
Faith in my Lord's ability to act, on the other hand, is what matters. One of the lessons I learned through recurrent pregnancy loss was that I needed to focus my faith and my trust on my Savior, and on Him alone: on who He is and what He can do. My job is to believe, but it's His job to act. I was beginning to place all of my faith in having a baby someday, just knowing that if I could do that I would be happy and fulfilled. I came to see that God was the only one who could make this happen for me. He was the only one who could give me joy, peace, and fulfillment, and He was certainly the only one who could put life in my womb. Now, that didn't mean that he ultimately would make that happen. What it meant to me was that I needed to trust Him and have faith in His ability to act no matter what. As hard as it was for me to grasp, I had to learn that He would still be Lord and He would still be sovereign even if I never had children.
As I wrote about in my last post, the Bible tells us that nothing is impossible with God. This is a wonderful promise for the barren woman today, just as it was for Elizabeth way back then! I firmly believe that sometimes this is the message that might just help someone to keep pressing on when they feel like giving up. God can do the impossible, which is immensely encouraging when you feel that your situation is impossible! That's where I was without a doubt. I couldn't see how my crazy, death-trap of a womb would ever become a good home for a baby. I had tried and failed six times and had no real answer or solution, no guarantee that our seventh attempt would be any different. But we hoped and prayed for a miracle anyway, and we trusted that it was up to the Lord to give and sustain life to this baby.
Believing in the impossible (translated = believing that God could do the impossible and praying that He would) helped us to carry on and find the courage to give it another try. And by His grace, our baby is surviving. It's not because we had faith in our amount of faith (because believe me, I know I didn't). It's because God acted and because He is God. I don't think for one second that I'm still carrying this baby because I finally figured out the right formula. On the contrary, I take every opportunity to make sure that it is God and only God who gets the glory for this miracle.
(I recently read a great article about this topic of faith on the Desiring God blog that I thought was so helpful. It certainly explains things much better than I could. Here's the link if you'd like to check it out: Peter: When the Rock Sunk Slowly)
I've come to realize that there are several other places in Scripture where we see examples of this. It appears that Jesus healed many people on the basis of their faith. It would be easy to think that they were healed simply because they had tremendous faith. But if we look closely, we can see that they had faith specifically in the fact that they knew and believed that Jesus was able:
As Jesus went on from there, two blind men followed him, calling out, "Have mercy on us, Son of David!" When he had gone indoors, the blind men came to him, and he asked them, "Do you believe that I am able to do this?"
"Yes, Lord," they replied. Then he touched their eyes and said, "According to your faith will it be done to you"; and their sight was restored... (Matthew 9:27-30)
(See also Matthew 9:20-22; Luke 7:1-10)
Something else that I've seen in my reading this week is the reminder that there is power in prayer. I believe this with all of my heart, which is why I've prayed for so many years for our children and why I continue to pray diligently for each of you. I'm reminded of Hannah's story in 1 Samuel, as well as this verse in Genesis 25:21, "Isaac prayed to the LORD on behalf of his wife, because she was barren. The LORD answered his prayer, and his wife Rebekah became pregnant." The Bible invites us again and again to approach the Lord with confidence and bring our requests to Him with expectant hope. (Ephesians 3:12; Hebrews 4:16; 1 John 5:14-15)
At this point let me say that I know that some people who have walked the road of infertility and/or miscarriage will prayerfully come to a time when they feel that it's right for them to stop pursuing pregnancy or treatment. I think this is a brave decision that takes far more trust and faith in the Lord that I can fully imagine. And I don't believe that it is lack of faith or "giving up." I don't understand why loving, caring, wonderful people who want to have children sometimes won't have the opportunity to do so. I'll never understand that, and knowing some of the truly wonderful women in my life who haven't had children and yet always wanted to will always make my heart ache. Another thing I've learned on this journey is that adoption, as wonderful as I think it is and as much joy as I've seen it bring to families over the years, just isn't realistically an option for all couples in all situations all the time.
I believe that sometimes God may be telling us to stop. I would never, ever second-guess a person who felt like this was where they were on their infertility journey. I have absolutely no doubt that it is also in His ability to give that person peace and fulfillment in their life. (That may very well be the part of your situation that feels impossible!) That is my prayer for all of us, no matter what the end of our struggle may look like.
But, unless that is where your journey has taken you, I'll be here to encourage you to keep pressing on and believing that God can do the impossible. He can change our hearts and even our circumstances. I'm living proof.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
200 Days
I remember writing a post back in March when I reached 100 days of this pregnancy. Today is day 200! I can't believe that I've been pregnant for 200 days... in a row.
Maybe it seems like a weird thing to do, but that made me curious about how this number compares to my other pregnancies combined. I added up the weeks and they totaled 53. That's 371 days. Six pregnancies and more than a year of total time I'd spent pregnant without bringing a baby home. That seems like a huge chunk of time in my mind, even though I know it was spread out over about 6 years. And even though the number seems big, I know it doesn't compare to the number of days and weeks I've spent longing for a baby and hoping that one day my dream would be fulfilled.
