Happy Nurses/ Teacher's week!

Thursday was my day. Until I babysat the cousins last minute. And Friday was my day. Until Ellie fell asleep 2 hours early and didn't take a nap during Hannah's quiet time. So Saturday is my day!

Now let me tell you a story. Several years back, I had a bad day at work. And was 7 months post miscarriage and not pregnant again. So I had a sudden craving for Cinnabon, because, it was necessary. I looked it up. Not only was the closest Cinnabon about 10 minutes from our apartment, it was Nurse's week, and Cinnabons were FREE with a name badge. 

NO WAY!

So, I took advantage of the deal. And from then on I tended to associated Cinnabon with nurses week,  and with sugar palliation of disappointment. 

Last week, we redeemed that association. For the first time since that episode, I went to Cinnabon. This time, I took my girls. I got to give them a special treat off-budget because I am a nurse! It was heavenly. Heavenly tasting, yes, but more so it just made my heart burst to share the moment with my two girls. Here they are, eating my Cinnabon. 

And the home health agency I take jobs for was giving away cheap stethoscopes to their nurses, so now the girls have a "real" toy stethoscope to play nurse/doctor with. And they are quite cute. 

If you look closely, you can see Ellie's cast on her little arm. She had a tumble in which I caught her, but her arm hit the side of the bench as she fell. Earned herself 2 weeks in a cast for a fracture, poor little princess! Hannah picked the purple for her. It's off now, and no further follow up needed, so we're all back to normal now.

So, of course, it was teacher's week too. I painted the back side of the kitchen cabinets with chalkboard paint, and now the girls can play school too. Hannah has been getting check marks for doing little chores like making her bed (with help) and staying in her room at bedtime. Yeah for teachers and nurses!

Mother's Day

Mother's Day is a day of very different emotions for me. This is my second mother's day, and I'm finding myself viewing it in a mixture of thankful awe and remembered grief. I feel a heightened sense of awareness of those around me at church, women who have had failed infertility treatments, miscarriages, husbands who won't agree to children yet, couples who are going through the homestudy process as they hope to adopt. Infertility is supposed to affect 15-20% of couples, and yet in our small church, there is only 1 couple who hasn't been touched by unfulfilled dreams of expanding their family.

I love being a mom, but I am finding myself wishing this day didn't have to be thrust upon us as a population, and that I had something more to say than just "thank you" when everyone wishes my a happy Mother's Day.  If we could just stay home and "celebrate" it in private, I would be so much more comfortable. I don't like being singled out for some sort of honor seemingly above other women because I now have a child. As you go through this day, don't forget about those on the grief side of the fence, who have maybe lost their mothers, or long for motherhood that seems so far out of reach. And please, don't needle anybody about when their first Mother's Day will be, because each woman is significant for her own sake, and suggesting that motherhood is a task to be accomplished diminishes her intrinsic worth.

That being said, I did have a nice day! In Hannah's Easter Basket, I had put some soap crayons, thinking that they were a brilliant idea. Of course, she loves them. Then I realized that I was teaching her to love coloring on the walls.... maybe that wasn't so brilliant. However, when I got up this morning, I had the following message waiting for me; it seems she is brilliant after all:

And I got breakfast in bed, although I might have to talk to Mr. Myth about letting her play with the stove.

And here's the sweetie herself! Of course, this is before she threw a fit while Sha-Sha was on speaker phone. Who can resist making Mommy look bad in front of Grandma?

Moments

When I think back, my life of childless infertility seems measured in moments, defined by specifics that seared themselves into my brain.

• It was baking in deafening silence, while my heart could hear a small voice asking to lick the spoon, feeling a little hand in mind as we made thumprints in the cookies.
• It was dying inside while a family member (clearly thinking as a potential "Grand") went on and on about how natural I looked with a baby after I had made the mistake of holding a newborn in front of them at church.
• It was escaping the church ladies on the way out the door on Father's day, as they kept asking when Sam's first Father's day would be. Little did they know that this *was* his first, but the baby had died, so there was no celebration for us, and I couldn't bring myself to voice that fact, so we just ran.
• It was realizing how everything in my house was for adults as I cleaned.
• It was realizing that I still had a baby blanket in my closet as I avoided cleaning that closet.
• It was hearing my ministry leader tell us that we weren't open to God's plan for our family if I was still sad about being infertile, weeks after we had told them about our plans to adopt.

