Anxiety

I had my first anxiety attack on the night I brought my first baby home from the hospital.

I didn't know what it was at the time, but I most certainly knew something was wrong. We'd waited so long for that moment. I wish I could write that all I felt at that time was pure, unadulterated joy and relief. And oh, I did feel that! I couldn't believe all that had transpired in the days just prior. After losing six babies to miscarriage, we'd seen the face of our seventh baby. She'd been born plump and healthy and beautiful, and we'd actually brought her home. She was ours to keep! It was unbelievable and it was wonderful.

The circumstances surrounding the release from the hospital weren't perfectly smooth. We had a few hiccups as we were getting ready to head home that late September day in 2010. After a three-day stay following my c-section delivery, we were ready to head home but Lily had jaundice. Even after I was released, we were waiting on one more bilirubin test that wouldn't happen until 5 PM. The doctor came in the room a few hours later to tell me her numbers were still high, but they would let us take her home if we took her in to the clinic over the weekend (it was a Friday evening) to have the test repeated. Of course we would do whatever we needed to do, including making sure she got some sunlight and was getting plenty to eat.

All that is to say, we made it home that Friday night with our baby girl, pulling into the driveway as a family of three after the sun had set. My mom and my sister were both there, so I knew we had lots of help. I remember things feeling a bit chaotic as it was so late in the day and I was nervous about keeping Lily's jaundice in check. If someone had asked if I felt absolutely frantic or anxious, I would have answered no.

It wasn't until later that night that I became aware of a problem. My chest felt tight and heavy. I had a hard time taking deep breaths. My heart was pounding. I knew I was exhausted and needed sleep. Those three nights in a busy hospital after major surgery, with nurses coming in to give medicine and check my vitals, plus breastfeeding a newborn baby every 2-3 hours had not left me feeling well-rested. But the more I tried to rest at home in my own bed, the more sleeping became impossible. I called my doctor's office and the on-call doctor called me back, but I didn't feel like she understood what I was saying or experiencing. It was one of the longest nights of my life. I don't mean to sound dramatic here, but I honestly thought I was dying.

Somehow I made it through the weekend. Lily's bilirubin count had gotten up to 16, but by Sunday we had some relief when the number started dropping. She was doing great. I was still struggling, but still I had no idea why. I had no appetite. Every evening that chest pain would return. I was getting only enough sleep to get by. I'd already quit taking my pain medicine for fear that it was contributing to the way I was feeling. My mom, sister, and husband were helping me take care of the baby, thankfully. By Monday morning I decided to go see my doctor. As soon as she looked at me, she told me to go over to the ER to get checked out. She said she'd call ahead and tell them I was coming. The chest pains had her concerned about a blood clot in my lungs. At the ER I had a CT scan and lots of blood work, and they had me see a cardiologist for an echocardiogram. It was a crazy few days, and what I remember most is how badly I hated being away from my sweet baby. But I knew that I had to rule out some of these things and try to feel better.

All of the tests I had came back clear, which was great news. I still had no idea what happened. It took about two weeks for me to feel remotely normal again. As time went on I began to wonder if it had been anxiety. I talked to a couple of friends who had struggled with anxiety/panic attacks before and things started making more sense to me. It's so hard to know, because it feels so scary. It most certainly does NOT feel like it's "all in your head." Once things settled down, I thought that feeling had gone away for good. I thought it was just a very strange thing that happened but was eventually overcome and eclipsed by the joy we felt in bringing our baby home. Life went on.

Fast forward a couple of years.

We found out we were expecting for the eighth time when Lily was only 18 months old. The fact that it happened again so quickly (relatively speaking -- it had taken us three years, and a grand total of nearly nine years all things considered, to get pregnant with Lily) was a surprise and a blessing. As is true with each and every pregnancy we've had, the early weeks and months were nerve-racking. On top of the endless worry and waiting and ultrasounds, there was also the melanoma that my dermatologist had discovered at the very beginning of the pregnancy. At 13 weeks I had surgery to remove the cancer from my arm. Strangely, I made it through all of that chaos, while also keeping up with a busy toddler, with no anxiety attacks. Truly, I still wasn't quite sure it was what I'd had back when Lily was born.

But as the time drew near for our second daughter to arrive, I began to feel some of the same things again. It wasn't as intense as I remembered, but it was starting to happen again intermittently. I talked to my OB/GYN at length about it, and told her I was worried that it was going to escalate after Anna was born like it had with Lily. I was trying to stay positive and hope that, with it being my second time, I could keep the anxious feelings at bay and just get through it.

I had my second c-section in late November of 2012. Again, we had a big, beautiful baby girl whom we were elated to meet. While the baby was fine, the delivery hadn't been completely problem-free. After countless (painful) attempts, the anesthesiologist never could get the spinal block to work. He finally left, frustrated, and with me in a puddle of tears, and called in a colleague to come give me an epidural. The experience was horrible, but I kept my eye on the prize. Soon the surgery was underway and in no time I heard those precious first cries. We enjoyed our first moments with baby Anna in the OR before she was taken to the nursery. Afterward, while I was in recovery and time went on and on, we finally begged the nurse to find out why they hadn't brought the baby back to us. She was doing okay, they said, but she had fluid in her lungs -- common for babies who aren't squeezed through the birth canal. Well, we knew she would be fine, but that's not to say we weren't worried. And of course we wanted to see her as soon as possible. But that didn't happen for seven more hours. Her breathing was still too rapid and her lungs were still full. They wanted to check her one last time and if she didn't "pass" she would spend the night in the NICU. Suddenly and rather abruptly, the nurse was wheeling her into my room and handing me my baby, telling me she had turned around quickly and was doing great. It was a huge answer to prayer and a big relief to finally hold her after such a long, long day.

The anesthesiologist (who by that time was not my favorite person) came to see me the next day to warn me that in some cases after a failed spinal block, the spinal fluid will leak and cause a severe headache. He said to let a nurse know if that happened to me and turned and walked out. It wasn't until the day after that when I began to feel like I had a sore neck. It felt like a pulled muscle, but as time went on the pain crept up into the back of my head. I spoke to some doctors about my options and decided that, rather than have another spinal procedure (the last thing in the world I wanted to do at that point) to fix the headache, I would just endure it. It wasn't great, but it at least felt manageable right then and there in the hospital. I went home and tolerated that horrible headache for a solid week. Fortunately, Anna was doing great. She had no jaundice and breastfeeding was going so well.

During those first few nights home, the anxiety attacks returned. I think they were tempered in a way by what I was experiencing with the spinal headache. I was in so much pain from that, that it kept me distracted from dwelling on the anxiety. I lost my appetite again and quit the pain meds early again, just like before. But every evening for the first week or so I was visited by that heaviness in my chest, inability to sleep, shortness of breath, and rapid heartbeat.

I know this is turning into a long story, but I wanted to revisit where it all started. It's hard -- as a person, as a woman, as a Christian, and as a mom -- to admit sometimes that we don't have it all together. I can only speculate why the births of both of my miracle babies brought so many different emotions. I expected the joy and the awe, but I never saw the panic and anxiety coming. I think part of it was the realization that we were finally seeing this dream come to fruition, and my fear that somehow we were going to mess it up or lose it. Maybe that doesn't make much sense but after being pregnant six times and losing all of those precious ones, I think there was a deep sense of fear lurking underneath all of that joy. I didn't want to come so close and watch it all slip away again.