Thank the Lord, these 200 days have been different. They've been fruitful days. Days that have brought us closer and closer to having a baby in our arms instead of only in our hearts and our memories.
Last weekend I reached 28 weeks -- the third trimester! It is still so hard for me to fathom. Me: seven months pregnant. I don't know how or why, but I know that my heart is overwhelmed and so full of thankfulness for this little life that God has granted and sustained. After so many years of problems (some identified and so many unidentified) resulting in miscarriage after miscarriage, I'm not sure I ever truly believed that I would have a healthy pregnancy. But the weeks keep passing and this baby keeps right on growing and living. And we are amazed and delighted. I just went back to the OB today for my regular visit and things are looking good. (I got the results for my glucose screening and was so happy to hear that they looked fine and I passed! Everything else is going along as scheduled.)
It seemed impossible to me. Totally impossible. But then I remember a verse in the Bible that I'd known for many years but really couldn't have told you the context until recently. It's in the first chapter of Luke, and it's the story of when the angel Gabriel visited Mary to tell her that she would give birth to Jesus. Gabriel explains to her that her relative Elizabeth is also having a child, and I love the way that he says this part: "...she who was said to be barren is in her sixth month. For nothing is impossible with God." (verses 36-37)
Gabriel was trying to get a point across to Mary. She wondered how she could possibly become pregnant since she was a virgin. Gabriel wants her to know that God could do what seemed impossible to her. He could even make a barren woman pregnant!
She who was said to be barren. Can you relate? I can. But isn't it wonderful that God isn't afraid of that word? My physical problems and my fears and doubts and even my history with miscarriage weren't surprising and were not an impediment to Him. For nothing is impossible with God!
I hope this encourages you today if you feel like your situation is impossible. I know that it doesn't help at all sometimes to hear someone say, "Hey, it happened for me! It will happen for you!" Sure, you might just want to punch that person in the face, knowing that they don't have a guarantee of what will happen in your future. Sometimes I felt that way, too. But I also know that it did my heart tremendous good to hear about someone who made it through. Maybe it was someone whose story sounded a lot like mine or even much worse. I needed to know that God could still move even though I doubted.
Today I just want you to know that sometimes the impossible truly does happen. That's what I want this blog to testify to. We serve a God who can look at what seems like a big, jumbled, impossible mess to us and almost hear Him say, "No problem. I can fix that."
(This was the precious cake that was at our baby shower given by my husband's coworkers a few weeks ago. I was so touched by it!)
Maybe it seems like a weird thing to do, but that made me curious about how this number compares to my other pregnancies combined. I added up the weeks and they totaled 53. That's 371 days. Six pregnancies and more than a year of total time I'd spent pregnant without bringing a baby home. That seems like a huge chunk of time in my mind, even though I know it was spread out over about 6 years. And even though the number seems big, I know it doesn't compare to the number of days and weeks I've spent longing for a baby and hoping that one day my dream would be fulfilled.
Thank the Lord, these 200 days have been different. They've been fruitful days. Days that have brought us closer and closer to having a baby in our arms instead of only in our hearts and our memories.
Last weekend I reached 28 weeks -- the third trimester! It is still so hard for me to fathom. Me: seven months pregnant. I don't know how or why, but I know that my heart is overwhelmed and so full of thankfulness for this little life that God has granted and sustained. After so many years of problems (some identified and so many unidentified) resulting in miscarriage after miscarriage, I'm not sure I ever truly believed that I would have a healthy pregnancy. But the weeks keep passing and this baby keeps right on growing and living. And we are amazed and delighted. I just went back to the OB today for my regular visit and things are looking good. (I got the results for my glucose screening and was so happy to hear that they looked fine and I passed! Everything else is going along as scheduled.)
It seemed impossible to me. Totally impossible. But then I remember a verse in the Bible that I'd known for many years but really couldn't have told you the context until recently. It's in the first chapter of Luke, and it's the story of when the angel Gabriel visited Mary to tell her that she would give birth to Jesus. Gabriel explains to her that her relative Elizabeth is also having a child, and I love the way that he says this part: "...she who was said to be barren is in her sixth month. For nothing is impossible with God." (verses 36-37)
Gabriel was trying to get a point across to Mary. She wondered how she could possibly become pregnant since she was a virgin. Gabriel wants her to know that God could do what seemed impossible to her. He could even make a barren woman pregnant!
She who was said to be barren. Can you relate? I can. But isn't it wonderful that God isn't afraid of that word? My physical problems and my fears and doubts and even my history with miscarriage weren't surprising and were not an impediment to Him. For nothing is impossible with God!
I hope this encourages you today if you feel like your situation is impossible. I know that it doesn't help at all sometimes to hear someone say, "Hey, it happened for me! It will happen for you!" Sure, you might just want to punch that person in the face, knowing that they don't have a guarantee of what will happen in your future. Sometimes I felt that way, too. But I also know that it did my heart tremendous good to hear about someone who made it through. Maybe it was someone whose story sounded a lot like mine or even much worse. I needed to know that God could still move even though I doubted.
