Two Times A Miss

What might have been.

2012-01-20T21:24:00.000-08:00

Today marks the second anniversary of my missed due date.

I spent it taking care of a busy little toddler, doing laundry, fighting off a headache and, from time to time, thinking about what might have been.

The emotions are complicated. I'm sad that we didn't have a second birthday party today. I miss the little one I never met.

But I found out I was pregnant with the Little Guy exactly 17 days after my due date. If the first pregnancy had worked out, what would that have meant for the Little Guy? I don't know how it works with pregnancy loss and the other side; whether each pregnancy is a separate soul or if it's multiple tries for the same soul to come to earth. I just don't know. I don't like the thought of the Little Guy being in any way involved with the miscarriage. But the sheer number of what-might-have-beens in this scenario make me a little dizzy.

In some ways it's easier to think about what might have been with my first miscarriage. That child would be three and a half now, with no overlap between either of my other pregnancies. It's easier to view as a separate instance without worrying about what may or may not have happened if I hadn't lost the pregnancy.

But with #2 and the Little Guy, there's no possibility that we could have had both at the times we did. And that makes me think about what is and what might have been, and the only conclusion I can come to is that I am so grateful that I have the Little Guy, no matter how it came to happen.

So I'll have a moment of silence and maybe a tear or two for my missing little ones, and then give two extra kisses to my son, and content myself with not knowing the whys and wherefores for the time being. Time enough to worry later about what might have been; for now I'll just give thanks for what is.

Dear Santa, revised.

2011-12-15T12:23:00.000-08:00

I wrote you a letter a couple of years back. I'd like you to please have one of your elves dig it out from the files and dust it off. Then I'd appreciate it if you could carefully read it through and consider it my letter for this year.

Except it's not for me.

All you have to do is change the names—and with your naughty/nice/asleep/awake omniscience, I know you know who I'm talking about—and you'll have my Christmas wish this year.

You really came through for me with that letter I wrote in 2009. Do you think you could see your way clear to pulling that same kind of miracle out of your magic bag this coming year?

I'll leave you the extra-special cookies. And again, I know you know the kind I'm talking about.

Thank you in advance—it'll be the best Christmas gift ever.

Yours, &c.

Darkness and Light

2011-05-06T23:44:00.000-07:00

Today we went to see the Carl Bloch exhibit at the BYU Museum of Art.

Incidentally, the whole experience of seeing the exhibit was yet another confirmation that I am turning into my mother, as I started crying pretty much the second we walked in. Luckily, my mother is awesome so I'm good to go. (Note to my mother: Mom, I'm sorry for all those times when I teased you about your crying. Please come watch Tangled with me sometime and I give you full leave to laugh at me as I bawl my way through three-quarters of that movie. Seriously. It happens every. Single. Time.)

The Spirit hit me as we walked around the corner to see the giant picture of The Doubting Thomas (see the first picture in this article) and it only got stronger as we went through the exhibit. Of course Christ Healing the Sick at Bethesda is a favorite and a common sight in nearly any LDS meetinghouse around the world, and I loved Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane (one wonders who the angel was).

But then I saw The Daughter of Jairus.

You can see a more detailed version here.

I wish the placard text for this picture was available so I could give it to you exactly, but it went something like this:

Instead of focusing on the moment of healing when Christ raises the daughter of Jairus from the dead, the artist instead shows the moment of deepest despair. The grieving mother has sat with her daughter all night, mourning for her death, until the light of dawn is creeping into the sky through the open door. With that light comes life. Christ is seen in the doorway and the moment of the miracle approaches.

So much of life and infertility is filled with those moments of deepest despair. I have wept many nights. I have spent sleepless nights knowing that the small hope growing inside me has gone. I have grieved for my missing daughters and sons.

But with light comes life.

Surely He hath borne our griefs and carried our sorrows.

This painting brought back to me full force the remembrance that Christ knows our every suffering and every pain, and has taken them all upon Himself. In this painting, He is coming to take them away from this mother and bring her joy again.

I was reading a recent blog post about The Days Before—those days before the Big Days that change our lives ("Tomorrow, when our lives changed," the author says). The post specifically mentioned some happy days before bad or difficult news came, but this painting also reminded me that there are the other Days Before. The last dark days before the light comes. I remember the last few days and months before each of my positive pregnancy tests. I remember the terrifying day before my first ultrasound with the Little Guy, when I was certain that it would all come crashing down around us again. And I treasure those days now, because they are made precious by what came after.

Because I lived through the dark, I was able to drink in the light more deeply, with more wonder and thankfulness.

With light came life.

The ultrasound proved that the Little Guy was there and healthy and we saw that amazing, beautiful heartbeat for the first time.

Christ has brought joy into my life in countless ways, not the least of which are my husband and son, and I thank Him every day for it. But I also am learning to thank Him for the darkness that comes before the dawn. Because of that darkness, I look at this painting and see not only the affirmation that Christ is the light, but that he is in ALL things, and that our knowledge cannot be made perfect until after the trial of our faith.

With light comes life, but it is the darkness before that lets us know the light best.

Birth story

2011-04-15T10:06:00.000-07:00

For those of you who are interested but haven't already seen it, the story of the Little Guy's birth can be found here, here, and here. It's kind of ridiculously long, but then so was labor.

Three poems by Grace Noll Crowell

2011-04-01T12:20:00.000-07:00

Today is the first day of National Poetry Month. Orson Scott Card has a post about it on his blog, which includes several poems by Grace Noll Crowell. I hadn't been familiar with her work before (although she did write the words of the hymn "Because I Have Been Given Much"), but three of the poems especially struck a chord with me in relation to the feelings and struggles of infertility and miscarriage, so I wanted to share them with you all.

I think that God is proud of those who bear
A sorrow bravely -- proud indeed of them
Who walk straight through the dark to find Him there
And kneel in faith to touch His garment's hem.
Oh, proud of them who lift their heads to shake
Away the tears from eyes that have grown dim,
Who tighten quivering lips and turn to take
The only road they know that leads to Him.
How proud He must be of them -- He who knows
All sorrow, and how hard grief is to bear!
I think He sees them coming, and He goes
With outstretched arms and hands to meet them there,
And with a look, a touch on hand or head,
Each finds his hurt heart strangely comforted.

A Prayer for Courage
by Grace Noll Crowell

God, make me brave for life,
Oh, braver than this!
Let me straighten after pain
As a tree straightens after the rain,
Shining and lovely again.
God, make me brave for life,
Much braver than this!
As the blown grass lifts let me rise
From sorrow with quiet eyes,
Knowing thy way is wise.
God, make me brave. Life brings
Such blinding things.
Help me to keep my sight,
Help me to see aright,
That out of the dark comes light.

This, too, will pass. O heart, say it over and over,
Out of your deepest sorrow, out of your deepest grief,
No hurt can last forever -- perhaps tomorrow will bring relief.
This, too, will pass. It will spend itself -- its fury
Will die as the wind dies down with the setting sun.
Assuaged and calm, you will rest again,
Forgetting a thing that is done.
Repeat it again and again, O heart for your comfort:
This, too, will pass as surely as passed before
The old forgotten pain, and the other sorrows
That once you bore.
As certain as stars at night, or dawn after darkness,
Inherent as the lift of the blowing grass,
Whatever your despair or your frustration,
This, too, will pass.

—Grace Noll Crowell

Dear Santa.

2010-12-10T11:01:00.000-08:00

Dear Santa,

Remember last year?

Well, I just wanted to thank you for the iPod touch you sent me.

It's sure come in handy since the other gift I asked for arrived. (I forgot to mention last year that one of the perks of the iPod is that you only need one hand to use it. Same with my Kindle, even though Shallow Man, rather than you, gave that to me for our anniversary/law school graduation/Mother's Day.)

