Squeaky wheels get the grease right? Can’t say I’m not tempted to give this a whirl 😉
Posts Tagged ‘Faith’
When I miscarried I read women typically grieve hard for three months after they miscarry. At the time it felt both impossible that the pain would subside, or that I could ever try again. I remember lying on the ER table as the tech quietly informed me my uterus was empty and through my tears repeating I can’t go through this again. I can’t be here again. Just the memory of that day causes fresh tears to spring to my eyes. Today, we picked up the mail we forget to get yesterday and there on the top of the thin pile was an envelope from my insurance company. A final bill for my ER visit for my miscarriage. Gotta pay that $75 they are owed after all once insurance agreed to cover the rest ($3200). It was so strange to see this bill on the this anniversary of my miscarriage. So much has happened in three months. Today it still hurts but more like the prick of a needle rather than a sword through my gut.
Three months post-miscarriage I am pregnant again. This time its all so different. I’ve nicknamed my Baby Bug. I talk to him from time to time. But I don’t think ahead anymore. I no longer can’t wait to tell my friends at month three. They’ll know when I begin showing. I am not counting down to the end of this. I’m just accepting that all I have is now. This child is within my body so surely it senses my worries and fears. I know its morbid to consider I may miscarry again, but if I do, I will feel better knowing that while this new child grew within me it only knew calm and peace, not the strain and concern that haunted me last time. This time I’m emptying my fears from my heart and giving them Up to where they belong with the full understanding that I can only do as much a I can and the rest is up to Him.
I would have been approaching my sixth month with Speck. I would have known if Speck was a boy or a girl. I would have felt his feet kicking inside me. Though I am overjoyed to be pregnant again, I still miss my first.
If you get hit by a paintball you won’t die but at the time of impact you feel you just might. The bruise aches for days to come. Last night I went to dinner with some friends and Tricia (who I wrote about here). All the women were either pregnant or new mothers. I knew this was coming and had tried preparing for the onslaught to come. The onslaught came. Sitting at the center of the table the conversations swirled around me like swarming bees threatening to sting. The talks about labor, feeling a child kick inside you, motherhood’s triumphs and burdens and the joy a child brings to your world.
I was fine. I prepared for these conversations. I felt like a soldier standing on the front line. Until. Until, Maria said with a smile the time that you hold your child within your womb is the most magical time . It’s so amazing to know you are sustaining them and that you both share a unique connection. Sting.
I felt in an alternate universe as the conversations continued around me. I held Maria’s ten week old baby and all I could think as I looked at her cherubic face was ten weeks. Ten weeks since I lost you Speck. I lost you for as long as I held you. I must sit with this smile plastered on my face while my heart crumbles inside my chest as I remember you. I saw you on the ultrasound. I felt the exhaustion and the nausea. You were real but you didn’t make it. You will never know these babies. I will never hold you. Maybe other babies, but not Speck, not my first.
Our friends followed us to our house for dessert and I cried the entire way home. I felt empty. Luckily dessert went much better. We ate chocolate cake and laughed and conversed until three in the morning. She made me smile when she said, Sometimes I just sit and watch her sleep. Then she said with a dreamy look Labor was amazing. I felt pain but I couldn’t help but think, wow I’m bringing a being into this world. I turned to her, and with a raised eyebrow said, labor was amazing? She laughed and said, Kate, I thought I would never be a mother. I wanted to be one so badly that every minute of pregnancy and now every minute of motherhood is a complete and utter blessing. I love hearing her cry. I love waking up at 2am to feed her. I don’t take a minute for granted. Wow- I got goosebumps.
As they were leaving Maria said to our husbands, Give us a second I need to talk to Kate privately.
Turning to me, she said Are you considering IVF. I did a double take. Was I that obvious? The huge IF stamped on my forehead? Or maybe IF sisters can recognize one another better? They notice the subtle clenching of cheeks or imperceptible sighs. I’m not sure. As we walked to the car she said Kate, consider this time a test from God. Consider yourself singled out to be drawn closer to Him. You have a good life, you met the guy of your dreams young, you went to law school, you have a house and great families, we can get stagnant spiritually when life is going well. Consider this struggle a blessing. It’s a time for you to grow stronger and learn a lot about yourself. Just remember if He wants it to happen, it will. I got pregnant naturally after four failed IVF cycles. He just has to say BE and it is. Consider yourself blessed and grow from your pain.
For the past few years I felt so conflicted about God and spiritual matters that though I believed, I kind of packaged it all away, observing some rituals but not really letting it enter and settle into my heart. But when moments like the one I shared with Maria occur. Those out of the blue moments where someone tells you exactly what you needed to hear . . . seeing Maria after two years and her opening up to me and sharing her infertility struggles and then, just when I reached my emptiest moment to pull me aside and advise me…. I can’t help but wonder if perhaps she came into my life when she did for a purpose.
I had not seen my friend Maria since 2007. She just had a baby. Her baby was born the day after my miscarriage. She was in Atlanta with her husband to attend a mutual friend’s wedding. We hugged and chatted and in my most nonchalant voice I said, I hope I’m not prying but I remember you told me in ’07 that you’d been trying for a year. What did you end up doing?
She smiled, I had four failed IVF cycles since we last met. The day after my fourth failed cycle, we began filling out the paperwork to adopt a baby from Morrocco. We were in Paris, en route to Morocco to interview with the agency and I got pregnant naturally.
