Another Brick Wall

So 11 months (almost to the day) ago, a stranger came up to my husband and I on the Fourth of July and said to us as we walked away, "Oh, and tell your family that you'll have a baby with you next year." To which I at first got angry. Why would someone that doesn't know our situation say that to us? He had no idea how much that kills me to hear. He had no way to know that we were stuck on an agonizing merry-go-round, praying for an end to our torture and heartbreak. He had no clue that we were right in the thick of the toughest season of our lives (so far). I had just dealt with the one year mark of my dad passing. I was staring down the barrel of the gun that was being so conflicted in my heart over loving our 6 month old niece as much as we would love our own, but equally not being sure if we were strong enough to see her without our hearts breaking even more. He didn't even know we had a 6 month old niece to tear our hearts in two over. He. Had. No. Idea. So why did he say that? "It just be a God thing," we said. "There's no other explanation," we said. So we waited, optimistically thinking that God wanted us to know that our race to parenthood (to living babies) was finally nearing the finish line. We were going to be pregnant by October, and come this Fourth of July, by golly, God was saying we'd have our rainbow baby. But then October came and went. And November. And December. And January. And...I think you get the idea. My husband said to me, "he said we'd have a baby, he didn't say in what form. That just means we'll be pregnant by the fourth. That's what God wanted us to know, I'm sure of it." So that brings us to now. One month away from the Fourth of July. For the last week or so I've been testing like a maniac. I was so sure that this month was our month. The Letrozole appeared to be working. We timed everything just right. We charted and counted and prayed and tried to reduce stress, and do all of the things we were supposed to do to get ready for the big event. That positive test. Every day I watched as those tests came up with only one line. Then this morning, a mix of grateful, hopeful, and frustrated I had reached 13 days post ovulation. The meds were doing their thing and my cycle was actually doing what it was supposed to. But then, I had some spotting. Just a little, but enough for a frustrated call to the nurse. I explained that I was SO sure this month was THE month. I explained the symptoms I've had, the timing of everything, and the evaporation lines I'd gotten two different times on pregnancy tests in the last couple of days. I told her how I was getting so frustrated. We were doing everything right, why is it still not working?! After my emotional rant, she said that she was wondering if I didn't maybe have a positive test after all, and sent me for a blood test. Not so much to my surprise, the test was negative. The last full cycle before the fourth, and it still didn't happen. If we're pregnant on the fourth, like that man randomly said, we likely won't be able to tell yet. So why did he say that? I have tried hard to work on my relationship with God, and with that, I try not to question the things that happen that are outside of our control. But this has me so upset. Why? Why make this man feel compelled to tell us this VERY specific and unprovoked message if it was going to be a tease? Why give us hope just to end up crushed again? Why don't we get to be the ones with a happy ending? Why do I, again, have to tell my husband that we got the results back, and they're negative? Why do I have to look at our fast approaching 4th anniversary and feel like an absolute failure for not being able to give him the ONE thing he's wanted out of life? Right now, my heart hurts. If I start in the next 24 hours, then maybe there's a chance that we could be pregnant by the fourth and just not know it. We could have a fun story to tell that child someday about the stranger that told us they'd come to be. Or we'll be crushed again. I guess only time will tell. Please pray if you have one to spare. They're badly needed and even more appreciated. Speaking of...today when I was waiting to be called back to have my blood drawn, two Missionary of Charity nuns were also there. The chair opened next to them, and with a tear and my completely vulnerable heart, I approached and told them a bit of our story and asked if they could pray for us. They said they would, and one of them handed my a card with a special prayer to Mother Teresa and told me to give my intentions to her, and to please not lose hope. She told me of her niece going through the same struggle and asked me to pray and know that God is working on it. I then watched the sister next to her begin saying a rosary. I will try not to lose hope. I will pray the beautiful prayer she gave me, and I will beg Mother Teresa for a miracle. All I can do is hope and pray...but right now...my heart just hurts...

Mother's Day...