Today I just want you to know that sometimes the impossible truly does happen. That's what I want this blog to testify to. We serve a God who can look at what seems like a big, jumbled, impossible mess to us and almost hear Him say, "No problem. I can fix that."
(This was the precious cake that was at our baby shower given by my husband's coworkers a few weeks ago. I was so touched by it!)
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
For Friends Who Are Hurting
Sometimes our circumstances are hard. Sometimes they're beyond hard and it seems like more than we can bear.
During my most difficult times I needed to be reminded that God was still good. It didn't help much (or at all) to hear that my baby wasn't meant to be or that I was still young and it would happen one day. It didn't help when people tried to comfort me by saying that at least I knew I could get pregnant. What I needed was someone to listen and try to understand instead of trying to put a tiny bandaid on my gaping wound. I struggled with my faith. My faith had never, ever been tested as it was during my years of one loss after another. I had never learned how hard it would be to trust God when my circumstances were terrible and I was at rock bottom.
I know what it's like to be angry, even at God. I know how it feels when you can't find the words to pray. While I have blogged through some pretty tough times, I didn't have this blog during my hardest times. I never wrote out my feelings of utter despair while going through a miscarriage. I don't know why it happened this way, because I'm sure I could have used the support during those times. For some reason I didn't think to start a blog until I could write about most of my pain in retrospect. Maybe that was a good thing in a way. I'm telling you this because I want you to know that you haven't seen me at my worst. You haven't seen me when I doubted that God actually cared about me and my barrenness, when I wanted to give up, and when I felt like my life was completely meaningless.
Fortunately it has been a long time since I've felt many of those things. While waiting three years for another pregnancy was far from easy, I did have a long break from experiencing miscarriage. For six years the losses had come back to back, one every year. That was an incredibly hard time for us, and even though we were trying again for another pregnancy, we were grateful for the break from losing babies. No, our problems were not solved. Our journey had not come to an end. We still didn't have children to love here on earth, but it did give us time to reflect and time to process some things.
One of my biggest struggles had been letting my circumstances and emotions determine whether or not I was happy. When times were good, God was good, and I was blessed and happy. When times were bad... well, you get the picture. It took a long time for me to put into practice what Paul taught in the Bible. Rejoice in the Lord always. How could he say that? How could God expect me to rejoice when my babies were dying? The truth was that I could be sad and angry and full of grief and yet still rejoice in the Lord. Joyful doesn't always mean happy-go-lucky, and my happiness has little to do with whether or not I am blessed. I had to learn that He was still good even when my circumstances were not good. When I rejoice in the Lord, I cannot lose that joy because He is always good. (For another post about this topic, click here.)
I have some friends who are going through really hard times right now. It's difficult to see friends going through trials, and when they are blog friends it's hard because I can't be there in person to sit with them, cry with them, and just be beside them. What I can do is pray and offer as much support as possible, and that's what I try to do. I would never claim to understand how everyone feels about loss. I know what I've been through and what I've felt, but I also know that everyone is different. People feel different things and grieve in different ways.
I know that in the middle of a trial there are very few words that help. I'm not writing this post to try to fix anyone's pain. These are things that I'm still working out myself. I have no idea exactly how I might handle another loss at this point and I hate to even think about it. I'd love to say that the lessons I've been learning and storing up in my heart would be what would come out. That's what I hope would happen even through my pain, but it's hard to say.
I do know this, friend: If your faith is weak right now, you can count on the fact that others are praying for you when you can't find the words or the strength. I pray that you'll hold onto the Lord even when He seems far away, and I pray that you'll hold onto hope.
During my most difficult times I needed to be reminded that God was still good. It didn't help much (or at all) to hear that my baby wasn't meant to be or that I was still young and it would happen one day. It didn't help when people tried to comfort me by saying that at least I knew I could get pregnant. What I needed was someone to listen and try to understand instead of trying to put a tiny bandaid on my gaping wound. I struggled with my faith. My faith had never, ever been tested as it was during my years of one loss after another. I had never learned how hard it would be to trust God when my circumstances were terrible and I was at rock bottom.
I know what it's like to be angry, even at God. I know how it feels when you can't find the words to pray. While I have blogged through some pretty tough times, I didn't have this blog during my hardest times. I never wrote out my feelings of utter despair while going through a miscarriage. I don't know why it happened this way, because I'm sure I could have used the support during those times. For some reason I didn't think to start a blog until I could write about most of my pain in retrospect. Maybe that was a good thing in a way. I'm telling you this because I want you to know that you haven't seen me at my worst. You haven't seen me when I doubted that God actually cared about me and my barrenness, when I wanted to give up, and when I felt like my life was completely meaningless.