So, since I got everything on my list, I really don't have anything I want to ask you for this Christmas (at least not for myself. But I trust you'll bring something special for the Little Guy).

But don't worry, I'll still leave out milk and cookies for you. The way I figure it, the way you came through this year, you've definitely earned them.

Respectfully and very gratefully yours, & cetera.

P.S. Oh, also? Remember how I mentioned how a firstborn child was a great gift idea because you could use it for bartering?

Well, after careful consideration of the firstborn son now sleeping on my lap, I take it back.

I wouldn't trade him for anything.

Checking in.

2010-12-07T00:40:00.000-08:00

I haven't forgotten this blog, I promise. I've just been, well, busy. And being busy with a newborn, while it is lots of fun and provides cool things to blog about, isn't something I want to continually post about on this particular blog. I know that there were times before I had a child when other people had new babies and were so in love with them and didn't want to talk about anything else and while I was happy for them, it also hurt. I don't want to rub it in anyone's face, as it were.

But I will try to post on here more often in the future.

Not right now, because it's already late and I need to head to bed. But soon.

Surprise, surprise; or, he's here!

2010-09-27T20:02:00.000-07:00

I don't have time (or energy) for a full post right now, but just wanted to let you all know that our little guy decided to make an early entrance (or it was decided for him after my blood pressure was dangerously high at my 36-week checkup). He arrived at 6:30 p.m. on Saturday night via c-section and is, quite simply, perfect. No complications for baby or for me so far. I'll share the full story later, but for now, here are my 1000 words:

Yeah, you just WISH your toes were that cute. :)

Checking in.

2010-09-04T12:26:00.000-07:00

So it was pointed out to me that I haven't updated in a while. So I'm checking in.

We're at 33.5 weeks now and I am getting progressively more excited and panicky as the date approaches. I'm really looking forward to meeting our little guy, but still feel extremely unprepared. We're slowly but surely making progress on getting what wil be the nursery cleared out and ready for him, but it still has a way to go. Part of the problem is that while my nesting instincts are really kicking in, my energy levels are still pretty low (maybe it has something to do with the anemia? Or the fact that I'm just so cumbersome?) so it's harder to tackle big projects.

Speaking of cumbersome, I feel very big. (My daddy has started greeting me with the title "Great and Spacious One." If anyone else tries to call me that, though, there will be serious consequences.) I haven't gained too much weight this pregnancy (thanks to the brand-new weight loss program I discovered called "First Trimester") but the little guy is carrying really far forward so I stick out. A lot. I have to wash dishes standing sideways because my arms aren't long enough to really reach past my big tummy.

Sleeping is not working out so well. We're about to the point where I can sleep either in a comfortable position or in a position where I can breathe. I'm sleeping in 1.5-2 hour cycles and then have to get up several times during the night. My doctor says I can take Tylenol PM about three times a week to help out, but even then it mostly lengthens the cycles to 4 or 5 hours. I had one night this week where I was able to sleep straight through for 6.5 hours and it was amazing, but it hasn't happened again. The Tylenol does help ease the aches and pains so I don't wake up as stiff in the morning, though, which is also good.

It turned out that I do NOT have preeclampsia (big sigh of relief); just anemia and gestational diabetes (grumble). It hasn't been too much of a problem; it's more of an annoyance than anything else. My levels during the day were staying where they needed to be with diet and exercise but overnight my body always convinced itself that I was starving so my first-thing-in-the-morning levels were always pretty high, which means I have to take a pill to control it (no insulin shots, thank goodness). Unfortunately, because I'm on medication that means they have to monitor me more closely, so I have to go in twice a week to do non-stress tests. Other than the time commitment, though, I don't really mind this because it's a chance to briefly see the kid when they do the pre-test ultrasound to check my amniotic fluid levels, and getting to sit in those incredibly comfortable chairs which miraculously let me breathe AND be comfortable for 30-45 minutes in a semi-darkened room where I can just read and listen to baby's heartbeat is okay by me. It's seriously one of the most relaxing times of my day. (Baby doesn't particularly enjoy it when they have to wake him up with the buzzer to measure his elevated heart rates, though. He's definitely not going to be a morning person; his first experience with the buzzer brought on a tantrum that more than fulfilled the requirement for baby movement during the test and left me giggling because it is kind of hilarious to see my tummy moving like that.)

The main annoyance I have with the GD situation is the weariness of testing 5-6 times a day and having to eat at those regularly scheduled times with all the new dietary restrictions. Carbs and I have always been BFFs and now that I have to carefully monitor how many I'm getting I keep getting confronted (bombarded, really) with ads for donuts or bread or cupcakes or potatoes or whatnot. Also, my main craving during this pregnancy and one of the only things I could reliably count on to keep nausea at bay has been juice. And juice has so many carbs that it's not even worth it now. Also I have to be careful on my fruit levels because of all those natural sugars. So my diet options have become limited and frustrating even though my stomach's nausea-induced picky eating hasn't really subsided. So it's a bit frustrating and I have been spending the last few weeks telling Shallow Man "When the baby comes and I can eat again, we're going to get milkshakes/have an eclair/eat more waffles than you can shake a stick at/get drunk on orange juice/etc."

With all of that, though, I really do love being pregnant, even if I'm not overly fond of the side effects of pregnancy. I love feeling baby kick and wiggle and move around (as long as he doesn't try to dislodge my spleen or start tickling me while I'm driving). I love seeing him move. I love cuddling up next to Shallow Man and having him feel baby go crazy-go-nuts. I love registering for tiny socks (and big hats because our child has a large noggin. The doctor at the first post-diabetes ultrasound was a little worried about his head measurement until she saw Shallow Man's head and heard that we both have a hard time finding hats that fit) and looking at cribs and strollers. I love the sudden realizations that come over me at various times during the day, like "Oh, I'm going to need to get him a stocking for Christmas" or "I will have a TINY BABY to dress up for Halloween this year! Score!" or "If I want to go see that play that's coming in December I will need to arrange for a babysitter then." It's a wonderful feeling to know that our family is growing and that we've made it farther than I thought we would this time last year.

Of course there are feelings of nervousness, too, when I remember what has to happen to actually get the little guy out in public. But I'm finding it's easier to be calm when I focus on the fact that the end result will be, quite frankly, the most awesome baby the world has seen, at least in the last couple of millenia. We can hardly wait to meet our son!

(And I have to admit I'm looking forward to re-discovering what it's like to stand up without having to wait for gravity to finish re-arranging my internal organs and occupant, which inevitably results in my bladder getting squished, followed by a rapid waddle towards the bathroom.)

Mixed bag; or, Potpourri.

2010-08-09T13:00:00.000-07:00

So up until this point my pregnancy has been progressing pretty normally, except with more nausea and vomiting than I personally would care for. (Yeah, remember when I thought I liked the second trimester? Second trimester LIED. That was NOT a beautiful relationship.)

Apparently my body was just saving up the real drama, because after a ridiculous amount of poking and prodding and blood-drawing and other totally fun stuff (my poor arms have bruises inside both elbows from the six times they had to draw blood last week) it has been determined that I am anemic. And have gestational diabetes. And we're waiting to hear back on the preeclampsia thing.

Yeah. And yee-haw.

I'm not too worried at the moment—saving that for when there's actually a need to be worried—but I am annoyed. Wouldn't you know that the minute my time frees up to do some of that baking I've been wanting to do during the months of bar study that I'm suddenly not allowed to eat cookies and such anymore? Good grief.

But that anemia thing does explain the absolutely dead-beat, bone-tired, no energy thing. And the iron supplements have helped a lot with that. So that's something.