Well, I’ve survived another Mother’s Day. This year it was hitting me harder than it has in the past, and I made the decision of taking a social media break for a few days. I haven’t gone back yet, as I’m giving it a few more days to flush out the posts recapping how wonderful Mother’s Day was out of people’s systems. I found this was a huge saving grace for me. In the past, Mother’s Day has been the hardest day of the year for me. It’s something I’ve looked forward to celebrating literally my entire life. Since I was a little girl I held my baby dolls, dreaming of the day I’d be a mommy for real, rocking my living, breathing baby in my arms, and being celebrated just for being that little person’s mommy. I’ve dreamed of getting breakfast in bed of runny eggs and burnt toast that little toddler hands helped their daddy make me, and looking back when I’m 60 at the handmade cards saying, “I love you mommy” scribbled in crayon on scratch paper. Things I would cherish as prized possessions, that would be kept, yellowing and wrinkled from love in a drawer or a closet, brought out and smiled over often. Things that those kids, when I someday pass on, would find in their dedicated spot, and would shed a few tears while they smiled and looked at them, saying that they couldn’t believe I had kept them all that time, and would share them with their own children…and they would know, even more, how much I adored them. This has always…always…been my dream. But it’s not my reality. In my reality, Mother’s Day is not a sweet day to honor the gift of getting to be a mom…it’s an annual reminder that I’m not. Now, I have to make a disclaimer. I know, acknowledge, and think constantly about the fact that three separate times I have carried life in my body, however briefly. Three different times, I got to accept that there was a baby growing inside of me, only to have that baby not make it, and that joy immediately turned to heartbreak. I know that motherhood is defined many different ways, and by any definition, the life that you’re carrying within you not surviving in no way negates that the life existed. Much like when your parent passes away, that doesn’t erase that they were there. So, with that, I know that in a sense I am a mother to three angels. BUT…it’s also very different. Mother’s Day, as a person who’s lost the first three lives that I was able to carry at some point in time, is still the hardest day. The solace of knowing that, technically, I’m a mother too is actually really, really painful. A woman’s arms will never feel more abundantly empty than when she’s being told Happy Mother’s Day still applies because even though my babies died, they were still my babies. I don’t celebrate Mother’s Day for me, but hope to someday. Someday, I hope that our dream and our reality merge and become the same thing, and we get to celebrate Mother’s Day and Father’s Day, and I’m able to use that day as an opportunity to tell our living children about their siblings that didn’t make it. Taking a break from Facebook helped more than I ever expected it would. My husband reaffirmed that I made the right decision, seeing the things that our mutual friends were posting, in stepping away for a few days. It was still a really hard couple of days, but it allowed me to almost play ignorant and trick myself into thinking it was just another day. We spent time with both of our families, and it was much nicer than I was mentally preparing myself for. I customarily always am putting other people first. I didn’t just attend baby showers for friends that were pregnant, I helped throw several of them. My near-constant heartache was put second to celebrating everyone else’s joy. I shopped any time I saw a sale, and built up a stock pile of baby items, to be able to throw together a gift for a shower with little or no notice, and this now has evolved into hand making personalized gifts for friends on their way to having their little miracles. It genuinely makes my heart as happy to do this for these friends as it does sad for me to not get to make them for our own. Yesterday, I walked into my mother-in-law’s house, and immediately after our 16 month old niece smiled and ran up to give me a hug, my sister-in-law handed me a gift bag and said it was for me, “Just because.” It was a gorgeous pair of earrings that she said could be my good luck earrings. They were to be a reminder that maybe next year will be different. It truly warmed my heart. It was so beyond unexpected, and I was a bit speechless. They’re beautiful, and I plan to wear them tomorrow, when I’m hoping for some good luck to come my way! Speaking of…I don’t want to go into details here, but if you could pray for me tomorrow, I could definitely use them. This is totally unrelated to fertility, just another facet of my life that I’m hoping to take in a new direction. In any event…Mother’s Day came, and it went, and I lived to tell about it, which right now is about all that I can really ask for. I can hope that next year is different, and that instead of dreading the day, I get to join the ranks of the first time celebrators. As for where we are now, the Letrozole worked! We aren’t pregnant, but we know I ovulated, we know that my levels didn’t blow up like they did with the Clomid, and I think I may have actually even ovulated twice (once on each side). We were truly hoping that because of all of these things that this would be our month, but I do know that there’s only about a 25% chance each month of everything happening just perfectly for a pregnancy to happen, so we’re at least on the right track, we believe. This month, in addition to feeling that I may have ovulated twice, I also had a normal, long luteal phase! I’m actually on p+18 today, and while I’m spotting, I’m still waiting for my cycle to start. The second ovulation I believe was a couple of days later, so I believe I’m sitting right at 14 days from ovulation 2.0. I’ve been consistently getting negative pregnancy tests, so with the start of my cycle, when it comes, I will begin on cycle day 3, again, the Letrozole (same dose), but I will take it for 5 days instead of 3 this time. We are hoping that this is what does it for us! Be praying extra hard! We think our miracle is close! 🌈 We also are getting very close to a year from that day last July that someone told us to tell our families that next year we’d have a baby to bring with us to the July 4th celebration. Come on, grandma…I know that was you…time to make this happen! Get everyone together up there, and let’s make this happen! 🙏🏻🤞🏻

What A Day...