Fortunately it has been a long time since I've felt many of those things. While waiting three years for another pregnancy was far from easy, I did have a long break from experiencing miscarriage. For six years the losses had come back to back, one every year. That was an incredibly hard time for us, and even though we were trying again for another pregnancy, we were grateful for the break from losing babies. No, our problems were not solved. Our journey had not come to an end. We still didn't have children to love here on earth, but it did give us time to reflect and time to process some things.
One of my biggest struggles had been letting my circumstances and emotions determine whether or not I was happy. When times were good, God was good, and I was blessed and happy. When times were bad... well, you get the picture. It took a long time for me to put into practice what Paul taught in the Bible. Rejoice in the Lord always. How could he say that? How could God expect me to rejoice when my babies were dying? The truth was that I could be sad and angry and full of grief and yet still rejoice in the Lord. Joyful doesn't always mean happy-go-lucky, and my happiness has little to do with whether or not I am blessed. I had to learn that He was still good even when my circumstances were not good. When I rejoice in the Lord, I cannot lose that joy because He is always good. (For another post about this topic, click here.)
I have some friends who are going through really hard times right now. It's difficult to see friends going through trials, and when they are blog friends it's hard because I can't be there in person to sit with them, cry with them, and just be beside them. What I can do is pray and offer as much support as possible, and that's what I try to do. I would never claim to understand how everyone feels about loss. I know what I've been through and what I've felt, but I also know that everyone is different. People feel different things and grieve in different ways.
I know that in the middle of a trial there are very few words that help. I'm not writing this post to try to fix anyone's pain. These are things that I'm still working out myself. I have no idea exactly how I might handle another loss at this point and I hate to even think about it. I'd love to say that the lessons I've been learning and storing up in my heart would be what would come out. That's what I hope would happen even through my pain, but it's hard to say.
I do know this, friend: If your faith is weak right now, you can count on the fact that others are praying for you when you can't find the words or the strength. I pray that you'll hold onto the Lord even when He seems far away, and I pray that you'll hold onto hope.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Why Now?
That is the question I've been pondering lately.
It has almost replaced my old standard question that has been around for so many years, "Why me?" Why was it so hard? Why did we have to live through one loss after another for 6 years, followed by 3 years of waiting and wondering? Those questions are still with me, although they're not at the forefront of my mind like they used to be. No, it's not because I'm pregnant; it's because I was learning to let it go. I knew that, for me, I had to get to a place where I could let go of my desire to know why things happen the way they do. It was a matter of trusting that God was still in control and I needed to trust that even though I didn't have a baby.
I'm still learning to trust Him. Lately I've been wondering, "Why now?" What changed so that we could now make it to the 16th week of pregnancy? Why has the Lord now decided to give us this child?
I don't know the answer. We didn't know why then, and we don't know why now.
I don't know why we struggled through recurrent miscarriage alone. To clarify, we had the wonderful support of our family and some close friends through that trial. But it is a lonely time even for a couple. What I mean is that we didn't know very many others who had been through what we were facing. It was so hard. Our babies were dying and I knew that there was a problem somewhere inside my body that was causing it. It is a helpless, horrible feeling. We sought the help of doctors along the way who identified a few issues and corrected them. We hoped for something different, but nothing changed. We still got pregnant and we still miscarried. We felt like we were walking through the valley of the shadow of death.
Then came what we felt was our time in the desert. Three years of nothing. We were facing infertility on top of recurrent miscarriage.
The difference was that God gave me an outlet during that time. In those few years He gave me a community of supporters who quickly became friends. He allowed me the opportunity to write, which was something I hadn't explored in a long time. He gave me what I still consider a ministry, here, in the form of a blog. We weren't alone anymore. Sure, it was still hard, but now we had our family and friends plus a group of people who knew what we felt because they too were living it. And all of a sudden, instead of wanting to hide ourselves away until our problem was resolved (if it ever would be) and instead of being ashamed of how devastated we felt about our situation, we began to be more open about it. Now, when people asked why we didn't have children, we told them why. We told them about how long we had been trying, how hard it had been, and how desperately we wanted that. We asked them to pray with us and we talked about the babies we'd lost. I no longer worried so much about hiding my tears. It was really hard and really outside of what felt comfortable, but we almost embraced it in a way. YES, we still hated it, but I think we realized that it was becoming part of our story.
It's strange to think that now is the time for us to have a successful pregnancy. Why now? Maybe it's because I needed you guys to hold me up and have faith when I didn't. Without a doubt I know that I need your prayers and encouragement to get through this new waiting period. I have a lot of fears and a lot of worries even though we're farther than we've ever been. Oh, how I wish I could have had this community when it was our season of loss. But for some reason that I may never fully understand, we needed to get through that time together and we needed to learn to rely on God. We needed to realize that we weren't really alone because He never did leave us.
Since I started blogging almost 2 years ago, I've watched (and prayed, and rejoiced!) as more than 20 of my blog friends have given birth to or adopted new babies! I think that's incredible. My list of friends who are still waiting, however, is longer than 20. I pray every single day for people on that list. If you're still in the valley of miscarriage and loss or in the desert of infertility, I pray that it will soon be your time to sit back and wonder in amazement, why now?