You must have been so stressed I said shaking my head Four failed IVF cycles, I don’t want to imagine. She shook her head, I promise you, I didn’t stress about it. I trusted this was God’s will. He tests those he wants to draw closer to him.
Infertility as a test from God to be borne with absolute strength and trust. I read a book recently in with the author, Steven Luxenberg said fear destroys trust. I am so afraid of the path ahead I have no room to trust. I look at Maria and I think, for 2.5 years she endured what I am enduring, and she took it easy and relaxed. The cynic in me shakes my head and wonders if she is looking back with rose colored glasses, I mean who can endure four failed IVF cycles and say Coolios no big deal? Granted she is filthy rich so affording treatment isn’t the issue . . . but regardless, I am sure she remained faithful during her struggles to conceive. I look at her gorgeous little girl. She is ten weeks old. I did not need to ask, because I know, I will always see her and know. She is hope incarnate. She is proof that I can wringe my hands and give up entirely, but its not up to me what the end result will be. I must move my feet and keep on doing what I must, but I do need to accept that despite my best plans, that I must accept when it comes to TTC, I am not behind the wheel. I want to be where she says she was, that good place where you trust completely and as a result remain stress free. I’m trying to get there. It’s an upward climb but hopefully it will get easier the more I climb.
Tomorrow we’re going out to dinner with a group of friends. One of those friends is my ex-friend who is loud and vivacious and quite pregnant. [I wrote about it here] I know it will be an evening of all about Tricia and I feel very uncomfortable about it. What makes it more awkward is we’re having the dinner folks over to our house for dessert after, and I’ve heard Tricia and her hubby may come TO OUR HOUSE. I hope she doesn’t have the nerve but knowing Tricia she just might. I’ll try to adopt Maria’s philosophy. These difficult times are there to make me stronger. I will sit and smile tomorrow, I will make it through, I will look at Maria’s miracle and remember that I am looking at hope incarnate.
You probably heard about the recent scandal of the governor of South Carolina. He left town for five days without telling anyone. Turns out he was in Argentina with his mistress. I read the statement his wife Jenny, mother of four, made to the press, and it was fine until I came across this: Psalm 127 states that sons are a gift from the Lord and children a reward from Him. I will continue to pour my energy into raising our sons to be honorable young men.
I read the first sentence at least five times. I would be okay if someone said that children are a blessing from God. A gift from God, sure. But a reward? Those with children are rewarded by God.
Reward: re·ward // (r-wôrd)n.Something given or received in recompense for worthy behavior.
So the crack addict mother I’m representing who has six children was rewarded for worthy behavior by God? God rewarded the kids in the backseat of the car after prom? Do you Jenny, think that you are better than those who cannot conceive since you quote to us that children are a reward from God?
She didn’t mean to say it like that of course and its probably the lawyer in me deconstructing her statement as I did. I don’t mean to offend any Christians who believe in this verse. It just really struck me, the casualness of the statements and the silent implications her simple quote carried for me.
Disclaimer: I’m joking about the title. I don’t really think I’m being punished. I’m just feeling a bit reflective as I considered her words said with such absolute certainty.
My posts reflect I reached a low point last week. I felt like my infertility had trapped me into a corner and I could not find my way out. When I sat with my therapist I blurted out in tears I can’t keep going on like this. If I continue feeling this way the results could be bad. He looked up with concern asking me what that meant. I hastened to tell him, I didn’t think suicidal thoughts, but the future seemed so frightening and bleak from where I stood in my journey that this blank space terrifed me to the point of emotional paralysis.
Friday, I decided I needed to do some soul searching. I took the day off work. I worked out. It felt good to sweat away the adrenaline. Each step on the pavement felt like I was pounding away my demons. I showered and then I lit some candles and prayed. Through my tears, I asked for a child. More importantly, I asked for peace. I warned God that my infertility has shaken my concept of Him. That though I prayed, my faith remained weaker than it once was. Then I meditated. I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply and breathed out. I focused on my breath, the sound of the fan in the distance. The candles burned in the distance casting a beautiful glow in my shady afternoon bedroom.
Then, I felt it. Peace. A stillness in my heart that has eluded me for months. I felt no pain, no grief, just peace.
Later that evening as I read a book, a thought struck me with the force of a hammer thrown across the room. I saw my path. Yes, I thought, I am on the fourth week of my two week wait. Yes, the pregnancy test Jack asked me to take this morning still says negative. But- I *will* get a period eventually. I will see my OBGYN Tuesday. Then I’m going to see an RE. I’m going to get a plan. I need to get out of the moment. The now in which my reality is: no period, a missed month of trying, hormones that are not helping my emotions.
I think that this past year of TTC I have not accepted my condition. I have PCOS. I am not normal. I want children and my condition, without the right treatment, precludes that. I have been angry about my diagnosis. I have grieved each monthly cycle and the loss of hope it brought. I have felt like less of a woman. Less of a wife. Less of a daughter. I feel I have failed everyone around me. I have lamented my condition, but I did not accept that for better or worse PCOS is my condition to own. My doctor indirectly tries to put the blame of PCOS on me telling I should lose weight and it will magically disappear. But I’m only 10 pounds from my ideal BMI. I’m sick of carrying this guilt. I’m ready to let it go.
Coping with infertility is the hardest thing I have ever had to do. I’m sure along the way I will fall. Thanks for reading and being there to lift me up.