Today, the two darkest spots in my world collide. Today is smack in the middle of National Infertility Awareness Week. A week where I’m both overwhelmed with support and saddened to see just how many people are affected by this awful curse. But, today gets even harder than that. Today is also the two year anniversary of losing my dad. If I were to name the two things that bother me the most, it would be losing dad and being forever haunted by the fact that he’ll never get to know our kids, and this ugly infertility train that we’re still stuck on. Bringing these two worlds together is painful. My heart hurts. I sat in the car this morning, when I realized the date, and just watched the tears flow down my face. I sat right there in the parking lot for a solid 20 minutes, just watching makeup stream down my face, cursing myself for bothering to wear any, and wishing I could go back to bed. It’s a cloudy day, and that seems appropriate. On my phone I have a voicemail from dad, that has been there for now more than 2 years. It’s dad calling, just asking me to call him back, starting with the, “Hello Jo, whaddya know?” that started every call from him, whether I answered or not. I can still hear his voice saying it to me, and it still makes me smile just like it used to when he said it for real. My sister used to always say that I was dad’s favorite, and it drove her nuts. She called me, “the golden child,” and swore that, as far as he was concerned, I could do no wrong. I fought it, trying to assure her that she was ridiculous, but at the end of the day, he’d even admitted to me at one point that I was probably his favorite, at least in some ways. I was the Vice President of the National Honor Society and the first of his kids to graduate from college, and he was an educator. I was sarcastic and outgoing. I was, in a lot of his favorite ways, the most like him of the three of us. He was a teacher for nearly 40 years. It was, far and away, his passion. The sun rose and set with his students, and nothing but death could have pulled him away from that classroom. I remember him looking at me and the person who is my best friend to this day. The person who was maid of honor in our wedding, and who is my go-to whenever I need a shoulder, opinion, or have a funny story. She’s to me in friendship what my husband is in marriage. But that day, all those years ago (we’re going back 15+ for this one), when she was sitting with me at some family celebration at grandma and grandpa’s (who accepted her, happily, as one of their own…presence in the family photo albums included) and we were debating something (likely entire and utter nonsense…equally likely involving movie quotes of some sort) and dad said, “I could watch these two argue all day. There’s just something so great about watching two smart people debate just for the sake of debating, and walk away laughing and still best friends. I could watch this all day.” He loved her, too. Somehow, though, all of us are just like him in our own way. My sister was his first born, and absolutely has his stubborn streak, that you could not bend if you had a crane and wrecking ball much less ever come close to risk breaking. My brother was his boy…his only son. He has his frugality, temper, protective nature, and low tolerance for BS…but also his sense of humor, love for the classics, and he looks and sounds so much like him (patchy hair and all). I remember those days that everyone has where they complain about their parents. They point out all of the things that you feel, in your infinite, pubescent wisdom, that they’re getting wrong. They’re not nice enough, lenient enough, generous enough, cool enough, etc. But now, as an adult, trying to make my way through life with a different set of experience behind my eyes (at times this admittedly seems to work more like swimming in cement than walking), I have a bit more jaded of an outlook, and I see that they were doing the best that they could. They struggled nearly every day of our lives to make sure we had the life that they wanted for us. Knowing how I feel about things now, I can’t even imagine how hard it had to be to for my parents to watch my brother be the devil-may-care Evil Kenevil that he was, driving too fast, taking every risk, and not caring at all. He ran at full speed everywhere that he went, screaming like a lunatic, and waving a stick in the air. He was 100% all boy, and he played the part well. My sister was quiet, but not to be ignored. She loved to read, always wanted to be outside, going