It's okay with me if I never get the answer. He knows why. And I'm thankful.
It has almost replaced my old standard question that has been around for so many years, "Why me?" Why was it so hard? Why did we have to live through one loss after another for 6 years, followed by 3 years of waiting and wondering? Those questions are still with me, although they're not at the forefront of my mind like they used to be. No, it's not because I'm pregnant; it's because I was learning to let it go. I knew that, for me, I had to get to a place where I could let go of my desire to know why things happen the way they do. It was a matter of trusting that God was still in control and I needed to trust that even though I didn't have a baby.
I'm still learning to trust Him. Lately I've been wondering, "Why now?" What changed so that we could now make it to the 16th week of pregnancy? Why has the Lord now decided to give us this child?
I don't know the answer. We didn't know why then, and we don't know why now.
I don't know why we struggled through recurrent miscarriage alone. To clarify, we had the wonderful support of our family and some close friends through that trial. But it is a lonely time even for a couple. What I mean is that we didn't know very many others who had been through what we were facing. It was so hard. Our babies were dying and I knew that there was a problem somewhere inside my body that was causing it. It is a helpless, horrible feeling. We sought the help of doctors along the way who identified a few issues and corrected them. We hoped for something different, but nothing changed. We still got pregnant and we still miscarried. We felt like we were walking through the valley of the shadow of death.
Then came what we felt was our time in the desert. Three years of nothing. We were facing infertility on top of recurrent miscarriage.
The difference was that God gave me an outlet during that time. In those few years He gave me a community of supporters who quickly became friends. He allowed me the opportunity to write, which was something I hadn't explored in a long time. He gave me what I still consider a ministry, here, in the form of a blog. We weren't alone anymore. Sure, it was still hard, but now we had our family and friends plus a group of people who knew what we felt because they too were living it. And all of a sudden, instead of wanting to hide ourselves away until our problem was resolved (if it ever would be) and instead of being ashamed of how devastated we felt about our situation, we began to be more open about it. Now, when people asked why we didn't have children, we told them why. We told them about how long we had been trying, how hard it had been, and how desperately we wanted that. We asked them to pray with us and we talked about the babies we'd lost. I no longer worried so much about hiding my tears. It was really hard and really outside of what felt comfortable, but we almost embraced it in a way. YES, we still hated it, but I think we realized that it was becoming part of our story.
It's strange to think that now is the time for us to have a successful pregnancy. Why now? Maybe it's because I needed you guys to hold me up and have faith when I didn't. Without a doubt I know that I need your prayers and encouragement to get through this new waiting period. I have a lot of fears and a lot of worries even though we're farther than we've ever been. Oh, how I wish I could have had this community when it was our season of loss. But for some reason that I may never fully understand, we needed to get through that time together and we needed to learn to rely on God. We needed to realize that we weren't really alone because He never did leave us.
Since I started blogging almost 2 years ago, I've watched (and prayed, and rejoiced!) as more than 20 of my blog friends have given birth to or adopted new babies! I think that's incredible. My list of friends who are still waiting, however, is longer than 20. I pray every single day for people on that list. If you're still in the valley of miscarriage and loss or in the desert of infertility, I pray that it will soon be your time to sit back and wonder in amazement, why now?
It's okay with me if I never get the answer. He knows why. And I'm thankful.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
A Lesson From Joseph
I have a lot of favorite stories and people from the Bible. It would be hard to pick my very favorite. Certainly living through infertility has made me grow very fond of people like Sarah, Hannah, Elizabeth, Rachel, and Rebekah. But I also love to read about the life of Daniel, someone of great moral character whose life is a testament to faithfulness and obedience, and whom God used in such powerful ways. My husband's dear grandfather was named after him and he truly lived a life worthy of that name!
Another one of my favorite Biblical figures is Joseph (the one whose father was Jacob, not Mary's husband Joseph, although his is a remarkable story as well). Yesterday I read something really great over at the Desiring God blog about the life of Joseph. It is a fantastic post about how the circumstances we may be facing don't necessarily tell our whole story. I think it will speak to you as much as it did to me! I hope you'll take the time to click over and read the original post, called Staying Faithful When Things Get Worse.
Here is an excerpt from it. I hope it's just enough to draw you in so you'll click over for the rest of the story:
Remember several years ago when Dream.Works released an animated film called Joseph: King of Dreams? I've always liked it, and I particularly love one of the songs featured in the movie during Joseph's time in prison. I was happy to find the clip to attach to this post and share with you. It's a great little song with a message that I always need to hear. Hope you enjoy it. I'll copy the lyrics for you below as well.