But the good news is that 1) we have a name for the kid. Which I will NOT be sharing on the internet. Which means I need to figure out an appropriate alias for him. Drat. More naming. Hm. 2) We've got a battle plan for the nursery and are actually getting some work done on it (still trying to decide if this plan will involve painting or not) and 3) the kid is getting big enough that I can feel all sorts of fun movement.

Luckily he hasn't figured out where my ribs are yet, and has turned around so he's not kicking any nerves anymore, so most of the movement is of the "whoa, cool" or "ARGH! That tickles!" variety. I admit that I have certain visuals for certain types of movement. Besides the Jackie Chan/ninja kicks and the punching bag moves, we also have the "squirrelly squirrel!" genre (mostly the first 15 seconds or so):

And what I like to refer to as his "stoutness exercises":

He also, today, did something that I swear felt like he sneezed. I guess he's doing his job to help me fight off the nasty cold that Shallow Man gave me. Thanks for the support, kiddo! (Also, it was just so dang cute. Love that little guy.)

Another brief restrospective; or, PICTURES!

2010-07-14T14:46:00.000-07:00

Again, a wonderful comparison of then and now:

This time last year I was almost done with the week of limbo between finding out there was no heartbeat and actually miscarrying.

Today we went in for our follow-up ultrasound. It's still a boy, he's still healthy (and they could see everything they needed to; this time he was much more cooperative), and we are still thrilled.

But because my time is limited these days and I need to get back to studying, I won't take the time now to write down all my happy thoughts. Instead, I'll leave you with these. Consider this your 2,000 word post. :)

Profile (love the lips!):

Face (he has British cheeks):

Come a long way.

2010-07-09T21:57:00.000-07:00

A year ago today, we sat in an unwelcoming room waiting to hear the news, knowing what was coming but somehow praying that the outcome would be different, that somehow the little heartbeat they hadn't found was really there after all.

This morning, I woke up stiff and sore because there's no way to sleep comfortably right now, and felt the little guy start his morning kickboxing routine.

A year ago, I could never have envisioned that we'd be where we are now.

We've come a long way.

There are a lot of things I want to post about, but we're both studying for the bar exam this month and so they'll mostly have to wait. Sorry in advance for any perceived or real neglect, and I'll see you in August.

It's a . . .

2010-06-04T09:14:00.001-07:00

Baby was curled up, face down, just like a potato bug, and we weren't sure we were going to be able to find out the flavor at first. (In fact, we're going to need to get a second ultrasound in a few more weeks since that position meant the technician couldn't get as detailed a view of the heart as she wanted. She said not to worry, because everything she could see looked great and healthy, but they're interested in more detail right now. So we're going to have to go in and see our little one again. Oh, darn. :) How will we ever handle that?)

So we took a little break so I could poke around and see if we could get baby to wake up or shift position a bit. Mostly what I got for my pains was a half-hearted little kick to the bladder ("Leave me alone, Mom! Five more minutes.") But then baby rolled to the side for a moment or two, just long enough to get a little peek at . . .

Technician: And see there? That's between the legs.

Me: (thinking: But that's a . . .)

*pause*

Me: We're having a boy?

Yep, that's right -- it's a boy! This actually came as a pretty big surprise to us, since we've both felt pretty strongly from the beginning, and even before that, that this baby was a girl. We had even had a prompting about what her name was supposed to be. This meant that we hadn't really seriously thought about boys' names this time around.

We're very excited to be getting a little boy (I have three adorable nephews and love them all to bits. Although this does mean that my one little niece is going to be even more outnumbered now). But I am panicking just a bit because I have no idea what we're going to call him. And if we can't come up with a more viable option soon, he may just end up being Axel Danger or Commander Awesome. And while that's a name that, once you're an adult, means nobody will mess with you, EVER, you still have to survive to adulthood with that name.

So, welcome to our family, little guy. We love you more than you can imagine, and we can't wait to meet you. And I promise we'll figure out a better moniker than just "hey, you there, boy" by the time you make your grand appearance.

Baby boy celebrated the big reveal by doing a lengthy Rockettes impression last night, so Shallow Man got to feel a lot of real kicking, which he hasn't really been able to do up till now. So much fun!

The big day; or, A Poll.

2010-06-03T08:17:00.000-07:00

So folks, today's the big day. We're getting our ultrasound this afternoon and get to find out what flavor of baby we're having. So place your bets! I'll let you all know when we find out.

Super-quick thought

2010-05-26T23:23:00.000-07:00

So I've reached 19 weeks now and am almost at the halfway point and am completely freaked out by this picture here.

Really, do they have to make my baby look quite that, well, claustrophobic?

Honestly.

At any rate, my hopelessly squished baby and I are off to bed. With any luck I can sleep through until next week when baby starts looking much less desperately uncomfortable.

Really, now, illustrators, who thought that was a good plan?

Quick thought: Mother's Day.

2010-05-08T01:40:00.000-07:00

This year will be the first time I have been pregnant on Mother's Day. But I still remember all the other years and want to take this moment to say that I am thinking of and praying for all of my friends who are struggling with miscarriage or infertility. For many years I couldn't go to church on Mother's Day because it was too much. I know it's hard, and I know there's not always much you can do about it. But I want to assure you all that you are loved, and wish you a happy (if bittersweet) day just the same. Peace be with you.

Finally.

2010-04-24T20:14:00.000-07:00

I've got a lot of blog posts that have been brewing for the last month but haven't been written yet because of finals and projects and sickness and such. And I'm not writing them tonight, either, because I'm reveling in the fact that I don't have anything I have to do right now (WAHOO for graduation!).

But I did want to make an important announcement here:

Today I did not have to take any anti-nausea medication.

Yes.

Second trimester appears to be here and loving life. And I am loving the second trimester so far. Never been this far before, but I think it may be the beginning of a beautiful relationship.

Update

2010-04-08T10:33:00.000-07:00

They found the heartbeat right off. I mean RIGHT off. (Baby is definitely a show-off.)

If you felt a large gust of near-gale force wind this morning around 9:30, that was us breathing a huge sigh of relief.

Thank you for the prayers! It means a lot.

Insomnia; or, Flashbacks.

2010-04-08T00:50:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow morning I go in for my 12 week appointment. I'll be hearing Baby's heartbeat on a Doppler.

Tonight I can't sleep.

Never mind that we've already seen Baby's strong little heartbeat, severely lessening chances of miscarriage. Never mind that I've been consistently sick for the past seven and a half weeks. Never mind that I haven't had any symptoms of anything other than normally progressing pregnancy. Never mind that my pregnancy symptoms are pretty much textbook pregnancy symptoms so far, something that never happened the other two times.

All I can think about, as I pray over and over again, "Please let them find the heartbeat right off," is that exactly 39 weeks ago, the exact same prayer was going through my mind the night before my last 12 week appointment. I was pretty confident that everything was fine, but I really didn't want to have to deal with the suspense and false panic if they couldn't find it right off.

And then the next morning they couldn't find the heartbeat with the Doppler. No big deal, I thought, plenty of people say they couldn't find the heartbeat right off. They took me downstairs just to check with the ancient sonogram machine. Couldn't find a heartbeat. But no big deal, because really, when I say ancient I mean you could barely even tell there was a uterus in that image. So they sent me to the hospital to check on the fancy new machine. No big deal, because I get to see my baby.

And then they couldn't find a heartbeat there.

And then it was a very big deal.

Both Shallow Man and I have a very good feeling about this pregnancy. We're confident that it's going to work out. But that isn't making the flashbacks go away so I can sleep yet.

Tonight, 39 weeks later, I'm praying the same prayer and just hoping that tomorrow will be a good day, with no further sense of deja vu.

Please, PLEASE, let them find the heartbeat right off this time.

Dear, sweet child . . .

2010-03-26T12:44:00.000-07:00

I know I always jokingly say that doing homework makes me sick to my stomach.