somewhere, doing something (and she’s still like this today). Then there was me…smack in the middle. I was everything that the reputation of a stereotypical middle child comes from. I both wanted the attention and wanted to blend in. I care too much what people think, and I both idolized my big sister, and thought I had every right to be a junior parent to my baby brother. But they worked as hard as they had to to make sure we had a roof over our head, clothes on our back, and went to private school. God was always a priority in our lives. I remember being carted off to church every Saturday night for 5:00 mass, watching mom sing, and eventually listening to dad preach. He was a gifted preacher, and his homilies were something that left a mark on anyone there to listen. He was a lot like his brother, in that way. I remember that mom used to joke and call me “mother hen,” when I would boss my brother around, which brings me back to the other awful aspect that I find myself in the middle of. From as long as I can remember (and before then, even), I couldn’t get enough of babies. I had more dolls than anything else, and more of them (or things for them) was all I wanted. I actually still have the doll that I was given as a toddler, stored in plastic bag with the bib from the day that I was baptized and the baby blanket that my grandma made me. They’re among my most prized possessions…and every single one of them, you guessed it, is baby-centric. In my head, I think all the time about how from the time I was a tiny girl, all I wanted to do was be a mom. When I played games, I needed nothing more than a doll and my imagination. I would wrap them in blankets, make mom buy me preemie diapers (so I could practice changing them, of course), and they had beds, strollers, car seats, outfits…they were absolutely my babies. My sister and I would play house, and we’d each have a baby and one room of the house would be our little play house…and those are among my absolute favorite memories. I remember my first (and second) Cabbage Patch Kid, and to this day I wish I would have kept them. Every doll had a name, and a story, and they were people to me. They were my world…and my desire to be a mom has only gotten stronger with time. It’s truly all I have ever wanted. I knew back when I was innocent and not scarred by the battle that we’ve been through up to this point that I would be a mom. It was never a question. It was a matter of when, never if. Those insecurities, doubts, and fears have come with the ups and downs that all we’ve been through leave a person with. And here we are today…day 4 of National Infertility Awareness Week…and the latest on the never ending saga that is our journey to parenthood. We’re still walking the path, but hopefully we’re nearing the top of the hill. A couple of weeks ago was cycle day 1 of the third cycle since Clomid left me with crazy hyperstimulated ovaries, and we were officially given the all clear to slowly start trying to incorporate Letrozole into our protocol! This month we started with a very, very low dose of 2.5 mg for cycle days 3-4-5 and I will go for blood work 7 days after I ovulate to check levels and see how I respond. We’re praying this is the answer for us, but if it’s not, we hope it at least gives us great direction, because we do thing we’re at least finally on the right course. So, my friends…we will take all the prayers we can get in hopes that this month is finally it for us, and that come new year we’re birthing a baby into our family. Dad…I miss you every single day. It still seems weird and unnatural that you’re gone. I still think to myself that there are stories I want to tell you. I still worry more about making you proud than probably anyone else. I hope that you agree that it’s time to send us our babies…we’re so ready for them. I’m begging you, dad…it’s been long enough. Please…you have a lot of pull, and you impacted so many lives…I know you can make things happen up there. Let’s get this ball rolling. We’re down here waiting…waiting to tell them all about you. To show them pictures, and tell them stories, and laugh and cry and everything that comes with trying to make someone that never got to meet you truly know what they’re missing. They’ll know you enough to recognize you immediately when they get back to Heaven someday. You’re always in our hearts, in our thoughts, in our prayers, in our home, and in our lives…we just wish you were in our line of sight, too. I love you, and thank you for being who you were to us.