Better Than I
I thought I did what's right
I thought I had the answers
I thought I chose the surest road
But that road brought me here
So I put up a fight
And told You how to help me
Now just when I have given up
The truth is coming clear
You know better than I
You know the way
I've let go the need to know why
For You know better than I
If this has been a test
I cannot see the reason
But maybe knowing I don't know
Is part of getting through
I try to do what's best
And faith has made it easy
To see the best thing I can do
Is put my faith in You, for
You know better than I
You know the way
I've let go the need to know why
For You know better than I
I saw one cloud and thought it was the sky
I saw a bird and thought that I could follow
But it was You who taught that bird to fly
If I let you reach me
Will you teach me?
For You know better than I
You know the way
I've let go the need to know why
I'll take what answers You supply
You know better than I
Another one of my favorite Biblical figures is Joseph (the one whose father was Jacob, not Mary's husband Joseph, although his is a remarkable story as well). Yesterday I read something really great over at the Desiring God blog about the life of Joseph. It is a fantastic post about how the circumstances we may be facing don't necessarily tell our whole story. I think it will speak to you as much as it did to me! I hope you'll take the time to click over and read the original post, called Staying Faithful When Things Get Worse.
Here is an excerpt from it. I hope it's just enough to draw you in so you'll click over for the rest of the story:
Darkness had swallowed the light again. Joseph dreaded the night in this foul Egyptian hellhole. It was hard to fight off the relentless hopelessness as he awaited the escape of sleep.
Day after monotonous day passed with no sign of change. The familiar desperation surged hot in his chest. His youth was seeping out the cracks of his cage. He was pacing in his soul. Joseph wanted to scream.
Fists to his forehead he pleaded again with God in the dark for deliverance.
And he remembered. It was the remembering that kept his hope alive and bitterness at bay...
Click HERE to read the rest.
Come back and leave me a comment about what you thought of the post after you read it. I'd love to know your thoughts!Remember several years ago when Dream.Works released an animated film called Joseph: King of Dreams? I've always liked it, and I particularly love one of the songs featured in the movie during Joseph's time in prison. I was happy to find the clip to attach to this post and share with you. It's a great little song with a message that I always need to hear. Hope you enjoy it. I'll copy the lyrics for you below as well.
Better Than I
I thought I did what's right
I thought I had the answers
I thought I chose the surest road
But that road brought me here
So I put up a fight
And told You how to help me
Now just when I have given up
The truth is coming clear
You know better than I
You know the way
I've let go the need to know why
For You know better than I
If this has been a test
I cannot see the reason
But maybe knowing I don't know
Is part of getting through
I try to do what's best
And faith has made it easy
To see the best thing I can do
Is put my faith in You, for
You know better than I
You know the way
I've let go the need to know why
For You know better than I
I saw one cloud and thought it was the sky
I saw a bird and thought that I could follow
But it was You who taught that bird to fly
If I let you reach me
Will you teach me?
For You know better than I
You know the way
I've let go the need to know why
I'll take what answers You supply
You know better than I
Friday, January 29, 2010
Why I Don't Like Statistics
When I was in high school I served as our basketball teams' statistician. I absolutely loved it. When I wasn't keeping the official green book, I used a legal-sized piece of paper, turned sideways on a clipboard, with a homemade chart for marking every detail of the basketball game. There were usually three of us on the bench, eyes glued to the court, trying to catch every single steal, assist, shot attempt, rebound, and turnover. Back then I didn't think much about statistics, at least where sports were concerned. It was pretty cut-and-dry. At the end of the school year we would figure up the percentages for the athletic awards ceremony based upon all of those stat sheets throughout the year. Awards were given to the player with the best field goal percentage, the best free throw percentage, the most steals, and so on. It was a simple thing, really. The numbers pretty much told the story.
When it comes to real life, I don't really like statistics. They never do seem to tell the whole story. What matters, of course, is what side of them you happen to be on.
I've never cared for the statistic that says that people who come from divorced parents are twice as likely to get divorced. I'm not saying there's absolutely no data out there to support the claim, and it's true that statistics are only meant to be a sampling. There's no way they could apply to and be true for everyone. Still, I don't like the assumption that the odds are against me simply because my parents' marriage didn't work. I like knowing there is room for me to break that cycle. I realize that, like the first line of one of my favorite Caedmon's Call songs says, "I come from a long line of leavers." There is a lot of divorce in my family, but I don't for a second believe that it means our marriage is doomed. I believe we can change that trend. With that considered, I believe that sometimes it's a good thing to be on the "wrong side" of a statistic.
As I'm sure you can imagine, I'm also not a fan of infertility-related statistics. I know that sometimes they are used to try to make you feel better. Even at our last appointment, our doctor went through the run-down of miscarriage percentages. Right now I have about a 20% chance of miscarrying (considering the stage of this pregnancy only). If we see a heartbeat, that number will go down, and it will continue to decrease as we see more and more development, such as arm and leg buds, etc. And that's all wonderful to hear, except that I've been on the wrong side of those statistics, too.