I decided to write about all of this now because, over the past weekend, I was struck by two anxiety attacks. No, I'm not pregnant. I obviously didn't just bring home a new baby. I don't know exactly what caused it, but at least I know now what to call it. I know that, for me, I've come to recognize that there is a "perfect storm" of exhaustion, usually sickness, stress, and insomnia that will bring on the attack. After the double whammy last weekend, I talked to my family doctor about the whole thing. It felt good to finally have a doctor listen and understand what I was experiencing. She prescribed some medication that I can take when I feel the attacks coming on. Strangely enough, I think just knowing it's there in the medicine cabinet gives me some reassurance and makes me feel a bit calmer, which the doctor said actually happens more often than you'd think.

This whole thing is not something I've shared with many people. I guess I wanted to write about it here just to tell somebody, anybody: Hey, I don't have it all together!

Life gets complicated, times get hard, infertility is horrible, we fail, we suffer loss, we survive, our faith is tested, we overcome, sometimes our dreams come true, miracles happen, parenthood is tough, sometimes we feel out of control, and life remains challenging, and we don't have it all together. And it's okay. It's okay to admit it and ask for help. That has been difficult for me to realize. I've already been surprised by the number of friends and family members, out of the very few I've talked to about this, who have struggled with some similar issues. It always helps to know we aren't alone in our struggles. As always, thanks for letting me share and thank you for continuing to read.

Doing The Hard Things

The first month of the new year is winding down, friends. It was my birthday month as well. Last Saturday I turned 37 and it has me reflecting on some things, as my birthday usually does these days.

There are a few characteristics that I've never felt like I've really been able to claim. Can you relate? For example, I've never felt super independent. I'm a younger sister who was always very close to her older sister. We shared most things, including a bedroom (and a bed!), until she left for college. Two years later, I followed her to the same university where we were roommates for a year before she got married. The next year, my Sophomore year of college, is the only year of my entire life that I've ever lived alone. During that year I had a private dorm room on campus (which was like being alone, yet not). The year after that, I lived in the home of a dear family who treated me like one of their own. And by the time my senior year arrived, I was married to my husband. We've now been married for 15 years.

I know that being independent doesn't entirely mean living alone, but it's just not a way I would describe myself. I'm most comfortable with someone close to me, looking out for me in a way. I admire those who can get out there and make a new path all on their own. But I feel much safer and happier walking a well-trodden one with someone I love and trust walking with me. Okay, in front of me... so I'll know where to go.

And I guess that's part of the reason that I have, at times, felt weak. Certain events in my life, though, have served to toughen me up and ultimately made me realize that I was stronger than I thought. Coming from a broken home where we didn't have a whole lot of money, and the kinds of issues my sister and I had to face from a very young age is one of those events.

The other big one that stands out in my mind is infertility.

It feels like I've had to fight hard for the life that I have today. I know, nobody ever promised it would be easy. I realize that, and it's okay. I'm not bitter about it. But I'm not ashamed to say this:
I'm proud of the fact that I've learned how to do some hard things.

You should know that I have a hard time complimenting myself. I don't mean that I normally have a lot of self-pity or low self-esteem, but that I am my own harshest critic. I have difficulty acknowledging when I've done well, as well as forgiving myself when I make stupid mistakes, and I replay the dumb things I say and do every night in my mind before I go to sleep. Let's just say, sometimes it takes me a really long time to go to sleep! I realize this about myself -- I worry and I regret much more than I should.

My point is, I've learned that I CAN do the hard things. There's something about that statement that I find empowering. This baby sister, follower, scrawny little child from a tiny town in southern Louisiana, whose childhood was tough and who learned how to do without, who is more comfortable reading about adventure than experiencing it, who always felt awkward and who never knew what a happy, healthy marriage looked like, who was told she'd never realize her dream of having children, somehow (by the grace of God)... grew up, left home, went to college, got married to an amazing, godly man, survived nearly nine years of infertility and recurrent miscarriage, and had two beautiful daughters. That was me! I actually DID THAT. I haven't done anything that would be earth-shattering to most people, but they've been huge accomplishments to me.

Do I sometimes wish it hadn't been so dang hard? YES. I often wish that, even though I know that it taught me a whole lot -- so much more than I could have learned without having experienced it firsthand. (Allow me to say here that I'm fully aware of the many, many people who have had a way harder time than I could ever imagine. I'm not trying to make comparisons or dwell on which hardships are "worse," but only to reflect on my own experiences and how far the Lord has brought me personally.) I've realized that having things like this in my past that I've overcome have made me feel stronger. They've made me feel like I can accept and face a challenge head-on, knowing that I've made it through some tough things already.

I love this quote from William Barclay and I think I've shared it on this blog before, but it's worth repeating: The effect of testing rightly borne is strength to bear still more and to conquer in still harder battles. 
So, so true!

I don't write this to say that now I've entered into an easy time. No, in fact, I feel challenged more and more every single day because this parenting thing is HARD. More than ever before, I feel like daily I have to surrender and cry out to God for strength and wisdom and patience. I love my kids so much and I fought so hard to have them! I wouldn't change a thing and I'm forever grateful for these two lives entrusted to me, but that doesn't mean it's an easy job to wake up and do every day. I so badly want to do this job well, and I think that's partly what makes it such a challenge. I put pressure on myself to give it my best and I beat myself up when I fail. But, guess what? I know now that I can do the hard things.

One of my big challenges after I had Lily was breastfeeding. I won't give you all the gory details, but it started out rough. I knew, though, that it was something I really wanted to do. If it ultimately didn't work out, I knew it would be fine both for her and for me. I know that not everyone can or even wants to do it, and I pass no judgement on what anyone else decides to do, but I knew that I wanted to try. I had to set small goals for myself in the beginning, and it felt like a miracle every time they were reached and surpassed. I nursed Lily for 12 months, which was the highest goal I had set (in the beginning, not really believing I would ever get there). Just about two weeks ago I wrapped up 13 months of breastfeeding Anna. It was much easier for me the second time around (thank the Lord), but that's not to say it didn't have its own challenges. I bring this up as an example, though, because it was one of those events during which I had to keep reminding myself that I Can Do The Hard Things. Nursing a baby while running after, caring for, giving attention to, potty training, and generally keeping alive a toddler is a hard thing, and one I was admittedly not fully prepared for! But it was something I really wanted to do, and reminding myself that I had done hard things before truly did help me make it through.

Another reason I bring up breastfeeding is because weaning what I know will be my last baby is also a hard thing. While I'm secure and satisfied with my family, it's bittersweet to watch my youngest grow out of the baby stage. She's officially a toddler now, walking all over the house like she owns the place. :)
I know that watching my kids grow up is going to be extremely satisfying and extremely hard. Sometimes I think that those of us who had to fight extra hard to get our children find it so very difficult to watch them grow up. We try for so long and we wait so much, we suffer loss, we struggle while everyone around us has babies and more babies, and we pray our hearts out for our turn to have a baby -- and then they're not babies for long at all, are they? But I often remind myself that each new stage is sweet and beautiful, just as the last one was.

So here's to a new year, 2014.
Here's to turning one year older.
Here's to facing it all knowing that we can do the hard things, and knowing that it'll be worth it.

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.

Treasures

I think it's pretty safe to say that when you're going through infertility it's hard to find the bright spots most days. Life still has its joys, of course, but I mean it's difficult sometimes to recognize any good that could possibly come out of a trial when you're still so deeply submerged in it. I know that, personally, I spent day after day and year after year trudging along with my shoulders hunched and head down, bracing myself for another disappointment and just trying to make it one day at a time. It was hard to keep picking myself up after another loss... and another... and another. It felt (and still feels) like a burden, a struggle, and an uphill climb.