But I really need to get this done today.

So please, let's establish some boundaries right now:

Stop taking me so literally!

Or at the very least hold off on the sickness until after my major project is finished.

Thank you.

And now for something best of all; or, "!!!!!"

2010-03-18T19:15:00.000-07:00

So I don't have the energy at this point to write a long post.

But if a picture is worth a thousand words, I think a

one . . .

two . . .

or three . . .

thousand word post would definitely be long enough, right?

Short story: Our surprise little miracle Baby Nib or Shallow Jr. is scheduled to arrive in October. We got the sonogram this morning and saw our little one and heard the heartbeat for the first time ever and I have to say it's kind of addicting and completely over-the-top amazing and we couldn't be more thrilled. We are thanking our Heavenly Father daily, hourly, and more for this blessing.

The other good news is that the crippling morning sickness I've been suffering with for the last month or so (I may or may not have lost about 10 pounds in that time) is responding VERY well to the new prescription they gave me (after the last prescription made it about ten times worse). I may even make it back to class for the last few weeks of my last semester!

Now for something more light-hearted.

2010-03-10T18:58:00.000-08:00

So I read blogs.

Lots of blogs.

Blogs of friends and family, yeah.

But mostly blogs of people I do not know and will never meet.

And I'm okay with that.

Because many of these people are hilarious.

And sometimes they have posts like this.

And then I just have to share.

(And I also wonder why I never thought of that.)

Hmmm.

Maybe it's time to find some cabbage. . . .

Heavy heart

2010-03-03T22:09:00.000-08:00

I don't think I ever truly understood what it felt like to mourn with those that mourned until I had my miscarriages. I always felt deeply for people when they had trials or tragedies and would sympathize with them, talk with them and even, I hope, help make their way a little easier to bear. But it was sympathy and not empathy.

Since I have begun blogging, albeit irregularly, about our infertility struggles and the heartache of the miscarriages, I have come across the amazing network of blogs and communities of women and couples who are struggling, too. I am not a central player in any of this; I tend to lurk and read blogs without commenting most of the time. One of these days when I'm more organized I will get around to putting up a list of some of these blogs that have inspired and helped me.

When I hear about any of these wonderful people getting that positive test, or getting chosen for adoption, I cheer for them. When they find out the flavor of their baby, I start thinking thoughts of pink or blue. When they post pictures of their miracles, I coo and sigh and melt and post comments with wayyy too many exclamation points.

And then there are those other days. Days when someone gets one more negative test. Days when suddenly it's too hard for someone to put on a hopeful face and they need to vent or cry or scream in frustration. Days when the Clomid didn't work, or a new round of shots failed, or the doctors just don't know what to try next.

Or days of loss, like today. Days when I find out that one of these amazing couples has been unchosen for adoption. And then the loss seems as unbearable to me as if it had been my own. I'm weeping as I type this, because my heart aches for this couple (who most likely had no idea I was even reading their blog). I can't lift the burden for them. I can't make it better. All I can do for them is mourn as they mourn.

Please, keep Josh and Savannah in your prayers.

I suppose you're wondering why I've gathered you all together today.

2010-02-10T20:43:00.000-08:00

So I think we've figured out the answer to the mystery:

Barb @ getupandplay said...
Weird! Strange coincidence, my baby boy Charlie is one of the babies in that issue. I can't think how it got to your inbox though! What a bizarre thing!

Not so bizarre, Barb. No so bizarre at all.

I remember a few months back, Barb mentioned that baby Charlie (who is pretty freaking adorable if pictures are to be believed) was a finalist in some baby contest and urged us all to go vote for him. Being the supportive friend and sucker for cute baby pictures that I am, I obliged. Apparently it was a good thing I did, too, because this cute boy did win second place in his category. Yes, after seeing Barb's comment, I checked my free issue and found the exact picture for which I had voted published right there for all those with free subscriptions to see (my votes for the other two age categories also ended up winning prizes. Do I have great taste in babies or what? And you're welcome, Barb!).

What sealed the deal: as I remembered voting for these kids, I had a vivid flashback to the voting process. Rather than having little radio buttons you could toggle and submit, all of the photos were numbered. In order to vote you had to submit your three choices . . .

BY EMAIL.

(dun dun DUH!)

So I guess I won a prize, too, just for voting. Kind of like this:

So the moral of the day is: if you vote, mysterious things happen to you, culminating in free magazine subscriptions.

Or you might just get a sticker. Whichever.

In any event, I this it's now safe to say . . .

Case closed.

Thanks, Barb, for providing the clue that cracked this case wide open. Give that cute baby of yours a squeeze for me!

Puzzled.

2010-02-09T21:43:00.000-08:00

So I have a mystery on my hands.

Yesterday, at 8:04 p.m., I received in my email inbox the following:

We hope you enjoy your free subscription to the Utah Baby Guide.

That was it.

No preamble, no explanation of why I have received a free subscription to the Utah Baby Guide. No indication of how they got my contact information. Not even really an official announcement of my having received a free subscription. An implied announcement, yes, but not an explicit one. No clue as to where this is coming from. Just a free subscription, just like that, and I was left scratching my head trying to figure out why this email was sent to me.

And I must confess that I'm stymied.

I haven't signed up for any mailing lists or free drawings or anything. The email address it was sent to was my personal address, rather than the junk one I give out when I sign up for free things anyway. I haven't been frequenting any baby sites or anything that would have given me this hookup. Back when the second miscarriage happened in July, I unsubscribed from the baby sites so I wouldn't keep getting the weekly emails because it was just too painful at the time. Come to think of it, even those emails went to a different account than this one. (Yeah, yeah, I have more email accounts than a normal person needs or ought to have. Whatcha gonna do?) And nobody has mentioned to me, "Oh, hey, I signed you up for a free subscription to the Utah Baby Guide." (That a friend signed me up is the most likely scenario since after the graphic the email does say that if I have a friend I'd like to give a subscription to I just need to click this link, yadda yadda, but still, if someone did sign me up they didn't mention anything about it.)

I should probably have made it clear from the get-go that I'm not upset about this, just mightily puzzled.

Where did the mystery subscription come from? Are there more on the way? Was this a completely random spam-like thing, and if so, why did my spam filter let this one through but block all the Viagara and discount Rolex ones?

Ah, life's eternal questions have risen once again.

And in the meantime, I guess I'll just wonder about the mystery and read the story about the triplets with the cute photo where they're all wearing ties and crying their eyes out.

And if any of you have any light to shed on this puzzle, please let me know. I love mystery stories, but my favorite part is always at the end when Poirot or Miss Marple or Nick and Nora call everyone in for a dinner party and reveal the solution, beginning with the speech about "I suppose you're wondering why I've gathered you all together today." Love that part! So yeah . . . let me know.

Moment of Silence

2010-01-20T23:58:00.001-08:00

Today was my due date.

My day started out bright and early with an 8:00 class. Well, early for me, anyway. And actually not bright at all because it was snowing -- the light, slushy kind that's more like rain that's just trying a little too hard but is still no fun to walk or drive in -- and dark. Dark enough that I almost didn't wake up on time because, obviously, if it's still that dark it's not early enough to be getting out of bed. At least it cleared up the nasty, nasty, NASTY smog we've been breathing for the last few weeks.

And I thought to myself, Well, at least Shallow Man doesn't have to drive me to the hospital in the snow.

Because I do try to look on the bright side when possible. And I really didn't want to have any kind of breakdown today.

So I went one further: I am grateful that I did not have to ride to the hospital in the snow with Shallow Man (a native Floridian; remind me to tell you about the first Christmas he spent with my family when it snowed nearly 16" in 24 hours) behind the wheel.

And one more: I'm glad that said ride did not happen while I was looking down the barrel of giving birth to a child for the first time. Because I can't imagine that particular set of circumstances would be terribly zen-inducing.