Then everything changed, and suddenly my life as a mom is measured in moments, each seared onto my brain in stark contrast to the moments of loss.

• It is knowing the smell of my daughter, recognizing it on her blankets within hours of her birth.
• It is feeling her arms around my neck, and experiencing her relax against me when I respond to her cry in the middle of the night.
• It is seeing a laundry line full of diapers or baby clothes, papering the sky with its joyful presence.
• It is hearing "mama" and watching her face light up when I walk into the room.
• It is watching her cry her eyes out when her daddy leaves, then get to the door as fast as she can when she hears him coming back, dragging him to the bed for a round of tickles.
• It is watching her grandparents eyes as they cherish her and knowing that it is finally my turn to bring them this delight.

Does motherhood erase the years of infertility? No. They're not gone, and the new memories make the memories of those years more acutely painful, if possible. But, the memories of those years also make the new memories more acutely joyful, and the frustrations seem very small in comparison. I am so thankful for every moment of the life that gave me my daughter. If I had to do it over again, I would chose every painful moment for the baby we have right now.

Musings on my Most out of Place Wedding Gift

I was going through old keepsake boxes the other day, and came across this card from my best friend and bridesmaid:

Yeah, it was funny at the time. As was the fact that somebody I didn't know had accidentally been invited to my out-of-state bridal shower, AND had accidentally gotten confused about what kind of shower it was, AND had missed the shower anyway, but sent the gift with my friend to my wedding, knowing full well by then that it had been a bridal shower. It was, of course, a baby quilt, with a matching pillow, hand-made, and the words "Children are a gift from the Lord, may your quiver be full of them" embroidered across the front. You know, one of those things a pushy Grandma-want-to-be-Great Grandma gives you for your wedding, only not by accident.

2 years, 1 miscarriage, and an infertility lifetime later, it wasn't so funny anymore. The card was thankfully forgotten in the bottom of a stack of memorabilia, but the blanket was in my closet, taunting me like a sick cosmic joke. I couldn't decide if it was something of a promise that we would eventually have children, a representation of an idolatrous desire of mine that I needed to get rid of, or simply a benign coincidence that just happened to strike the wrong bride. Whatever it was, I couldn't get rid of it, even when the thought of it sitting there collecting dust reminded me that I hadn't cried enough yet that month. I'm not one to look for signs, but I couldn't help thinking that God's hand was in this one, if only I had enough optimism to truly believe that receiving that painful gift was really meant to bring the comfort of believing that we would surely have a baby to sleep in its warm embrace someday. 

The truth is though that I never really believed that the blanket was a sign. I wanted to believe it, but I always knew that God could choose otherwise, blanket or no blanket. I mean, come on... God's not bound to arrange our lives according our interpretation of accidental gifts. Except that nothing is an accident to Him... which lead me back to wondering if it was supposed to mean something... and that endless cycle reminded me of a man... with power...

Carey Grant clip for the uninitiated:

Of course, eventually, I got pregnant with Hannah. The first time I felt her kick, I thought of the blanket, and the anonymous not-a-friend who had given it to me. I wanted to thank her, to tell her that her gift was finally going to be used, and that while I was angry at it for a long time, it had also given me hope, and now it was bringing me joy. It was the first thing I got out and put in the unfinished nursery. I planned the colors I wanted around the colors of that blanket (green and white). I still cried when I read the Psalm passage on the front, but this time they were happy tears. 

I tried to get the full name and address, but the friend who had thought that we knew each other and brought me the gift was no longer in contact with her. I wrote out a long thank-you note that never got mailed. I think, just maybe, that God wants all the credit for this one, and I hope that He gives my anonymous quilter a great big reward in Heaven. I am so grateful, and her gift has meant more to me through the years than I could ever tell her, even if I had an address to mail that thank-you card to.