Thankfully, in the midst of all that, my husband and I worked to make some happy memories. We wanted to someday look back on our waiting years and see that there was still joy to be found -- but it took a few years for us to get there and actually put it into practice. That doesn't mean there weren't still a lot of hard days. It just meant that we tried to make the best of it. We spent lots of time with our families, we spoiled our nephews, we tried to be more spontaneous and do more fun things together, and we traveled. We went to Vermont, New Hampshire, Maine, San Francisco, Florida, Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island, Washington, D.C., and New York City. We saved our money for vacations and seized every opportunity to turn work trips into new adventures. We used money we'd been saving for baby furniture to buy a new camera and I documented our new memories in scrapbooks. And now, years later, while I don't view my battle with infertility as over and done (although I pray it is), I can look back on portions of that time fondly. Those memories are some of the treasures that have come out of that trial.

That's what this post is about. Treasures. And by far the most amazing treasures that I've found over the past decade have been people. Our family members and some of our oldest and dearest friends stuck by us during that time and prayed their hearts out for us. That's a treasure. It means more to me than I could ever express. Sometimes people I didn't even know that well sent a card or told me how they were touched by our situation and our faith. That always encouraged me to keep going, and it helped me to learn to be more open about sharing our struggle because I knew that others were hurting too.

Suddenly there were lots of new people in my life who had also been through miscarriage or infertility. There were others who understood all the devastation and disappointment, the guilt and the grief that we'd been going through. All at once I could use this blog to sort out my emotions and fears, and read about other people who were facing similar circumstances. And it all came at a time when I needed it the most. That was a treasure.

Soon I began to feel such a kinship with my blog friends. Over the years it has worked out (not coincidentally, I believe) for me to meet a few of them in person. It has been one of my favorite things about blogging and one of the biggest and best treasures to come from this trial. Even now that I don't blog as much as I used to, I've been able to keep up with several friends and get to know them a little bit better on pretty much a day-to-day basis through facebook and email. Oh, how I wish I could meet all of them in real life!

What really amazes me now is to be able to see all of our paths in hindsight. None of our experiences were exactly the same. Some were more similar than others, but all of them were about longing and loss in one way or another. I always felt an extra special bond with those who shared not only my fight but also my faith. It's just one of those common denominators that often makes an instant connection.

My first in-real-life blog friend experience was in February of 2009 when I met Tammy. (I originally wrote about it here.) I didn't really "know" Tammy that well when it worked out for us to meet, but we didn't want to pass up the opportunity and I'm so glad we didn't. Our friendship has blossomed ever since that day. Thinking back to where we both were in 2009 and all that has happened since is pretty incredible. Tammy and her husband are such a precious couple, and it was a joy to watch as they brought home their beautiful daughter, Hannah, at Christmas just a couple of months ago! I am still over-the-moon excited for them.

Just a few months later, in May 2009, I found myself on vacation with my whole family in a cozy and beautiful cabin in Tennessee. While we were planning the trip, I realized that we wouldn't be very far away from a dear blog friend in North Carolina, Beth. It was settled: we were going to set up a meeting! (Read more about our meeting here.) Beth and I had been communicating frequently through email ever since I'd first discovered her blog the previous year. I felt an instant connection with her and we'd formed a fast friendship. She and I shared so many griefs and fears together, and amazingly, we've celebrated with these dear friends as they've welcomed not one, not two, but THREE gorgeous boys into their family since then! It still gives me goosebumps just thinking about it.

Fast forward to just a little over a year later, in July 2010. I had discovered a while before that one of my sweet blog friends lived not too far from my hometown in Louisiana. I knew then that I was destined to meet Crystal during one of my trips back home, and I was so touched that our first meeting happened at my baby shower. (I wrote more about it here.) We were expecting Lily in September, and it was very sweet to share that time together as Crystal was also expecting her miracle baby boy that December. Our meeting is a very special memory of an amazing, almost ethereal time for me -- for us both, I'm sure, as we found ourselves in the middle of our long-awaited and much prayed for healthy pregnancies. It has been a special treat to be able to visit with Crystal and her adorable son twice more since then, at Christmas of 2010 when our babies were tiny and again last Christmas as they toddled around and played together. This friendship has been such a sweet gift!

That brings me to 2012, and the addition of a fourth friend to this special list of treasures. At the end of last month on our way back from visiting family in Oklahoma, we were able to stop by the home of my blog friend, Jessica. Our trip would take us within just a few miles of their house, not far from the interstate, and it was the perfect opportunity for our families to meet. Jessica and I had an amazing moment not long after she found my blog when we realized that we'd attended the same college. We never knew each other there, but before long we also made the connection that she and my husband had both grown up right there in that small college town and had -- brace yourselves -- graduated from high school together! Oh, I just love the way God works things out. We had a wonderful visit with Jessica and her husband, and we were thrilled to be able to meet their precious new miracle girl, just 7 weeks old. It was the kind of meeting where everything just clicked and it was as natural and easy as being with old friends. We are so thankful that we got to meet these friends face-to-face after sharing in the struggle, and it touched my heart to watch our daughter play in their daughter's room. What a blessing it was!


To each and every one of the special friends we've "met" along the way, I hope you know what a treasure YOU are.

A Different Path?

I love the way that pictures have a way of telling stories. They capture a moment in time and later are there to remind you of people and places and events.

Here are two pictures of my husband and me, taken two and a half years apart. When we had the more recent one taken, I couldn't help but remember the older one and where we were then. There are a lot of similarities between the two images. They were taken by the same person at the very same park. Of course, they both feature the same two people, walking hand-in-hand down a sidewalk.




But they are also very different. The people are the same, but the view is different. You can't really tell this from the pictures, but they're walking on a different path of the very same sidewalk. Perhaps the most obvious change, though, is the season.

It is winter in the first one. While the picture itself doesn't make me feel sad at all, the landscape is a bit dreary. The trees and grass don't look very vibrant. As the subjects, my husband and I seem far away, like we're walking down a quite a long path. There is as much sidewalk in front of us as there is behind us. Besides that, there's a curve and a tree up ahead and you can't quite see beyond that. You can't see our faces or expressions, but it's clear that we are looking at each other as we're walking along together.

This picture was taken as part of a photo shoot for our Christmas cards that year. It was December of 2007 and it was a fairly happy time for us, yet we were certainly still in the midst of a long trial. We were getting ready to take a trip to Florida and then return home and get ready for the holidays. It had been eleven months since my last miscarriage (number six), and the following month I would be having surgery with my new RE to look for scar tissue and any other new problems. It was the only thing we knew to do next but at least we had a plan. We had no idea what might be up ahead. We had covered a lot of ground on our infertility journey but we were still walking, still moving forward. Together.

The second picture is quite different. The first thing I notice are the colors. Everything is bright and green and alive. It was summertime, and take my word for it, it was hot outside. You can see our expressions in this picture and can tell that we are happy. We are still walking together even though the scenery and the seasons aren't the same. The path even looks much shorter...

Of course, that's a matter of perspective. As I mentioned before, it's the same park and the same sidewalk, just a different view and a different angle. That's the point I'm trying to make here. This pregnancy, this place where we are now, is not an entirely new path; it's just a different part of the same road we've been walking for many years. It is the sum of everything we went through to get here. Oh, I do wish sometimes that we could have been simply placed right here! If we could have just by-passed all the years of hurt and loss and taken a much easier way, surely it would have been so much better. But that's not the path we were meant to take, I guess. And frankly, if it had been, I know it would look and feel entirely different and not nearly as meaningful to us as it does now.