But I had to stop there. Because I really would rather have gone through all of that if it meant I'd be holding my baby in my arms tonight.

And I did make it through the day without a breakdown. Which is pretty amazing considering the far-above-average number of detailed delivery stories that were told to me today. Purely by chance. Because I'm lucky like that.

Realistically, of course, I know that I would probably still have been pregnant at this point anyway, because, hey, I'm always running late and any child of mine would obviously have several of my genes. But I'd rather think about my baby than about waiting, because, well, I do a lot of waiting as it is.

And then I need to think of the bright side again.

So.

At least I didn't have to ride to the hospital in the snow today.

My Christmas list

2009-12-03T00:34:00.000-08:00

Dear Santa,

I know I haven't written to you in a long time but this year I really, really want something, and I was hoping you could put in a good word for me.

I know, I know, when people ask me what I want for Christmas I usually tell them I want an iPod touch, or a copy of My Fair Lady, or Lego Rock Band or maybe even just a pair of fuzzy socks. Because you know how I love my fuzzy socks.

But that's not really what's at the top of my Christmas list this year.

Santa, this year I would like a firstborn child. I know it's a huge responsibility. But I'd take care of it myself. (Shallow Man would help.) And it's not just a toy, either. It's incredibly versatile. You can trade it in or sign it away for just about anything.

Or so I'm told. Because right now all I've got to barter with is that old standby, the pint of blood. Which is great and all, but I think I'd like to upgrade.

See, a lot of my friends have one. Some of them even have second-borns, you know, like as a back-up. And I want to be one of the cool kids. You know, because everybody's doing it.

I know some people might just ask for a positive pregnancy test, but I'm asking for the end product right now. Just to be safe. Because I had a whole bunch of positive tests back in May which say I should have 8/9ths of a firstborn right now. But apparently there was a recall on that particular model last July (and the same thing happened back in 2007 as well, if you remember), and I'd just rather not go through that again.

If you decide to give me an iPod touch as well, I won't complain, because it would be nice to have some tunes to listen to during all those sleepless nights, or at least to have one thing that will stop making noise at the time I designate, and where the only part that involves "changing" would be batteries.

But I'd rather have the firstborn child, if it's all the same to you. Heck, I'll even offer you a pint of blood and a . . . well, make that two pints of blood.

Respectfully and very hopefully yours, etc.

Broken

2009-11-10T23:05:00.000-08:00

Since starting this blog, I have had the opportunity to talk to many amazing women who have or know someone who has some experiences with infertility or miscarriage. Each one's story is as different as each individual, but there are some common threads and themes running throughout. The discouragement and tears, the hopes and prayers, the struggle between supporting your child-bearing friends and family and grieving for your empty arms, the frustration with the instability of your emotions and how they make you suddenly and irrationally angry and resentful of the first random pregnant woman to pass by.

But overwhelmingly, the thing these women most often express is the feeling that they are somehow broken. I remember sitting in the exam room at the OB/GYN's office after we found out the first time that our dreams had just popped like a balloon, and the first thing I was able to whisper through the tears was, "I'm broken." He, of course, immediately and without hesitation reassured me that it wasn't true, admonishing me in the same breath not to say that again.

This, again, is the standard response of the husbands of these women. They love us no matter what our bodies can or cannot do. And that means the world to us, guys, it really does; but at the same time they don't quite understand. It's hard to shake the sensation that you're broken if one of the things that makes you essentially female just isn't working. That you and your body have, somehow, fundamentally failed. (I can just hear the pens of uber-feminists furiously scribbling over my choice of words at this point. All I can say is, if you've never had the overwhelming desire to do something you know you should be capable of naturally and consistently failed despite all you can do, you're more lucky than you know.)

It took us a year and a half between going off birth control and finally getting that first ill-fated plus sign. At first we thought it was just the after-effects of being on the pill for a couple of years, but it soon became painfully obvious that, no, I was not pregnant, and therefore the only explanation was that I was not ovulating, either. And oh, did I feel broken.

And then, one Sunday, the Relief Society lesson was about this talk. I sat in my little corner behind the piano (I was the permanent substitute pianist for the Relief Society the entire year we were living in that ward) and felt grateful, first, for waterproof mascara since the tears were freely flowing down my face and making puddles on my shirt, and second, for the inspiration of this talk:

The first words Jesus spoke in His majestic Sermon on the Mount were to the troubled, the discouraged and downhearted. “Blessed are the poor in spirit,” He said, “for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” Whether you are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints or among the tens of thousands listening this morning who are not of our faith, I speak to those who are facing personal trials and family struggles, those who endure conflicts fought in the lonely foxholes of the heart, those trying to hold back floodwaters of despair that sometimes wash over us like a tsunami of the soul. I wish to speak particularly to you who feel your lives are broken, seemingly beyond repair.

To all such I offer the surest and sweetest remedy that I know. It is found in the clarion call the Savior of the world Himself gave. He said it in the beginning of His ministry, and He said it in the end. He said it to believers, and He said it to those who were not so sure. He said to everyone, whatever their personal problems might be:

“Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.

“Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls."

It said exactly what I needed to hear that day, and I still can't read it without crying.

"If you feel you are broken, please know you can be mended."

"Broken Things to Mend," Elder Jeffrey R. Holland.

Raising Awareness

2009-10-15T00:39:00.000-07:00

Well, you learn something new every day. Today I learned* that today, October 15th, is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. I've also heard it referred to as Miscarriage Awareness Day.

So take today to be aware. Statistics say that 1 in 3 (or 1 in 4) pregnancies end in miscarriage. In many of these cases, the women didn't even know they were pregnant because the loss occurred so early in the pregnancy. However, no matter how far along a woman is when she finds out that she has miscarried or will miscarry, it is devastating. I don't think any one miscarriage counts more than another for any reason: length of pregnancy, whether a D&C was required, one that bleeds out or one that just disappears. They're all gut-wrenching (sometimes literally) and it takes time to heal, mentally, spiritually and emotionally as well as physically.

For those of you who have not experienced miscarriage—and I pray you never do—take a moment to think about it. Raise your awareness. Make a goal to be more open and sensitive to others. Let's take away any traces of stigmatization. Let's recognize that miscarriage is no less real and heartbreaking just because you didn't meet the baby. Stop to think twice before you speak.

For those of you who have miscarried, do the same. Be aware of others who may be hurting or who may need help understanding what you are going through. You are in my thoughts. I know it's not something you ever truly get over, although you do learn to adjust to it. Remember that you are by no means alone; you are not the only person to go through this.

Let's all do what we can to raise awareness of pregnancy loss. Awareness and recognition raise understanding, which is something we ALL could use more of.

Thank you, and bless you all.

*Yup, I've already learned my something new for today and it's only 1:00 a.m. I'm good to go for another 24-hour learning-free period. Go me!

I have come to the conclusion . . .

2009-09-07T22:10:00.001-07:00

. . . that there are two basic types of pregnant people (and I say "people" rather than "women" because their husbands/boyfriends/significant others do the same thing).

The first type of pregnant people are those who are normal, regular people who just happen to be growing an extra person inside them. It may come up in conversation, it may not. If it does, it doesn't feel like they're rubbing it in anyone's face; it's just how they happen to be. Hearing them talk about their pregnancy feels about as traumatizing as hearing them say they brushed their teeth that morning. It's just part of the regular routine and nothing to get worked up about.

They are the pregnant people I can hang out with and feel comfortable and not stressed. They're still fun to be with and easy to talk to. Heck, I could talk to them for hours about what color they're painting the nursery and still feel happy and zen and glad to know and be around them, and even be excited for their pregnancy, without grieving for my own.