Pregnancy after Infertility

Pregnancy after Infertility was a very surreal experience for me. I had had one loss early on, and had met many other women who had miscarried or had stillbirths as I sought out support for our journey, and the thought that nothing was guaranteed for 9+ months scared. me. to. death. I can honestly say I savored every moment, because every moment I also had the lingering thought that it could be the last one.

I was spared a lot of worry because my clinic was not extremely intervention happy if there was no indication for testing. I had a light but positive home pregnancy test 6 days after a 5 day transfer (if I remember correctly), and an HcG (blood test) that registered in the 70's 9 days after transfer. The level was 78? Maybe? Most clinics will do a second blood test 48 hours later, and sometimes even a third 48 hours after that, but mine didn't as long as the number was "high enough," and mine was high enough for them.

At 7 weeks, I had an ultrasound, which happened to coincide with an episode of bleeding, so seeing the heartbeat on that screen was the best feeling in the world after the worst morning I could have imagined. Hannah was measuring about a week behind at that point, so I went in again at 8 weeks and she was growing just fine. I think I cried on the table. I could have had an ultrasound every week if I had wanted, but my clinic was fine with me not doing so too, so I didn't make the hour and a quarter drive after that.

I continued taking progesterone shots/ suppositories (we used the progesterone in oil up so as to maximize our investment- that stuff's expensive!) until 11 weeks, and then I was released from the Reproductive Endocrinologist's care. I was just... pregnant! And low risk at that. I called a midwife, and started normal care.

But I didn't feel normal. The infertility feelings didn't go away. We took a picture every week, and every week I wondered if that would be the last one. I blushed and changed the subject when people would comment on my pregnancy. I felt that I was not allowed to experience negative emotions regarding or complain about the discomforts of morning sickness or exhaustion. I didn't prep a nursery. I wanted to run away when the time came to register for baby items, and I was intensely uncomfortable at my own baby shower.

Don't misunderstand, I was certainly overwhelmingly grateful, but I was not overwhelmingly happy. I wouldn't say I was fearful, but my emotions were definitely reserved. I remembered what it was like to be naively excited and optimistic before I experienced the loss of a baby, and those feelings did not resurrect themselves after 3 years of grief in not getting pregnant again.

Every woman experiences this differently. A lot of my situation, I believe, stems from my naturally introverted personality. Some women are nothing but excited after years of trying, but I have also met several others, like me, for whom pregnancy after infertility is a very private and protective experience. I have since learned that infertility can predispose a woman to pregnancy and post-partum depression, neither of which I experienced, but I can definitely see why this would be true.

Once I was in the third trimester, I began to get a little bit of that excitement that seems to be expected. A friend of ours, who was a budding photographer, gave us a photo shoot, and those are some of the best memories I have of that sweet and special time. She perfectly captured the intimacy and preciousness of how I felt savoring the life inside me. I'll end by sharing a few of my favorites.

The Match

Writing this post is kind of like writing about my first kiss. What I'm about to share is so wonderful that I'd like everyone to be able to feel what I felt, but at the same time it's so personal and intimate that I just feel kind of exposed and hopeless trying to communicate what it was like. I wonder if I should even put something so intimate out there, or instead just Emily Dickinson it away in my personal chest of unpublished posts, away from the prying eyes of those whom I don't know will ever possibly understand.

We received a packet of information and pictures from the couple who was hoping to donate their embryos to us. It contained pictures of their children, a written medical history of their family, a worksheet about their personal lives and decisions they've made in regards to the freezer babies, and a packet of information from their clinic about the egg donor they had used. These words are already completely inadequate. It was a packet of distilled hope for their children from them to us, threadbare in its facts, but swollen with unspoken importance behind every fact and picture.

The first thing I saw was a picture of the most adorable little boy with wide eyes and rosy cheeks, that his mother must have been so proud to show off. I had to keep mentally reminding myself that I wasn't trying to adopt him, and that his siblings would be just as precious. After having spent so long aching for a child of my own though, holding that picture almost felt like he was mine in some cathartic sense. This feeling escalated as we showed family and friends who had been praying with us for this match, and they oohed and ahed over him and his brother. They all commented how they thought the baby in the picture could easily be mistaken for "ours" in the biological sense.