It's hard for me to take comfort in those numbers. I've seen those wonderful baby heartbeats before. We even saw our baby's arm and leg buds on an ultrasound screen for our 4th pregnancy! But it doesn't mean much when you find out that you're still in the small percentage of people who will lose their baby. Some sources say that after 4 pregnancies and no live births, my chances of having this baby are between 0 and 5%. I haven't looked up one for 6 pregnancies and no live births because I just don't want to know. I think I'm much better off not knowing what the numbers say and hoping that I can beat the odds. This is definitely another trend I'm determined to break.
Fortunately I've reached a point where I'm simply annoyed by statistics. I don't put my trust in them; I put my trust in the Creator of heaven and earth, and the One who made me and loved me first. I know that nothing is impossible with God. (Interesting side note: Did you know that when that verse is used in Luke 1:37, the topic of conversation is that Elizabeth, who was barren, is having a child? I love that!)
To bring this post full-circle (and if you'll pardon me for the basketball analogy), something else I learned as a statistician is that the person who gets awarded is usually the person who took the most shots. Sure, the important part is making them. But you can't expect to make the shot if you aren't first brave enough to attempt it. I'm hoping that this time for me will be a lot like the time the guy in my class who played center, the biggest guy on the team, took that wild, one-in-a-million shot from behind the three-point line... and he made it.
The odds were totally against that shot, but boy, was it worth it -- to him and to everyone who was cheering him on!
When it comes to real life, I don't really like statistics. They never do seem to tell the whole story. What matters, of course, is what side of them you happen to be on.
I've never cared for the statistic that says that people who come from divorced parents are twice as likely to get divorced. I'm not saying there's absolutely no data out there to support the claim, and it's true that statistics are only meant to be a sampling. There's no way they could apply to and be true for everyone. Still, I don't like the assumption that the odds are against me simply because my parents' marriage didn't work. I like knowing there is room for me to break that cycle. I realize that, like the first line of one of my favorite Caedmon's Call songs says, "I come from a long line of leavers." There is a lot of divorce in my family, but I don't for a second believe that it means our marriage is doomed. I believe we can change that trend. With that considered, I believe that sometimes it's a good thing to be on the "wrong side" of a statistic.
As I'm sure you can imagine, I'm also not a fan of infertility-related statistics. I know that sometimes they are used to try to make you feel better. Even at our last appointment, our doctor went through the run-down of miscarriage percentages. Right now I have about a 20% chance of miscarrying (considering the stage of this pregnancy only). If we see a heartbeat, that number will go down, and it will continue to decrease as we see more and more development, such as arm and leg buds, etc. And that's all wonderful to hear, except that I've been on the wrong side of those statistics, too.
It's hard for me to take comfort in those numbers. I've seen those wonderful baby heartbeats before. We even saw our baby's arm and leg buds on an ultrasound screen for our 4th pregnancy! But it doesn't mean much when you find out that you're still in the small percentage of people who will lose their baby. Some sources say that after 4 pregnancies and no live births, my chances of having this baby are between 0 and 5%. I haven't looked up one for 6 pregnancies and no live births because I just don't want to know. I think I'm much better off not knowing what the numbers say and hoping that I can beat the odds. This is definitely another trend I'm determined to break.
Fortunately I've reached a point where I'm simply annoyed by statistics. I don't put my trust in them; I put my trust in the Creator of heaven and earth, and the One who made me and loved me first. I know that nothing is impossible with God. (Interesting side note: Did you know that when that verse is used in Luke 1:37, the topic of conversation is that Elizabeth, who was barren, is having a child? I love that!)
To bring this post full-circle (and if you'll pardon me for the basketball analogy), something else I learned as a statistician is that the person who gets awarded is usually the person who took the most shots. Sure, the important part is making them. But you can't expect to make the shot if you aren't first brave enough to attempt it. I'm hoping that this time for me will be a lot like the time the guy in my class who played center, the biggest guy on the team, took that wild, one-in-a-million shot from behind the three-point line... and he made it.
The odds were totally against that shot, but boy, was it worth it -- to him and to everyone who was cheering him on!
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Christmas Past
Each year when December comes around and it's time to decorate for Christmas, one of my very favorite things is getting out some of the old ornaments that have been around since my childhood. After I got married and had a home of my own, my mom let me have a few special things from Christmases past. They are not valuable in the sense that they cost very much money, but to me they are worth so much. These ornaments were on or under our tree or placed somewhere in the house every Christmas for as long as I can remember. I consider it a joy to give them a place of honor in my home today. They serve as a reminder to me for many things.
Here is the old nativity scene that Mom always placed at the foot of our small tree:
And here is one of our favorite old ornaments that my sis and I always called "the mouse in the chimney":
You see, we didn't have much when I was growing up. The things that are special to me and have a special place in my memory and in my heart are not fancy. Times were very, very hard for a very long time. When my sister and I were little, our mom would put up a small tree. Most of the decorations on it were ones that we had made at school or church, because it's all we could afford and because those meant the most to her anyway.