The second kind are those who are HOLY CRAP I AM ****PREG-NANT***** AND DID I MENTION I AM PREGNANT? Everything is about them and their pregnancy. Because did you know they're PREGNANT? (Oh, and did I mention they're pregnant?) Just as nearly every Relief Society lesson in Utah County turns into "Why Being a Mother is Amazing," no matter where the conversation is going, these people are PREGNANT. "I went to the grocery store and I'm pregnant. I love the Red Hot Chili Peppers and I'm pregnant. The square root of 179 is 13.379088160259652 and I'm pregnant. We're living in nuclear winter and I'm pregnant. An asteroid is heading for the Earth with an imminent impact in 17 seconds but GUESS WHAT I AM PREGNAAAAAAAAANT!!!!! Isn't it SUCH A BLESSING TO BE PREGNANT?!?!"

Conversation with these people is no fun. It's an ordeal to be got through with plenty of clenched teeth and internal recitations of Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall or whatever other mantra will be sufficiently distracting. When I see these people coming I hide behind the nearest tree or duck into the next room or hallway because even a thirty second conversation with these people can shatter the delicate balance of my zen-itude for a week at a time. And by shatter I mean make me NEED to find the most fattening food available and wallow in it. Cry on and off for a day and a half. Sink, as Anne Shirley would say, into the depths of despair and start worrying that this will never happen, or it will happen again exactly like it did before, or that I'm not healing right, or, or, or, maybe I'd better start on that second pint of ice cream.

Because THEY ARE PREGNANT (and did they mention they were pregnant?).

And I'm not.

Two blankets

2009-08-16T23:52:00.000-07:00

Shallow Man and I went on our honeymoon to Disneyland. While we were there, we started up a family tradition and bought a soft stuffed Winnie-the-Pooh doll and a cute little bib, I think with Piglet on it, to eventually give to our firstborn. We weren't expecting to have children right away but knew we wanted them at some point. So we decided that every vacation we went on, we would buy a Christmas ornament (really convenient because you can display them for a month and then put them back in storage) and something for a future baby.

Of course, we weren't expecting things to take so long.

I was cleaning out my office in our house last week and found a few of the baby items which I had been looking at a few weeks back but hadn't put away at the time. Probably because I had figured that they would have to be gotten out again before too much longer anyway, so may as well leave them out.

Since that trip to Disneyland, we've managed to amass a significant amount of baby items. Not enough to fill up a nursery or anything like that, but five years' worth of globe-trotting certainly adds up. Throughout the years new gifts have joined Pooh and his bib. A sippy cup from Disneyland Paris, a jester hat from Geneva, a stuffed bear from the USS Alabama (of all places!), tiny socks from Santiago saying "I (heart) Papi," a smattering of onesies with cute sayings on them from all over the South, a knit poncho and hat from Peru, and so forth. Some onesies from my sisters, which they painted for us (one with Piglet, one with Pom Pom) when they were making some for Christmas for my other sister and my sister-in-law when they were pregnant with their first children. (My mom had called me beforehand to make sure we'd be okay with it.)

And, most recently, two blankets. One is from my grandfather's house, which was cleaned out recently when he moved in with my aunt's family. It was my favorite blanket to use during naptime when my grandparents were babysitting me as a child, and I think my sister and I even had a few fights back then over who got to use it. It's a little blue quilt, bright blue on one side and blue-and-white checked on the other with a picture of a little smiling caterpillar. The picture is surrounded by the kind of lace that you imagine lining pioneer petticoats and the quilt is tied with fluffy white yarn all over. I can't imagine how it has lasted through so many years and so many grandchildren and still be in such good shape. I picked it out during the cleanup especially so I could use it for my coming little one.

During the course of that day, my two sweet aunts, who were spearheading the cleanup effort, brought a bag over to me that they'd found which had two baby blankets in it that my grandmother had made before she passed away. This was during the weekend of my orphanhood, so I was the appointed representative for my family in bringing back items designated for them. My aunt L said that the blankets were for my sister and sister-in-law (both expecting their second children), or for me if I wanted one, or whatever I wanted. We hadn't made the announcement at that point so I just said it was fine for them to go to the sisters. Aunt L gave me a hug and said she hoped it would happen for us soon. I smiled and thanked her, thinking of our secret.

My aunt M said that she had a blanket to give to me instead, and in the course of a few weeks said blanket was passed along to me. It's also pretty adorable, with a pink border and floating cows. When I got it I squished it a few times and thought about wrapping up a baby in it. Both blankets had been living in my office ever since, as I hadn't figured out where I wanted to put them yet.

I found them, along with the poncho and some onesies, and squished them again a few times. Then I wrapped them up in a plastic bag. I'll put them away with the other baby gifts tomorrow, where they can all start waiting again.

Wherein the Husband Makes the Occasional Post on a "Family" Blog

2009-08-05T23:24:00.000-07:00

Oh, you know how it is.

The husband (or simply "DH") drops by these blogs occasionally, writing a brief, disjointed comment or two, and then disappears for weeks at a time, with virtually no input.

You know, I just may end up doing that. It is, after all, tradition, and far be it from me to ignore tradition.

Which isn't to say I'm exactly a "traditional" guy on these blogs. I have no Utah roots by blood, and, culturally speaking, I suppose you could say I straddle the line somewhere between the South and the "Mormon culture" of Utah. I'm not sure what my role is here. Having met far too many sociology majors, I don't really buy into the sociological explanations as much, but I don't feel quite the same sense of "role" as many do.

As the "traditional" husband, and setting aside the grief for the moment, my feelings, thoughts, and concerns lay along the following lines:

1) A constant sense of arrested development

I'll be 28 at the end of this month. This certainly doesn't make me an "old" man by any stretch of the imagination. But I sure am a bit old to, say, go to the in-laws for Christmas. Every. Year.

Don't get me wrong - I have fantastic in-laws. And I've always enjoyed spending time with them, including holidays. But we're really getting to that point where it's time to leave the nest, to strike out on our own, to form our own "family". And, we do have our own "family". We are, of course, married, living together in the holy bonds of matrimony and what have you. But, as our roles in the home aren't particularly well-defined (thanks, 1960's!) and as there is little to structure to our days, we often seem to find ourselves slowly shifting from being "spouses" to being in some ways, like, well, roommates. Obviously, there are some pretty significant differences, but the basic concept is there.

Being a parent, on the other hand, brings meaning. It defines roles, creates expectations, and gives couples a reason for structure cause to rally behind. It brings you together in a way that wasn't possible before.

I think we're ready to be brought together like that - we just can't at this point. And that bothers me.

2) Pessimism and detachment

As if two people who have gone to law school and are only a year away from becoming full-fledged lawyers needed any more of this. Let's just say that "optimism" isn't exactly a word we've heard a lot lately. Lawyers make horrible businessmen. To the extent that lawyers recognize this, they succeed. Lawyers are trained to see risk, not opportunity; to look for problems, not solutions.

We've been here - twice. We've lost - twice.

When the third time comes around, I just don't see it being a happy event at this point. Not a time to ponder the joy that will happen in 9 months, but the pain that is certain to come around in a few weeks. And how to handle that inevitable pain. Sonograms and ultrasounds, those traditionally happy moments for parents, won't be opportunities to see the baby but to wait for the ax to fall. And why bother setting anything up if you're going to have to take it down? Why spread the "good news" if you've got to go through the awkward-for-all-parties reversal in just a few weeks?

And how will this affect attachment? Should we avoid giving out names? Thinking about the future? Wondering if "it" will be a boy or a girl? Will I view "it" as a wonderful person in utero or a devastating disappointment on the horizon?

I don't know.

3) Uncertainty

We're at a bit of a crossroads right now.