I want to say thank you. I'm so grateful for those of you who haven't written me off as just another pregnant woman. Thank you for considering our path -- the whole thing, every step -- to getting this far and for continuing to offer your support, prayers, and friendship. I realize that you could stumble upon this blog and see the pregnancy ticker at the top and decide that you're not interested in sticking around. But many of you do, and many of you send me messages and tell me that my story gives you hope. Thank you for encouraging me to keep writing about it, as I've learned that having a successful pregnancy doesn't erase everything else I've experienced. While it certainly brings joy and some sense of victory and healing, it doesn't entirely take away the pain of miscarriage. That will always be part of my story now. Just like any time you lose a loved one, you don't want to erase their existence! You keep their memory alive and are thankful that you had the time with them that you did, even though their absence leaves an ache. It will always be there when I look back, and really, that's okay. My babies are part of me and always will be in my heart. Fortunately there are and will be good memories as we continue on this path, especially as we finally bring our baby home.

Next week at this time, she'll be here. Finally, one of the tiny seeds of hope that was planted along this path will get to bloom.


I can't wait to share it with you. Thank you for your constant prayers for us and for baby Lily!

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.

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:

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

Find Out Who Your Friends Are

Yesterday on face.book, one of my friends who often posts quotes that she likes as her status message had this as her quote of the day:

Do not think of a painful experience as a dark time in your life. You emerge out of everything learning something or becoming a better person. You realize who your real friends are and how much your loved ones mean to you. ~Colleen Ho

This quote really resonated with me and I'm guessing it might with many of you as well. I liked it so much that I asked to borrow it for my own status message. I'm still thinking about it today, so I thought I'd share it with you here on the blog. The thing is, it's not that I've never realized this before. It's not necessarily a brand new idea for me or anything; I just like the way that it's stated. It's simple, yet so true.

I have many times thought of my experience with recurrent pregnancy loss as a dark time in my life. The darkest, actually. I am, however, able to see how much I've learned and how it has changed me, in many ways for the better. But oh, that last sentence is the one that really hits home.

"You realize who your real friends are and how much your loved ones mean to you."

Yes, yes, YES! Absolutely nothing on earth has made me realize this until I lived through this trial. My loved ones were very precious to me before, but I really do believe that this is a life lesson I've truly been able to experience in the past decade of my life -- the one affected by infertility and loss.

Here is something true about me: I'm not interested in fair-weather friends. I can totally appreciate that some friends are meant to be more casual and we may not fully connect and become really close. That's completely fine. But what I mean is that I'm not into the kinds of friends who only want to be around when life is peachy. Then, when troubles come, they are nowhere to be found. Unfortunately, I've experienced a few friends like these.

Going through infertility sure does help you find out who your friends are, especially when your experience is a very long one. Some haven't hung in there and have eventually fallen away. Some were really supportive at the beginning, but slacked off when there wasn't a quick resolution to our problem. No, it's not always due to what I'm going through. Sometimes distance and time and other factors can come between friends. But sometimes it's true that friends have no longer been willing to figure out how to relate to us or provide encouragement, or simply be there when we've needed it most. I also recognize that it's not always the other person's fault. I'll accept some of the blame. Sometimes I've let the fact that I don't fit in well at play dates or birthday parties or baby showers get in the way of relationships with my friends who are parents. I admit that.

But then there are times when I've truly made an effort and the effort is not returned. It's not something I'm bitter about, but I do know this: my true friends didn't go away when I started having miscarriages. They didn't totally forget that we existed when they had their own children. They know that sometimes I need to talk about all of this, and sometimes I need to talk about anything but this. They know that I'm hurting inside even when things look okay on the outside. They haven't put a time limit on my grief. They encourage us to keep going, and they don't offer all kinds of unwanted advice to try to fix our problem. They pray for us and they tell us that they do. Many times they even have their children praying for us, which always touches my heart.

I have a feeling that, if this pregnancy continues to progress and as the word continues to get out, some of those fair-weather friends are going to come out of the woodwork. They'll want to pick up right where we left off three, five, ten years ago, and they'll want me to suddenly be normal again so we can go on pretending that life is always happy and perfect. I'm just not sure I'll be ready to do that. It is so much sweeter to celebrate victories with those who were with you in the times of defeat! They are the ones who will truly rejoice with you because they've helped you carry the burden.

I hope this post doesn't come off as harsh. It is actually coming from a very positive place, a place where I'm thankful for who my friends are and not who they aren't. This past week I was able to have lunch with a dear friend who moved out of state more than a year ago. We sat together at my new favorite burger joint while her adorable toddler wiggled in her seat and ate more mustard than hot dog. My friend had a miscarriage several months ago, after her daughter. I hurt so badly for her when that happened and I hated that we were miles apart. But that shared experience is not why we are able to have great heart-to-heart conversations over cheeseburgers with tears in our eyes. I believe we can do that because we have the bond of friendship and the common denominator of a shared faith, and because we haven't allowed parenthood or loss or time or distance to change that.

Inevitably, after I write a post like this, some sweet friends will send me messages or call and say that they feel they haven't done enough or fear this post was in some way about them. Definitely NOT! If you are a real-life friend and you read this blog, that tells me two things: 1. I trust you enough to invite you to follow along with us on this journey of ups and downs, and to read my most personal thoughts about a very personal issue; 2. You care enough to take the time to read it. Trust me when I tell you, that is enough! Those things alone mean so much to me, and those of you who do read it are so faithful to leave comments and send messages and notes of encouragement along the way. I hope you know how much I treasure you!

To my fellow bloggers, you guys are so special to us. Never could I have imagined having so much love and support from people who started out as total strangers. You bless me in ways I could never describe. Thank you for becoming true friends to us and choosing to walk with us. You are often in our prayers and our conversations with one another. My husband knows you all by name, or at the very least, blog title!

And to our family, who love us unconditionally whether we ever have a baby or not and in all of our imperfections, you mean the world to us! There is no way we could have gotten this far without your love and prayers.

I have found who my true friends are, and I know now more than ever how much my loved ones mean to me. It's a beautiful thing.

***********

Pregnancy update:
Still doing well and hanging in there! I'm now 10 weeks, 2 days. Just 3 more sleeps until our next ultrasound. Prayers are appreciated, as always!

Another Year Over And A New One Just Begun

Thanks so much for all of your comments and support over the Christmas holiday. I haven't looked at blogs in over a week (and hope to get caught up with all of you soon!) but I was mostly able to keep up with e-mail over the holidays. I hope everyone had a great Christmas and New Year. Christmas at my house with my in-laws went well, and we spent the following week in Louisiana with my family. We just returned home Saturday night. We both slept for 12 hours straight and then we spent all day Sunday taking down our Christmas decorations. It was exhausting! I still have loads of cleaning to do, but I'm taking a few minutes to update the blog. The cleaning can wait just a little while longer, I'm sure!

I always find the New Year to be bittersweet. It's great to have a fresh start and to be hopeful about what may come, and it's also great to say goodbye to a year that seriously let you down. But after so many let-downs, it gets harder and harder to hope that this year will be different.

January is undoubtedly a hard month for many. I always hear on the news that it's the most depressing month of the year. When I was younger I liked it because it's my birthday month, but now even that has become tainted by my infertility struggle. I feel like I want time to stand still until I get all of this worked out, but it just keeps marching on, ready or not. Now when the new year starts, I can't help but be overcome by numbers and the milestones I now associate with January:

5 years since my first laparoscopic surgery in January 2005.

3 years since my sixth miscarriage in January 2007.

3 years since we were last pregnant.

2 years since my second laparoscopic surgery in January 2008.

This month I'll turn 33.

And we're now entering our 9th year of trying to add to our family.