Sam and I had decided a long time before this that we weren't going to reject any embryos offered to us based on family history or physical characteristics. Our goal was never eugenics in any sense, and we knew there were no guarantees anyway, so the medical information included was really just that: information. There was cancer mentioned. There was deafness and diabetes and lung disease. I wonder what it was like, writing those things down, wondering if anything would cause a potential adoptive family to say that the babies weren't good enough, might not be healthy enough. I hope that this thought never crossed their minds, because all we saw was data that our children would use to complete forms- important to know, but not scary or worrisome. 

Then there was the personal information. We learned about a few of the interests, occupations, and physical characteristics of this family. It struck me that although they had used an egg donor, the donating mom still included her own information, that she wanted us to know her, not just put down "genetic" info, including her husband only, and I am profoundly grateful. I want to know her, because without her, our babies wouldn't exist. I suspect that without her, my family wouldn't have been picked. And without her, I wouldn't feel this connection to another mother who had also longed for a baby and knew exactly what I was feeling as I waited for a miracle that only another woman could give me. 

As I read, I found myself drawn in spirit to this woman who shared my faith, who stated that "Life is sacred, and if God gives us a gift, He calls us to nurture and value it." She went on to ask directly, knowing that I would be reading it, if their embryos might be ours to nurture? As I read, I wept. At that moment, I was committed, body and soul, to following through with doing everything I could do to accept the charge of motherhood for the babies that this family had waiting. It was less of a hope and more of a reality, now that I had the words of this precious mother ringing in my head as permission and commission to love her children and make them my own. 

 The unique nature of embryo adoption, among other things, is this: the donating couple and the adopting couple are almost always joined by the bond of infertility. This is a fear on everyone's part, I am sure. The adopting couple wonders if the embryos might not be viable since their parents couldn't conceive naturally, and the donating couple wonders if the embryos might not survive since the adoptive mother hasn't successfully carried her own children in her womb. Our donating family took this fact as an opportunity to minister to us, not knowing if this match would result in living children. They said, and I echo to everyone I know who is waiting:

"May God bless you with children! But, if He does not, I pray that His generous hand will more than fill your lives with joy, purpose, and peace." 

Amen, and Amen.

The Call

It's funny what makes us remember certain things. I'll remember this date forever, but not because I'm good with dates. Rather, I remember that The Year of Waiting was bounded, largely, by my little sister's pregnancy. I got her phone call telling me she was pregnant as we were on our way to visit friends and ask them if they would write us a recommendation for our homestudy. While I love my sister, and I truly enjoyed our homestudy process, that particular weekend was marked with tears, self-pity, and lots of cake as it really hit home to me how simple becoming a parent is supposed to be, as opposed to having to get referrals and affidavits just to have the chance to try.

Our friends took pictures for us to put into our profile to send to donating families. I had been so excited about it, but I remember forcing the smiles for the camera as it flashed through my head over and over again that we shouldn't "have" to be doing this. I completely understand the need for adoptive parents to go through a screening process, and I agree with it, but there are times when a couple who is adopting after infertility especially feels awkward about selling themselves as good potential parents. Of course, I didn't include these captions on our real profile, but I was thinking something along these lines.

Look! We're happy, healthy, and we love each other! Pick us!
Plus, we may or may not actually live on this beautiful beach!

We have a clean kitchen, and Mr. Myth even washes dishes!  What a great guy!
Why no, this picture wasn't staged at all!!

Aaaaaand, we have books! Lots of books! Books in every subject and category!
 More books than a potential child could ever read in a lifetime! We will educate said theoretical children very well!

That was April. By late autumn, as our "should have been matched by now" date had come and gone, I was trying my very best to hold it together emotionally, but I was on thin ice. I missed my sister's baby shower because I didn't trust myself to be any kind of good company for her. I started running to lose the pity-cake-eating induced weight I'd gained that year, and to get myself out of the house after work. I hate running.... I did it anyway. I figured if I couldn't have kids yet, I could at least be healthy and thin- I don't know if that's a good reason to run, but I do know that the running did help my mood!