I don't really remember Christmas of 1978. It was one month shy of my second birthday. It stands out in my mind, however, because of a few old Polaroid photographs and because of the stories that have been told about it. Christmas was certainly unique that year. It was the year my dad won $200 playing pool, and he and my mom decided to spend it all on Christmas! Here's what our biggest childhood Christmas Day looked like:
Wow! It was a really big deal to us. Although I was too young to remember the day, I do remember playing with that basketball goal and that baby carriage for years to come.
We only have pictures from two of those early Christmases because they were the only ones during which we owned a camera. After only a couple of years, the Polaroid stopped working right and my dad tossed it into a field in Kansas during a road trip. I've always wondered if anyone ever found it!
The next couple of photos come from the following Christmas, 1979. It was thirty years ago this year, and one month before my third birthday. This is more like what a typical Christmas would have looked like at our house. There wasn't any bonus from any barroom activity that year, but I'm quite sure my sis and I were just as excited about Christmas Day!
If you look very carefully, you can see the little nativity under the tree. I even think I see the mouse in the chimney toward the top of the tree.
(That's me in yellow and my sis in green.)
Later I know there were many years when we had no tree and knew there would be few or no gifts. Fortunately, Mom knew better than to invent stories about Santa Claus. How would you explain to poor kids that even though they'd been good, Santa wasn't coming? I have always appreciated the fact that our mom made the decision to tell us that Santa was just a story that people tell for fun, but it wasn't real. We didn't burst anyone's bubble with the news, either; we just felt like we were in on a grown-up secret.
Mom knew that one day we wouldn't care that we didn't have mall photos with the man in the red suit and white beard, because she knew she had tucked the true meaning of Christmas away in our hearts. Her gift was that we knew that Christmas was about Jesus: Emmanuel, God with us. She taught two little girls that God loved us whether we were bad or good, and He blessed us with the greatest gift of all even though we were poor. That was something that we could believe in and hold on to.
So, that's what I focus on when I remember Christmas past. Sure, it was hard to see others with their new toys and games and clothes year after year. The true lesson and meaning of things is difficult to recognize when you're a child, but it is one that I hope will stick with me forever.
Sometimes I still need a reminder that Christmas isn't about things. It's about a Savior, it's about love, and it's about family. It's a great lesson for Christmas: past, present, and future.
Here is the old nativity scene that Mom always placed at the foot of our small tree:
And here is one of our favorite old ornaments that my sis and I always called "the mouse in the chimney":
You see, we didn't have much when I was growing up. The things that are special to me and have a special place in my memory and in my heart are not fancy. Times were very, very hard for a very long time. When my sister and I were little, our mom would put up a small tree. Most of the decorations on it were ones that we had made at school or church, because it's all we could afford and because those meant the most to her anyway.
I don't really remember Christmas of 1978. It was one month shy of my second birthday. It stands out in my mind, however, because of a few old Polaroid photographs and because of the stories that have been told about it. Christmas was certainly unique that year. It was the year my dad won $200 playing pool, and he and my mom decided to spend it all on Christmas! Here's what our biggest childhood Christmas Day looked like:
Wow! It was a really big deal to us. Although I was too young to remember the day, I do remember playing with that basketball goal and that baby carriage for years to come.
We only have pictures from two of those early Christmases because they were the only ones during which we owned a camera. After only a couple of years, the Polaroid stopped working right and my dad tossed it into a field in Kansas during a road trip. I've always wondered if anyone ever found it!
The next couple of photos come from the following Christmas, 1979. It was thirty years ago this year, and one month before my third birthday. This is more like what a typical Christmas would have looked like at our house. There wasn't any bonus from any barroom activity that year, but I'm quite sure my sis and I were just as excited about Christmas Day!
If you look very carefully, you can see the little nativity under the tree. I even think I see the mouse in the chimney toward the top of the tree.
(That's me in yellow and my sis in green.)
Later I know there were many years when we had no tree and knew there would be few or no gifts. Fortunately, Mom knew better than to invent stories about Santa Claus. How would you explain to poor kids that even though they'd been good, Santa wasn't coming? I have always appreciated the fact that our mom made the decision to tell us that Santa was just a story that people tell for fun, but it wasn't real. We didn't burst anyone's bubble with the news, either; we just felt like we were in on a grown-up secret.
Mom knew that one day we wouldn't care that we didn't have mall photos with the man in the red suit and white beard, because she knew she had tucked the true meaning of Christmas away in our hearts. Her gift was that we knew that Christmas was about Jesus: Emmanuel, God with us. She taught two little girls that God loved us whether we were bad or good, and He blessed us with the greatest gift of all even though we were poor. That was something that we could believe in and hold on to.
So, that's what I focus on when I remember Christmas past. Sure, it was hard to see others with their new toys and games and clothes year after year. The true lesson and meaning of things is difficult to recognize when you're a child, but it is one that I hope will stick with me forever.
Sometimes I still need a reminder that Christmas isn't about things. It's about a Savior, it's about love, and it's about family. It's a great lesson for Christmas: past, present, and future.
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