I don't want to start the new year feeling burdened and defeated and frustrated. Honestly, I would love to be able to write about a much more positive outlook for 2010, but I just don't think I'm there yet.

As much as we loved being with family to ring in the New Year (and we truly did), it has been a rough start. As you know, just before Christmas I found out that the first IUI didn't work. I knew that the start of a new cycle was going to be crazy around the holidays, but we were committed to it. Our week in Louisiana was interrupted by a quick trip back to Houston for the CD12 ultrasound (which we had on cycle day 11, New Year's Eve, since the office would be closed on Friday). The trip was fine, but when we got there I was very unhappy to discover that Dr. G wasn't there and the person doing my ultrasound was my very least favorite nurse in the world. I was able to keep my composure and just get on with the scan, and we had 4 more great looking follicles, including one huge one that would be ready to ovulate on Saturday. I got the trigger shot and we drove all the way back to Louisiana and made it to my mom's by noon. On our way into town to go get lunch, the nurse called to tell me that there wouldn't be an IUI on Saturday after all. There would be no one available to do it that day.

Needless to say I was incredibly disappointed, not to mention angry. January 2nd? What is so important about that day that NONE of the doctors in that entire office are working? I could honestly understand if it had been Christmas Day. But the day AFTER New Year's Day? I still can't believe it. I felt like we'd been through all of the trouble and scheduling and anticipation for this entire cycle for nothing. And I know that it may not seem like such a big deal, but waiting another month and feeling like we've lost this one is huge to me. We get only 12 times a year to try (if we're lucky), and it is definitely hard to watch an opportunity pass us by.

Although I know it's really just a minor setback, I haven't been handling it well for the past couple of days. I have all kinds of ugly emotions going on and I know that I seriously need to put it behind me and move on. January is all about starting over, right? We're only four days in, but I really hope that 2010 will have much better things in store.

Feeling Down

Holidays do funny things to me. Let me tell you, I'm a sucker for seasonal things. Here in Texas we don't exactly have all four seasons outside, but every year I'm determined to celebrate the season inside my home. I just love holidays. Even if no one (besides my husband and myself) ever saw the decorations, I would still decorate!

That's why this post is hard for me to write.

Lately I've noticed that it's getting harder and harder to conjure up those same old feelings of joy for holidays. I think with each passing year, the emptiness in my heart and in my home become harder to ignore.

Certainly there is joy and happiness and love in my heart and in my home. My husband and I are very happy with our marriage and in our little family of two. But there is a huge, unfulfilled desire that neither of us can ignore. We want children. We want to be parents. There is a void there for us both. There is an empty place in both of our hearts and in our home where our children should be. The holidays remind me of this.

Last week was so hard for me. I couldn't keep my eyes dry for very long, and it seemed that I was surrounded by a flood of emotions. The truth is, sometimes I struggle. Sometimes I feel like I don't do anything that makes a difference or amounts to much outside of these four walls. Sure, as a homemaker I have lots of responsibilities at home. I keep the house clean and the laundry done, on top of many other daily tasks. This is probably true for many people out there, but sometimes I don't feel needed. I don't feel necessary.

Oh, I imagine that there are parents who have those feelings, too. And sure, you can call it a pity party if you want. I'm just keeping it real and keeping it honest.

Halloween was just the very beginning of the whole holiday season. I don't recall ever being this affected by it in years past. Although I'm not necessarily a huge fan of Halloween in particular, I felt a huge absence this time. It was pretty quiet here. We spent the weekend with friends who were visiting. Our doorbell was rung only twice by trick-or-treaters that night. My sister sent photos of my adorable nephews dressed up in their costumes (they were a very handsome duo of Luigi and Wolverine). Countless friends posted pictures on Facebook of their cute little marauders. And I felt sad. Even in the days leading up to it, I felt so empty and so burdened by our situation.

Last Friday we went to see my two very favorite Christian artists, Bebo Norman and Jeremy Camp, in concert. It was a fairly small crowd and it was a special treat for me. We had great seats and it was a great show. I was particularly touched by the words to a couple of familiar Jeremy Camp songs that I've heard over and over again:

I still believe in Your faithfulness
I still believe in Your truth
I still believe in Your holy word
Even when I don't see, I still believe

and

I will walk by faith
Even when I cannot see
Because this broken road
Prepares Your will for me

It truly was like a balm for my hurting heart, because I'll admit, right now I don't see. I cannot always see the big picture in this.

I know that the holidays are just getting started. I hope as the weeks pass and as my decorations change from autumn to winter, from Thanksgiving to Christmas, that we might begin to feel the excitement that usually comes with it. I hope that we'll focus on the many good things that have kept us happy and strong for all these years: our family, our friends, each other, and our hope and trust in our Lord.

Even when I don't see, I still believe.

Obstacles

Obstacle:
One that opposes, stands in the way of, or holds up progress;
A person or thing that opposes or hinders something;
Something immaterial that stands in the way and must be circumvented or surmounted.

What are the things that have kept you from realizing your dreams? Sometimes I think about the people or things or circumstances in my life, past and present, that have either made it harder or impossible to get where I want to be. I don't mean placing blame upon or harboring bitterness toward other people. Although it can be a person, I think most of the time (for me anyway) the obstacle is something that is largely out of our control.

Last weekend when we were at our college homecoming, we were walking through the student center when two older couples came up to us and asked us to take their picture. As it turned out, they were part of the class of '59 and were being honored for the 50th anniversary of their graduation. We stopped for a few minutes to chat with them, with the usual questions like what was your major, where do you live now, and what do you do. When one of the ladies heard that my husband works at NASA, she shared with us that she had always wanted to be an astronaut ever since she was a little girl. It was her dream to be the first woman in space! 50 years ago, however, when she entered college as a young woman with the desire to major in engineering, she faced an obstacle. She was asked, "Do you want to get married someday?" She hesitantly replied that she wasn't quite sure at that point, and was then told that her only options were to study to become a secretary, a teacher, or a nurse. They wouldn't allow a woman to major in engineering.

I wish I could tell you that the story ended with that nice lady overcoming that obstacle and fulfilling her dream. I wish I could say that she had changed the system and accomplished more than she had ever imagined. But we could tell by the disappointment in her voice that it hadn't turned out that way. Don't get me wrong; she didn't seem miserable or look like a woman who had never accomplished a thing. I want to believe that she found happiness and success in her life in other areas. I wish that we had gotten the rest of her story that day. I have thought about her many times since last weekend. I've found myself wondering what other avenues she might have pursued when that door was closed on her dream.

Sometimes having those obstacles and figuring out ways around them can be a good thing in the long run. Growing up poor, for example, was an obstacle in my life. Additionally, I was from a broken home with a father who didn't pay child support. As a child, I couldn't do anything to change that circumstance. As I got older I knew that I would have to work very hard to overcome it. I needed a way out and I pursued it with education. I wanted to go to college, but there would be no college fund or savings account provided for me. I needed scholarships and I needed grants, so I set out to achieve that. Trust me, there were still obstacles. Huge ones, in fact. People and circumstances got in the way. Some of them seemed impossible to get through at the time, but looking back now I appreciate it so much more because of the struggle and in spite of it. I never want to take for granted where I've been.

At this time in my life, my obstacles are infertility and recurrent pregnancy loss. I guess more specifically, the obstacle is my own body. It's terribly frustrating when something gets in the way of your dream. When that something is yourself, it can almost make you crazy. We don't want our big, life-changing decisions made for us! We don't want somebody or something to tell us we can't achieve our dreams. It's infuriating when it is out of our control, when all we want to do is have a baby, but our own bodies keep getting in the way.