Finally, December 12th 2010, my sister delivered. Sam and I had gone to the drive-in with friends, and ended up texting back and forth with my dad the whole evening about her progress (we live 6 hours away). She and my new niece did beautifully, and I don't think I cried, but I definitely felt numb. Infertility does that- it takes away your normal emotions and filters everything through a meat grinder, before spitting it out mangled and ruined into your consciousness. I don't honestly even remember if I called my sister directly to congratulate her. I really hope I did.

The next day was Monday. At 9:45 a.m., right after first period let out and my students had left the classroom, I drew in a sharp breath, and burst into gasping tears. Sam, who taught in the next class over and could hear everything, came running faster than I have ever seen him, convinced that something terrible had happened to me. I couldn't even speak. All I could do was turn my computer screen towards him and show him where I had opened my e-mail, and was reading the subject line that said:

We have a family that is excited about you! Congratulations!!

On December 13, 2010, we were introduced to a family who wanted us to consider giving their embryos a chance to continue their lives. Our wait to be matched was over, and our dreams were beginning to take shape in reality. 

Insecurities

I used to have day-dreams that a baby would be abandoned on our doorstep and I would get to keep it.

Adoption apparently doesn't work like that in real life. It involves waiting in almost every circumstance. Couples sit on a waiting list for a domestic infant adoption for months and years, easily. EA waits vary based on the agency and the clinic, but typically are shorter for a couple hoping to adopt embryos than for most other types of adoption. Our agency gave us an estimate of 2-4 months. We turned in our stuff by June, but had heard approximately nothing by October. I was starting to get worried, but determined that it wouldn't be that much longer. I mean, after 2 years of infertility, what was a couple of months?

Then, a computer friend of mine who was adopting through the same agency got matched, and they had turned in their profile only a couple of months before. I had been doing really well up until that point, thinking "the list" was just longer than normal, because after all, we had been very clear that we weren't "picky" regarding donating families. (I had actually secretly hoped we might get matched with a family of a different racial background, because, well, wouldn't that just be the neatest thing ever? A living testimony that we are all part of the human family no matter our heritage?)

Naturally or not, at this point I started to wonder what was wrong with us. Why weren't we good enough for the families that wanted to see their embryos given a chance to live? I imagined all sorts of "us vs. them" scenarios, like:

-We're too young, and couples who do IVF are normally older than their 20s. They must think we're too immature, or will regret not trying for a bio kid first.
-We don't own a house. They must think we're poor money managers.
-We work for a ministry. They must think we're flighty and can't find real jobs. Or maybe they think we're too religious and will make bad parents because we must be extremists.
-We sent pictures of the ranch where we both live and work. They probably think we're living in a commune and just want kids to give kool-aid to!

Aaaaaaaahhhhh!!! I caved on my goal of not bugging the case worker, and called. I wasn't totally sure, but it sounded like our profile hadn't even been shown, because she didn't think we were a good match for any of her current placing parents. This made me feel both better and worse. I mean, obviously no placing family had rejected us, but at the same time, what if the case worker was the one thinking all of the bad things about us? What if she never found anybody who she thought would want to donate to juvenile loafer religious extremists?

She must have heard the desperation in my voice and the well-repressed tears, because she followed up by saying that she had a "maybe" prospect that she would send our profile to, and that they had several new couples who were in the process of getting their paperwork turned in to donate their embryos. She also reassured me that God had a plan for the right match. I mean, I knew this, but I wasn't sure if her telling me that was a hint to back off and let her do her job, or if it was a sign that she thought I would be matched soon.

Gah. Insecurities abounded.

This part of the journey was tough. I think my feelings of infertility were newly stirred with the realization that we were kind of on hold indefinitely. I briefly toyed with the idea of trying to conceive again (Sam didn't agree though... he's always the voice of reason!), but mostly just felt sub-par. I wish I could say that I had some grand revelation or spiritual breakthrough that gave me a joyful spirit about the wait, but I didn't. I just survived. Which, in the end, means that I can take absolutely no credit for the fact that our match did eventually happen, and exactly, I'm sure, when God meant for it to.

The draw of EA

When Sam and I first sat down and bold-faced our looming infertility, we did what we usually do when making decisions together: we made a list. This list included all possible paths we could think of that we could go down, and it looked something like this:

Non-medical interventions to try to conceive:

• More vitamins, herbs, & diet changes.
• More charting
• Ummm..... cross our fingers, don't think about it, stand on my head, and/ or quit our jobs and start an illegal drug habit?