I was recently given a (conditional) offer to join the Foreign Service. To say that this process was long and difficult would be an understatement. But it's also been a dream of mine to join up and see the world, learn languages, and serve my country.

The problem, of course, is that I have no idea where we'll be sent. I know that we'll be in D.C. for 2-10 months, and then to the four winds. This means that access to fertility treatments and adoption processes will be unpredictable, to say the least.

As the side panel of the blog points out, we've been married for quite some time now. We're both ready to have a family. We don't want to delay this unnecessarily. This does not work well with the Foreign Service life of living in third world countries with little basic medical care, let alone fertility specialists. In some countries, I imagine the only fertility treatments available to us would involve dancing and chanting...

So the road to joining the Foreign Service may well have been a long, hard road to nowhere. If the service will effectively prevent us from having kids for the next five years (a not-unlikely conclusion), then, well, it just might not be for us.

But where does that leave us? What are we to do? What about the dream?

I don't know. A lot can happen between now and August 2010, the earliest I would ship out for training. But that also makes it hard for me to (honestly) shop for private sector jobs or plan anything. We've put off purchasing furniture, electronics, most any "heavy" objects, a car and a lot of other things all because we might be shipped to a country in 18 months where we couldn't take them with us. But that "might" is really bothering me right now. I don't like not knowing where I'll be. I don't like looking at an unruly stack of books on my desk and remembering that I might be moving across the country and across the world in a year's time, so I better not buy that bookcase.

And what if we stay here? Where will I work? Where will we live? How will we pay the bills? At what point do we decide the Foreign Service is a go, or not?

I have no idea. With the possible need for fertility treatments or adoption procedures ahead of us, I just can't say where we'll be or what we'll be doing in the next year, which has effectively put our lives on hold yet again - and may torpedo a dream.

So, those are the "DH"'s sily, selfish, decidedly male thoughts. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll let the missus wander back in here and fix things up.

Checking in

2009-08-05T23:12:00.000-07:00

No, I haven't died, or forgotten about this blog, or just gotten too lazy. I've been running around like a headless chicken for the last week or so. My sister had her second child, an adorable little girl, and we've been helping out with big brother, who is two years old, one of our best buddies, and who also managed to break his wrist about three hours after mommy, daddy and little sister came home from the hospital. Good times, good times. But it's still been fun.

In other news, we had our follow-up appointment yesterday and everything is looking fine. So at least I know that I am capable of, what, healthy miscarriages? No surgery or anything needed. And now we just have to wait and see if the old friend shows up again on its own or if we will need to use more persuasive means. Sigh. Here we go again, I guess.

But in the meantime, I'm heading to bed. Sleep well, all!

Side note

2009-08-01T17:26:00.000-07:00

What sick sense of irony sends me the insurance statement from that ultrasound on the same day my sister goes in to get induced for child #2? Ha very ha, universe.

Quick Thought

2009-07-30T00:42:00.001-07:00

Statistics say that about 1 in every 3 pregnancies ends in miscarriage. I figure this means our next four pregnancies will be freebies. After all, math wouldn't lie to us, would it?

Reasons Why

2009-07-30T00:39:00.000-07:00

My reasons for writing this blog are, first, that I think it a right thing for every person in such circumstances (like myself) to set an example; secondly, that I am convinced it will add very greatly to my happiness; and thirdly -- which perhaps I ought to have mentioned earlier, that it is the particular advice and recommendation of the very noble lady whom I have the honour of calling patroness.

Er, wait. Sorry. Wrong reasons speech there.

First off, I'm not writing this blog just because I want everyone to sympathize with me. Okay, well, maybe there is a little bit of that going on, but not much. (Although I do sincerely thank all of you who have expressed your sympathies. It means a lot to both Shallow Man and myself.) I'm writing this for catharsis, both personal and general.

One of the things I've noticed the most as we've been going through the process of infertility and also miscarriage is that nobody talks about it. Ever. Or at least that's what it feels like. Part of this is obviously the fact that people don't like talking about their health problems (at least before age 50 or so) and that in LDS culture we also don't talk much about sex in general, so anything related to it also isn't talked about as much.

But it's also because it feels, to me at least, embarrassing and almost shameful in a way. You wouldn't want to admit that you couldn't read or write or tie your shoes. You wouldn't want everyone at your workplace to know that you couldn't perform the basic functions of your job. Not being able to have children can feel the same way, like you're broken or inferior. I don't for a minute actually believe that infertility means anything of the sort, but when you're in the thick of it it's a lot harder not to listen to those kinds of ideas.

I think there's also an element of the Job syndrome. You worry that someone will think it's your own fault; that you're being punished or are unworthy in some way, because of course God will bless his righteous and obedient children with children of their own. This, of course, is nonsense, because God's purpose is not to give us everything we WANT, but to give us what we NEED.

Now, I'm not saying that I see exactly what the burning need for two miscarriages and struggles with infertility was in my life. And I probably don't specifically need these events. But I do need to grow, and Heavenly Father in His wisdom knows how to give me the experiences and opportunities I need to achieve that growth.

Of course I still struggle with accepting that. I think everyone who goes through trials does. And I have to admit that unfortunately I do go through days where I question and wonder why and am not at all content and lack faith and really wrestle with accepting and learning from my experiences. I would rather not have to grow in this particular way, thank you very much.

But then I have what I guess you might call more lucid periods, where I can step back and say, "Okay, this stinks, but what can I do about it? What can I learn from this?" And it's harder to know what to do if you don't know what anyone else is doing, or if it feels like you're the only one who's going through things like this.

So I guess that's the long way of saying that one of the main reasons I'm doing this is to increase awareness and start a dialogue. If we can talk about these things like they're as normal as they are (I've been surprised to find out just how many people I know are dealing with one or both of these issues) then none of us will feel as isolated, as broken, or as "unworthy" as I sometimes have felt. Then maybe we can get a better, more eternal perspective.

"And his disciples asked him, saying, Master, who did sin, this man, or his parents, that he was born blind?
"Jesus answered, Neither hath this man sinned, nor his parents: but that the works of God should be made manifest in him."
(John 9:2-3)

Side note

2009-07-28T22:16:00.000-07:00

I really wanted to name this blog "Something Amiss." But apparently that name has been taken. Argh! Can nothing go right?

A Time to Weep

2009-07-28T21:49:00.001-07:00

Note: Please bear with the length of this post. Future posts will be much more brief, I promise.

It has been a fortnight full of tears and prayers.

I wouldn't normally have written this post, but I feel strongly prompted to share this experience in the hope that it will help someone else who may be going through trials. (Warning for the squeamish: This post contains, among other things, medical procedures and other potentially-but-not-overly graphic details.)

This fortnight actually began eighteen days ago with excitement and expectation. On the morning of Thursday, July 9th, we had our second doctor’s appointment and were eagerly looking forward to finally hearing our baby’s heartbeat for the first time. The inevitable wait for the doctor to come into the examination room seemed longer than it actually was, so we were almost bouncing up and down with impatience and anticipation by the time he arrived. When he couldn’t find the heartbeat on the Doppler, it was a little upsetting but not a huge deal since it’s not uncommon. Plus, it meant we got to go downstairs to the ultrasound room to check, so we would not only get to hear the heartbeat but see our baby as well.

The doctor hooked up the machine—which, off-hand, I would say was from the late Cretaceous period—and started looking. The first thing he noticed was that the baby was measuring small for the dates. We thought we were almost twelve weeks along, but he said it looked like we could be two to three weeks off. He pointed out the fetal pole but was having a hard time seeing a definite heartbeat. A bit disturbing, but we weren’t panicking just yet. After all, if the baby was smaller than we’d thought, combined with a prehistoric ultrasound machine, it was more than understandable that it might be hard to see. Because the machine was so old and grainy, the doctor decided to schedule us for a dating ultrasound at one of the nearby hospitals so we could figure out exactly how far along we were. We ended up going, not to the hospital next door to the clinic (their earliest appointment was late that afternoon and we wanted to get it all resolved as soon as possible), but to the community hospital one city over. “Start drinking a lot of water,” the nurse told me as we left, “and good luck.”