Sometimes we can make it around those obstacles, and sometimes I think it's also great when we realize that we can choose another path (in this case, parenting through adoption or living childless and happy).

Right now I'm trying to overcome infertility, knowing that if it works, I'll have to face the possibility of another miscarriage. Those are my obstacles. I've been face-to-face with them before. I'm determined to find a way around, over, or through them.

Some Things I Want You To Know

**I've been away from the blog for a few weeks, after two consecutive rounds of company followed by a week of feeling a bit under the weather. Everything is fine, though. Thanks to those of you who checked on us or have been praying! We had great visits from family and a dear friend. And after a trip to the doctor today, I hope to be feeling better soon (I think I have a mild stomach bug).**

As so many of you who live with infertility and/or miscarriage know, sometimes there are very sad days. Of course, that is true about life in general and for people in lots and lots of different situations. I appreciate having this blog to vent some of those feelings that I have during particularly frustrating or sad days. I would even say that sometimes there are simply sad moments that come up during otherwise normal or pleasant days. I use this blog to write about those little moments or big moments, and I know that very often the subject and the tone of the posts you read here are sad.

But one of the things that I want you to know is this: I'm not always sad.

If you don't already know me in real life, I want to tell you that there is a much, much lighter side of me! I do have a lot of joy in my life and I'm grateful for so many blessings. Yes, this has been the hardest experience of my life. It has definitely changed me, in some ways good and in some ways not so good. It truly is a paradox sometimes. For the most part, my experience with recurrent miscarriage has made me far more cautious about opening up to people. It is really hard for me to let others in and share the really hard stuff. At the same time, I wear my heart on my sleeve much more now than I ever used to. Having a blog has helped me work out some of those feelings that are hard to describe when I am faced with questions in person. It's much easier to work it all out from the safety of my living room, moving words and sentences around and putting them in the right order before I officially put them out there.

When I made the decision to start a blog about infertility, I knew that it would most likely only show part of the whole picture, although I do try hard to present (above all) an honest picture of this daily struggle. My hope is that it is a true reflection of the ups and the downs. It sure is nice to have friends who care and understand when I am feeling down, and I'm always overwhelmed and touched by the response. Sometimes I wish that I wrote a blog not about infertility, but about something, anything, happier. But I realize that I probably never would have felt compelled to do this, to reach out like this, without an experience like this one. It's one of those strange "good things" that has come out of it I guess.

And something else I've discovered is this: Sometimes I need a kick in the pants. Okay, I've known this about myself for a while. I know that sometimes I freak out and I close up and go into hermit mode. I need some encouragement or a friendly nudge in the right direction.

A few weeks ago I confessed to you that I hadn't been to see my fertility specialist in well over a year. I was too afraid to make the call for an appointment. You see, in the years before I started this blog, we were very active and involved with doctors and labs and charting cycles and all of that stuff. I know that isn't a side of our experience that you've really seen here. It just so happened that by the time I started writing about it, we were already almost 7 years into trying to have a baby. At that time we had just started seeing a new doctor. We were hopeful about having our fertility struggles looked at with fresh and very capable eyes. Dr. G ordered several new tests and did surgery in January of 2008 to clean up some scar tissue and mild endometriosis that I had. He told us to try again for a pregnancy. We didn't usually have to try for very long. But this time it has been different. Many, many months have passed, but in a way it is like new territory for us. My husband and I have been through a lot together over the years, but we have never felt like we were taking a passive role in our fertility.

Most of this blog has been about waiting. I know that doesn't look very active sometimes, but it never felt like we had given up. Sometimes even waiting can be a very active process! Admittedly, though, I was in a rut. I had let fear take over. I knew that we weren't seeing any progress or any change and I wasn't okay with that anymore. But I was afraid to pick it all back up and pursue it again. After my last post, several of you (along with my family) have encouraged me to get over that fear, and more importantly, not to give up on my dream of having a baby.

Yesterday, I made the call. I almost talked myself out of it, especially after the receptionist told me that the next available appointment with Dr. G was in JANUARY. I paused, and she said she could transfer me to the nurse to see what we could work out. She transferred the call and I got the answering service. I left my long and rambling message and waited for them to call me back. When the call came I was beyond relieved to discover that it wasn't the nightmare nurse that I've dealt with so many times before. Instead, on the other end of the phone was a kind and helpful nurse who was incredibly patient with me and who listened to what I had to say. She wasn't the least bit condescending or rude. (Can you tell I've been burned before?) I explained that we'd been trying on our own -- as the doctor ordered -- for over a year and that we were ready to come in and have a talk about it. So, she set us up for October 21st. I took a deep breath, wiped a few tears, and hung up the phone. Then I called my mom, who had been gently nudging me as well.

Although I do feel relieved about finally having an appointment, I still don't know what will happen and I'm still nervous about moving forward. There are no guarantees, except that I'll go in that day with my dear husband by my side and we'll both be clinging to our Lord.

And this time, as a bonus, I know that I'll also have you in my corner, cheering me on. And I can't thank you enough.

All The Time

Last year at this time I said goodbye to my home and nearly everything I own.

I remember that moment before I closed the door and got into the car to drive away. I just stood there for a few minutes, looking around, and I thought Okay, Lord. I don't want to do this, but I have to. If you decide to take it all away, then so be it.

It's so much easier to write that a year later, after many people have put their lives and homes back together after the devastation of Hurricane Ike. This weekend is the first anniversary of that terrible storm. We are extremely comfortable right now, by comparison. This has been a quiet hurricane season for those of us who live near the Gulf coast.
Thankfully, we didn't lose our home, although many did -- and not just people we saw on the local news. People we know.

I don't want to make it sound as though I think losing material possessions is the worst thing in the world. I don't, but I still don't want to go through that terrible trial if I don't have to! I remember during the days of our evacuation how we watched The Weather Channel sometimes with panic and sometimes with resignation. We desperately hoped everything would be alright. Coming to a place, however, where you must say that it will be okay if you come home to nothing is quite a struggle. As a homemaker, it goes against every ounce of my being that loves keeping house and making a home for my family. The idea of a strong wind, or flood waters, or a storm surge carrying it all away is unsettling to say the least.

But I know people who have lived through it. They've picked up the pieces that were left and they've carried on. What's even more inspiring, though, is that they've found joy through the storm.

It is so, so hard to be joyful inside and to give God praise when things aren't going our way. It's easy to say that He is good when our circumstances are good -- and we should! But oh, the challenge is to say that and believe it when they are not.

But God is still good.
Even through hurricanes and infertility, He's good.
All the time.

Still Running

I'm not a runner. Honestly, I hate to run.

When I was in college, one of my friends suggested that I start running with her. She'd been running for years. I thought I'd give it a try and told her that I would have to start pretty slowly. Let me tell you, to put it nicely, it kicked my butt. I was able to keep up with my friend, but I noticed that I had to focus nearly all my energy on breathing in and out. I found it amusing that, while we would run, my friend would chat. Finally one day I told her that I absolutely didn't mind listening, but I would be a terrible conversationalist during our runs! I found it impossible to keep up my end of the conversation while gasping for air.

If any of you are runners out there, please don't be hard on me! I did my best to try to hang with my friend who obviously had more experience than I did. She knew what she was doing! I didn't, and I never quite caught on. We eventually quit running together (probably due to our schedules more than my dislike for it), and besides the occasional game of chase with my nephews, I haven't run for the sake of running since. I admire those who do it, but it's really not my thing. Truthfully, I've never been much of an athlete by any stretch of the imagination.

Figuratively speaking, however, I'm a runner alright. I'm a veritable track star.