Medical things to try to conceive:

• Clomid
• IUI
• IVF
• I can't think of anything sarcastic to add to this list, but I'm sure there's something. Somebody give me some ideas!

Non-conception options:

• Foster-to-adopt
• Domestic infant adoption
• International adoption
• Embryo adoption
• Forget about kids and I can go back to school to become a nurse practitioner, which may in fact result in pregnancy if I manage to get us heavily into debt to do so.

Given all of those options, after I got done reading the list, Sam said he wanted to try EA first. I asked him why. I mean, I secretly agreed with him, but I wanted to know his reasons before I told him that. He said that he wanted me to have the chance to breast-feed, because he knew that was important to me, but that he really wanted to adopt too. The funny thing? He was right! 

There are a myriad of other reasons we wanted to do it, not the least of which being the sheer moral weight of the knowledge that we could be part of a solution to a problem few people knew about. I felt pulled, obligated to the little frozen babies as soon as I learned there were some that needed homes, and that I had arms that longed to be filled. We also knew that while older and medically needy children were waiting for placement too, we had no experience parenting yet, and didn't feel equipped yet (maybe in the future!) to address the needs of children who had had different caregivers before they came home with us. 

But I am not kidding, we picked EA so that I could have every opportunity to nurse the baby. Everyone has a reason for what they choose that goes beyond the standard "I saw a need that I wanted to fill." Mine was both the most self-centered and the most giving thing I can think of, but it still blows my mind a little that my husband knew what it was before I even voiced it myself. The rest of the list was never even touched- we found what we wanted and didn't ever have a reason to look back, for which I have absolutely no regrets.

Closing doors and expanding horizons

I learned the hard way about the "happily ever after" stuff. I mean, I never expected my marriage to be perfect, but I did expect life to go roughly as planned. Which it did, for about a year, and then we started trying for a baby. I had a miscarriage the day after my positive pregnancy test that first month. I never even told family or went to the doctor. But wait, at least now I knew I could get pregnant!

Never say that to a woman who's just lost her baby, by the way, because it might not even be true. It wasn't true for me. I've never conceived since. I wonder, now, if that pregnancy wasn't ectopic. I mean, I've never had my tubes looked at, but it makes sense for them to be scarred, given what I was eventually diagnosed with.

10 months later, I knew without a shadow of a doubt we had a problem. I know, I know, it takes 1 year of unprotected intercourse to be infertile, but I had no doubt whatsoever that we would get there. That guideline  applies to every couple, regardless of whether or not they know enough to time things correctly, and because we had been using the Fertility Awareness Method to chart my cycles since we got married, we knew when we could potentially conceive. Each perfectly timed cycle has between a 20-25% chance of resulting in a pregnancy in a couple of normal fertility. If you can do math, that's 4-5 cycles, 6 to stretch the chances out a bit.

Now, I don't say that to scare anyone. I personally know several women who had charted and timed intercourse and conceived on their 8th, 10, 13th months, for example. But I'm a little a lot scientifically oriented, and I knew we should be pregnant by now. I also knew my cycles weren't nice and textbook, and it looked like things were getting worse. So I started looking for help. I started supplementing with Maca root (which did help my cycles, by the way), futzing with the amount of light I let into my bedroom at night, drinking more water, and I scheduled an appointment to get some bloodwork done.

I also started researching what our options might be once we were actually classified as infertile, beyond the hope/despair/try harder cycle. A good friend of mine pointed me to an online forum for offering Christian support to infertile women, called Hannah's Prayer. There I found all I wanted to know and more, from women who had been through medical treatments, the adoption path, fostering, you name it.

It was there that I found a new thing. Something that had not been mentioned once in my years at a Christian University. It hadn't been mentioned in my nursing classes, nor in my ethics classes, nor in my philosophy classes,  no matter how much we covered conception, the beginning of human life, and the issues surrounding high-tech infertility treatments. Hannah's Prayer had a section dedicated to embryo adoption, and it seemed like I couldn't learn fast enough. What an obvious arrangement- why had I never heard of it before?