Drinking the water actually was a blessing because it kept my mind off of the questions about the baby and focused on the more immediately urgent issue of how embarrassing it would be to die from an exploding bladder. So I didn’t have much extra thought to spare during the abdominal portion of the exam, and therefore didn’t notice how unprofessional the sweatshirt-and-jeans-wearing technician was until after I came back from the bathroom and we started the transvaginal scan.

Per a sign on the waiting room wall, I already knew she wasn’t allowed to discuss any results with us since she wasn’t a doctor, but she barely spoke twenty words to us the entire time. She didn’t ever let me see the monitor, just kept clicking away and taking pictures and notes. Then she sent us back to the waiting room and said she would get our doctor on the line.

In the meantime her next appointment had arrived, so she didn’t even try to call our doctor until she finished with them, keeping us sitting in the waiting room for nearly 45 minutes. When she finally came out, she had us go over to the receptionist’s desk, where she handed me the phone and transferred me to my doctor’s line, which was playing soothing faux-Celtic hold music. Then she went to lunch, leaving us there holding the line at the receptionist’s desk and trying to ignore the butterflies in our stomachs. There wasn’t anyone else in the waiting room, thank goodness, but that didn’t make me any happier about waiting to hear medical results in such a public place. While I was holding for about 15 minutes, Shallow Man tried to see if there was any other phone we could use. The receptionist said no, there wasn’t. Finally, one of the other nurses walked through the room and noticed us, and arranged for us to move to one of the back-office phones. At that point my nerves were shot and I was just focusing on breathing when my doctor picked up.

“I’m so sorry.”

I concentrated on holding myself together as he explained. He had thought, after our appointment, that everything was normal and it was just the late-Cretaceous that was preventing us from seeing the heartbeat. The up-to-date machine at the hospital, however, showed that the baby measured 8 weeks and four days—nearly four weeks off—and that there was definitely no heartbeat.

We somehow made it back to our doctor’s office to discuss our options: do a D&C, take some pills to induce the miscarriage, or wait to see if it passed naturally. We somehow made it home and after talking it over, decided to pick up the pills. We had already contacted our respective places of employment letting them know we wouldn’t be in for the next couple of days. Since our bosses had been in on the news, we also told them why. We began the process of notifying the few people we had told to let them know and get the worst of it over and done with. We arranged for a sub for Primary on Sunday. We wept and talked and sat in silence and slept for a time.

My parents came down from Salt Lake that evening so my dad and Shallow Man could give me a blessing. The pain didn’t miraculously stop, I wasn’t promised that everything would work out perfectly, and I didn’t wake up to find out that it was still only that morning and time to go to our appointment where everything would work out perfectly. But I felt and knew that somehow, even though it was astronomically NOT okay, I (and we) would get through this. That I would be okay.

I woke up the next morning reluctant to take the pills. We talked it over again and decided to schedule a D&C, thinking that it might be easier to have someone else take care of everything. But as the day wore on, I became less and less satisfied with this decision. I was still numb from the news and still couldn’t make myself understand it. Denial, perhaps, but remember that I was never allowed to see the scans or any pictures. The doctor had said that the baby had only recently stopped growing, from the images. And I knew that there were many people who had the experience where they couldn’t find a heartbeat but went back again later only to find the baby alive and kicking with a strong heartbeat. I knew our chances weren’t good, but I also knew that I needed to know for sure before doing anything permanent. We decided to wait a week and, if nothing had happened, to go back for a second opinion. After all, I’d had no symptoms that anything was wrong; on the contrary, my pregnancy symptoms were still going strong.

Once we’d made that decision, it felt like a weight had lifted off my shoulders and I felt relieved and almost happy for the first time in 36 hours. I made arrangements to work from home for the next week and we started waiting.

Things continued normally for the next few days. Then, on Wednesday morning, I noticed that when I wiped, the toilet paper was coming away faintly pink. I thought it was my imagination but as the morning went on, it started getting more and more distinct. When Shallow Man called me from work around 1:30 to see how I was doing, I was starting to panic. I told him what was happening and he came straight home. We called the doctor’s office and they recommended that I rest as much as possible and play the wait-and-see game. This meant that we couldn’t go up to Salt Lake for my mother’s birthday party (where, incidentally, we had originally planned to make the first official public announcement). I was frustrated, but I had calmed down somewhat after spending the rest of the afternoon and much of the evening watching fluffy, popcorn movies and was therefore able to resign myself to being at home for the evening.

Around ten-thirty (we had just started watching “Napoleon Dynamite”) I got up from the couch to use the bathroom and as I opened the door I felt a gush of water. When I sat down, my underwear was covered in blood.

After four of the longest and worst hours of my life, the sac passed and it was over. By then I was too exhausted physically to feel much of anything emotionally. During the process, the pain of the contractions had kept me distracted from thinking about the loss. By the end, the relief of it all being over was the predominant emotion for both of us. This numbness lasted through the day on Thursday and most of Friday. (Which was fortunate, because on Friday we ended up staying up until 4:40 a. m. trying to locate a leak in our air conditioning. In the one bit of good luck we had during the last two weeks, we were able to fix the problem for less than $20 the next day. But that’s another story.)

On Saturday afternoon all of a sudden everything hit me and started to sink in. My body was healing enough to let the emotional side out, and I realized with the full impact of the revelation that my baby was gone. January 20th no longer held the same importance that it once had. There was no more urgency to rearrange and consolidate our offices so the smaller room could be converted into a nursery. We wouldn’t be finding out the gender for Shallow Man’s birthday. We wouldn’t get to buy baby things for Christmas.

At one point during the week, a well-meaning and dear friend had, in an attempt to be supportive, pointed out that at least we knew we could get pregnant now. She and her husband had also struggled with infertility before she became pregnant, and she understood the frustration of not knowing. In other circumstances this may have been true, but added to the sorrow of our current loss was the fact that this is our second miscarriage. Now the benefit of knowing that it’s possible for me to get pregnant was overshadowed by the wonder of whether it’s possible for me to stay pregnant. Would we go back to the same problems and struggles of hoping and praying for a baby, only to have the same troubles month after month? Would it take us another year or two to get this far again, only to have it all go south?

The uncertainties and fears still intrude. The pain is still there, on the back burner, under the surface, and it asserts itself from time to time. As with the first time, I don’t think it’s something we’ll ever truly get over. But I have also, with the tears and the pain, unmistakably felt the Lord’s presence and support and love. Each time my soul cries out, “O God, where art thou?” I feel the reassuring answer: “My daughter, peace be unto thy soul.”

I think it’s significant that the scripture reads “a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.” Life does not end with weeping; we do not have to mourn forever. We are promised that a better time will come. We will heal. We’re not okay yet, but we will be.

“Thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment; and then, if thou endure it well, God shall exalt thee on high.”

This fortnight has been one of tears and prayers. It has also been one of an outpouring of support from loving friends and family, and a feeling of being close to and being known and loved by God.

It has been a fortnight of hope, faith, and the beginning of healing.

A Brief Introduction and Explanation

2009-07-28T21:41:00.000-07:00

This blog is about our rollercoaster journey with infertility and miscarriage.

I wouldn't normally have blogged about something this personal, but I have a strong feeling that I should do this. If it can help someone else who is going through similar trials, or any kind of trial, I'll be glad. But even if it just helps Shallow Man and me get through the tough times ahead, it will be worth it.

If you or someone you know is having or has had similar experiences, please feel free to comment or to pass the word along.