Many times I run to escape my problems. Right now I'm running from seeing my fertility specialist. I haven't set foot in his office in a year and a half. We're supposed to be "trying again." But after all these months have passed with no change, I have become more and more afraid. So, I'm running. Every day I think about picking up the phone to make an appointment, but every day I find a reason not to. Maybe this will be the month that it happens again -- that we get pregnant and it actually sticks. You see, up until now we haven't sought a doctor's help to get to that point. My problem is with miscarriage. But now that pregnancy won't come, for whatever reason, I feel stuck. I feel afraid. I don't know what to do, which direction to go. So I've been avoiding it. Even worse, I'm afraid of someday hearing that we may never overcome this. This is a hard thing for me to admit to you today, but it's true.

I'm also running a race of endurance. I recently read something that compared infertility to a marathon. It is long and it is challenging. It feels like it may never end. I would almost prefer a sprint, I think, which is more intense but far shorter. This is my eighth year of running, and yes, I've been lapped many, many times. Sometimes I want to quit because it seems so hard and I wonder if I'll ever reach the finish line or achieve the goal.

Sometimes I feel less like a runner and more like a spectator. Others around me are running while I'm standing still. And some days I take on the role of a cheerleader, encouraging others who are pursuing their goal and rejoicing with them when they reach it. While I'm honored to be in that position whenever possible, there's no denying that it's hard and it's painful. It hurts to be the one left behind, the one still waiting and still running.

While I think the race analogy is a pretty accurate one in many ways, I'm not entirely comfortable with using it in terms of winning and losing. I certainly don't view my life as one big race to have a baby, while competing with my peers for one ultimate prize. In fact, I don't consider it my one and only goal in life to have children. While it may be my desire, my passion, and my dream, it is not all that I live for. If I never get there, I don't consider myself a loser or my life a waste. If I never become a parent, I am still a wife, a daughter, a sister, and a friend. Above and beyond all of that, I'm a child of God.

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinful men, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.

Hebrews 12:1-3

Tired of Fighting?

If you read my blog regularly and have a good memory, you might remember that I have been studying the book of Philippians for the past few months. I wrote a post about it back in February when I first started attending the Bible study, and I can't believe that 16 weeks have gone by! In the original post ("Perspective"), I wrote about how much I was looking forward to studying a book about "how to have joy no matter what." Now, as I near the end of the study, I want to write about something I learned this week.

While studying the last chapter of Philippians, I took a long look at Phil. 4:6-7. "Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." These are powerful verses, and I've been trying to soak them in. I know that I believe them, but how do I live it? How do I overcome my anxiety and truly live in peace?

One of the things that is so hard about the struggle with infertility and miscarriage is that it feels way too big for me. It is so far beyond anything I know how to handle. I'm not suggesting that it's the hardest thing in the whole world by any means, but being pregnant six times and not being able to do anything to help those babies grow and thrive is incredibly hard. Watching each one slip away has been devastating for us. After almost eleven years of marriage, we still have no children to hold in our arms and fill up our home. Even now we are in a season of waiting, and we have no idea how long it will last. All of these facts are hard to ignore. I wake up every morning painfully aware of them. I don't have a definite medical reason why this is happening. Although my doctors have identified and even corrected some problems over the years, we have no guarantee that I will ever deliver a baby. Sometimes I let the future scare me. Many times I let my circumstances rob me of my joy.

A few things clicked for me today as the Bible study led me to 2 Chronicles 20. I hope you'll read the whole chapter, but here's a recap:

Jehoshaphat (king of Judah) is warned of an impending attack. He immediately decides to inquire of the Lord. All of the people of Judah gather to seek the Lord's help, and Jehoshaphat leads them in prayer. For me, the highlight of this king's prayer is in 2 Chron. 20:12: "We have no power to face this vast army that is attacking us. We do not know what to do, but our eyes are upon you." Okay, now this I understand! Although I don't have a vast army threatening my life today, I do feel utterly powerless against my foe. I have no idea what to do other than keep my eyes on the Lord.

When we read further, we learn that God spoke through one of the men in the assembly. Here is what is recorded in verses 15 and 17: "This is what the Lord says to you: 'Do not be afraid or discouraged because of this vast army. For the battle is not yours, but God's. You will not have to fight this battle. Take up your positions, stand firm and see the the deliverance the Lord will give you, O Judah and Jerusalem. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged. Go out to face them tomorrow, and the Lord will be with you.'"

The people of Judah not only obeyed God; they sang and praised Him BEFORE they knew the outcome. Of course, God came through on His promise and the people rejoiced. In verse 30, we find Jehoshaphat's kingdom at peace because "God had given him rest on every side."

As I studied today it became clear what in the world these verses have to do with the fourth chapter of Philippians. What was the result of the people's obedience?

1. They rejoiced in what the Lord had done.
2. They recognized God's power and strength.
3. They rested in His peace.

Philippians 4:6-7: "Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."

I don't know what to do as my battle with infertility continues. The people of Judah were told to take up their positions and to stand firm. Yes, I have a part to play that is not entirely passive, but ultimately the result is out of my hands, and I'm okay with that as long as the battle is God's. I want to keep my eyes on Him, rest in His peace, and rejoice no matter what the outcome will be.

*All verses are quoted from the NIV. If you want to know more about this Bible study, click here: Precept Ministries

Holding On

I've been struggling with a question lately. Well, that's an understatement. It seems that daily I struggle with innumerable questions. The latest one, though, is this: Am I depressed?

Like many of you, I use blogging as a form of therapy. It is definitely not always easy to think about and communicate all of the feelings I have about infertility and loss. It's difficult, but writing about it and getting it all out there does help some. Something interesting about it, though, is the passage of time. It feels like the minutes, hours, and days are so slow that you almost feel like you're moving backwards. But somehow, after you trudge along in slow motion with your head down for what feels like forever, you look up and realize that years have passed. Not a couple of years. Not even just a few years. Seven or eight years -- almost a decade of hoping, wondering, worrying, trying, failing, grieving, and finally letting yourself hope again. The cycle is endless, with reminders every month that nothing has changed.

Something is different for me lately. While it is certainly true that every miscarriage is utterly devastating, there have been a couple that had an even greater impact.

The first one was so unexpected. I thought, "Is this really happening to me?"

The second was so much like the first. I realized there might be something wrong.

The third told me that something definitely wasn't right but I was sure that with some help we could fix it.

The fourth miscarriage sent me into complete despair. I was so sure this was it and we'd made it so far. Our baby was growing and developing and had a great heartbeat. We were so hopeful and then all was lost.

After the fifth I began to go numb, and after the sixth I was heartbroken and still haven't "recovered" more than two years later.

I really can't explain why the last one has left me feeling that I'm down for the count, but I know that something in me is changed. At first I thought that in the months it took me to grieve, maybe I had just developed some bad habits. I couldn't get motivated to do anything. I didn't want to go anywhere or see anyone. I ate a lot of food that wasn't good for me. I didn't want to cook. I didn't even want much to do with my favorite activities, unless it involved getting lost in a book or a movie for a few hours so I might have a distraction. I began to rely more and more on my husband to take care of things and to try to cheer me up.

I wish I could tell you that I was that way for a few months two years ago and now I've put myself back together, but I'm afraid things really haven't changed at all. I can't believe that it has been this long and I can't seem to get a hold on things. Although I am sad, it's not just sadness. At the same time, it's not completely crippling. It's something that I don't know how to name. Is it depression? Not just "It's a dreary day today and I feel depressed," but Depression with a capital D. I'm not too proud to admit that it may be. Although I have no real experience with it, I think I need to own up to what's going on. I know that I'm a joyful person. I love to laugh. I'm not lazy or reclusive. I like being with people. I want to enjoy my life. I don't want to be controlled by my circumstances, and I'm tired of feeling like I have no control over my emotions.

It has been gradual but I've been realizing that I'm not quite myself, and I really want to make that better. I know that unfortunately I can't just snap my fingers and make it happen. I'm not asking for advice so much as encouragement and your prayers. As much as I hate this feeling that I'm just barely holding on, I can't help but try to remain hopeful. After all, I'd rather be here barely holding on to Jesus than anything else.

Not Easy

It's not easy making decisions about our future when each option is scary and uncertain, but we do it because we have to.

It's not easy putting my life on hold for years and years while I wait for something to happen, but I continue to wait as patiently as I can.

It's not easy listening to baby stories when I got another negative pregnancy test that morning, but I do it politely and don't say a word.

It's not easy hearing my husband talk about how awkward it will be to attend a baby shower for a co-worker, but I've been there more times than I can count (and I feel for him).

It's not easy for us to shop for baby gifts year after year, but we do it because we love our friends and we really are happy for them.

It's not easy getting back in touch with old friends who will wonder why I haven't had children yet, but I do it because I care about keeping in touch.

It's not easy knowing that my husband would be an amazing father and not being able to do a thing about it.

It's not easy to try again when the pain of past losses is still so fresh.

It's not easy to keep praying during times when I wonder if I'm being heard.

And it's not always easy to keep hoping and trusting, but I do it because I know that that my God is faithful.

Good Grief

I wonder if it seems strange that so soon after doing a post about having a new joyful perspective, I'm now writing about grief. Oddly enough, that post really got my wheels turning about not just having joy all the time but having balance. I think it is good and healthy to grieve. There is most certainly an appropriate time for joy and for grief, as the Bible says in Ecclesiastes 3:4 "... a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance..."

Having experienced six early pregnancy losses, I've done plenty of mourning. As a woman who suffers from recurrent loss, I can tell you that it's not just the current loss that is painful but all past losses and potential future ones too. It's not only the death of the child you were carrying, but the fear of never having a successful pregnancy. Each loss puts you closer to mourning the death of your hopes of ever becoming a parent. No, the ability to conceive is no comfort when it doesn't result in having a baby. Pregnancy becomes associated with fear, pain, and sorrow.

One of the hardest things to go through after a miscarriage is not having people recognize your loss. For some reason it seems that most of society can accept any other loss of a loved one, including a pet. But when it comes to a miscarriage, many don't know how to respond. I remember feeling so angry and frustrated when, after one of my miscarriages, I felt like there was a time limit on my grief. People started getting antsy because I wasn't "back to normal" yet, I hadn't been back to church, and they hadn't seen me in a while. The most painful part was that the concerned party hadn't called or come by to check on us. Instead, they started calling around to friends of mine, asking where I'd been lately and why I'd been absent for so long (being fully aware that I'd had a miscarriage). I couldn't help but think that my long absence wouldn't have been as much of an issue had I lost a parent or close friend.

The truth is that miscarriage is a loss. It's the death of a family member, a loved one, a child. YOUR child. No one else knew our babies as personally as we did for those precious few weeks. There was no funeral, memorial, or grave. Someone was there and suddenly is no longer there. A heart that was beating is no longer beating, and a child is no longer growing. Your plans cease and there will be no baby shower, no birth date, and no celebration. It is a harsh reality and it is a very lonely place to be.

A few weeks ago I was visiting another blog and came across a wonderful post on the topic of grief. My blog friend Stacy (I wonder if people try to put an "e" in her name - they usually leave mine out) truly has a gift of expressing herself with words. I love reading her blog and I have been so deeply touched by the amazing story of her son, Samuel. It is a blessing to me every single time I stop by her blog, but this particular post really resonated with me. I hope you'll click over and read her post called What I've Learned About Grief. (Maybe even offer congratulations as just last week they legally welcomed Samuel into their family!)

I wanted to write this today as a bit of encouragement for those who have experienced miscarriage. It's ok to grieve that loss, and don't let anyone try to rush you along. For me, the best thing was having my family and friends acknowledge my pain, mourn with me, and keep me company in the weeks that followed. The length of time that I grieved was different for each loss. I don't think this can be estimated, and although I never felt like I was "all better" or that time had healed the wounds, I did eventually feel stronger and more able to move forward.

I don't have any idea what's up ahead for me. The pain of my miscarriages is still around every day, and I suspect it will be to some degree even after I become a mother someday. I'm trying to wait as patiently as possible for my weeping to turn to laughter and (as uncoordinated and rhythm-less as I am) my mourning to become dancing.

Perspective

This week I began a Bible study of the book of Philippians. As you know, I'm constantly fighting off my hermit tendencies. I'm usually hesitant to make a new weekly commitment that involves getting out of the house. Yes, I know how awful that sounds but it's totally true. I know that not everyone going through infertility/RPL reacts this way, but as I've read over the past few months, many of you do. I'm comfortable at home and I feel safe and protected here. I was interested in joining the study, though, so I sent off for the book. When it came in the mail I noticed the title and subtitle on the cover: Philippians: How to have joy no matter what. I knew right then that I'd made the right decision and that this study is right where I need to be.

Philippians is short little book in the New Testament, a brief letter from Paul to the people at Philippi. It's only four chapters long and I'm about to study those four chapters for 16 weeks! I hope that in a few months I'll know its principles pretty well. Today was our first day to meet for the group study and already I'm optimistic about a change in my perspective. Now, I don't presume to tell you that reading those four chapters and studying them will take away all of the pain of IF! I've made a promise to be honest on this blog, and to share the ups and downs along this journey. But for years now I've struggled with letting my circumstances control my life. Sometimes we have very little control over what happens in our lives and the situations we must face. What I want my goal to be, however, is to find my joy in the Lord and not in my circumstances. Whether I have children or not, I want to have joy.

That doesn't mean that you'll always find a "happy, happy, joy, joy" message on this blog! There will still be bad days and I know this all too well. But I don't want to be ruled or controlled by my circumstances or my emotions. Just last night I was overwhelmed as I turned out the light to go to sleep. This is usually one of the most difficult parts of my day. It's quiet and there are no distractions. My mind wanders and I begin to let the weight of my problems take over. I was thinking about all of the pain and disappointment over all of these years, not just for myself but for so many of you as well. I thought about how strength and faith are very good things, but if I could have chosen to skip this horrible experience altogether, I would have. I thought of how unfair it is and how robbed I feel; of hundreds of dollars of doctor visits and pregnancy tests and lab work; and of course, the loss of my children that I'll never get to see on this earth.

All of those thoughts were rolling around in my head and I began to feel hopeless and sad and old. I cried a few tears and then I began to do the only thing I knew to do. I prayed until I fell asleep, and this morning I went to a Bible study about a man who was imprisoned for preaching about his Savior, and yet remained joyful. As he wrote, he continued to rejoice "for I know that through your prayers and the help given by the Spirit of Jesus Christ, what has happened to me will turn out for my deliverance. I eagerly expect and hope that I will in no way be ashamed, but will have sufficient courage so that now as always Christ will be exalted in my body, whether by life or by death." (Phil. 1: 19-20)

I encourage you to read the book of Philippians again if it has been a while, or maybe for the first time. For the next few months I hope to learn nearly every word of it by heart. I know things will still be very hard sometimes, but I'm seeking a change in my perspective. I don't want to let circumstances or people rob me of the joy that exists in knowing Christ. He is my joy - not my future with or without children.

"Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice!" (Philippians 4:4)