Time is FLYING!

Wow…it’s been a while since I’ve updated! Life has been an insane merry-go-round ride lately. Work has been crazy busy, I had my wisdom teeth yanked, it’s already somehow almost Easter, and our niece just had her 15 month checkup…Whew! Where did the time go!? The last time I filled you in on where we were, we were told that things were moving in the right direction as far as my hyperstimulation resolving, but that it was going to take a couple of cycles for it to fully go back down, so we had to just give it time. I was to take post-ovulation/peak progesterone, 200mg orally, daily for 10 days starting at peak+3. Knowing my cycles from the last several months, when we’ve been testing hormone levels to see when I ovulate, I tweaked this a bit cycle 1 of this protocol, and started progesterone at peak+4, as with that I was confident that we’d caught ovulation properly. Unfortunately, I only made it to around 10 days post ovulation before I started spotting, and ultimately my cycle started. I was pretty bummed, as I was hopeful that it had worked for us, but moved on and was ready for the next cycle. Cycle 2/2 before revisiting and hopefully starting our new protocol! I looked forward and was ready to proceed, and a few days later I started noticing some funky symptoms. I was having some GI issues, I was having headaches, I was having some pretty sharp left abdominal pain, sour stomach, insomnia…things that typically, a week earlier, I would have gotten excited about and hopeful that that test would have a second line…this time, however, I was more afraid than excited. I had already started a new cycle. I was still unsure, so I took a home test, which was still negative. So I called the doctor’s office and asked what they thought. The doctor agreed that there was enough going on that it was worthwhile to go have an HcG blood level and progesterone level drawn to make sure I wasn’t having an ectopic pregnancy. I wasn’t able to get blood drawn until the afternoon, so I wouldn’t get results until the following day. It was the longest 24 hours I’ve experienced in a long time. Ultimately, everything was okay. My HcG was “less than 2,” and my progesterone was effectively 0. It was a fraction less than 0.5, so levels did not indicate any sort of ectopic. It was just a strange cycle, likely due to the progesterone I had taken at the end of the cycle before. Thank goodness! It was a huge relief. I then looked forward to the cycle that I was in, waiting for ovulation so I could start my progesterone for this cycle. I didn’t have to wait long, around CD12 I started seeing signs of ovulation, and I’m on day 5/10 of my progesterone for this cycle currently. I’ve noticed a couple of things this month that I don’t remember in any recent months, so I’m hopeful that maybe this month is the month. If not, then I will start my cycle sometime in the next week or so, I expect, and will immediately call the doctor to send him my chart, in hopes that next month we’ll be given the all clear to start Letrozole and that maybe, just maybe, that will bring us our miracle! I’ve heard so many people that have tried a combination of Letrozole and HcG post peak and have had quick success and healthy pregnancies. I want so badly for that to be our story! I would love for us to be pregnant this month, of course, but if not, I’m ready to try something new! I’m so ready for that finish line…to sprint past mile marker rainbow #1 with a finally whole heart and arms filled with our miracle. We’ll never forget the angels we have lost, but I am so ready for a baby to be able to tell about them, someday. I’m having another wave of wanting to prepare. Call it confidence, wishful thinking, faith or whatever you’d like…but my latest draw is books. I’ve found myself wanting to build a library of books for the baby that we haven’t had yet. My heart craves so badly for a baby that we can read to…both before and after it’s born…and I can’t wait to see a personality come out of that. I watch our niece and how much she loves her books, and out of all of her toys, more times than not that is what she picks as how she wants to spend her time. I would LOVE for that to be our child. I would love for our Saturday outing to be a trip to the library. I would love a reward for a good report card to be a new book. I would love to watch them dive into a world of imagination so deep that they feel what the characters feel and can’t put it down. I just can’t wait to play a part in a little life, thirsty to learn and explore. I can’t wait to look at my husband someday, old and gray, smiling at the amazing adult that we get to take responsibility for raising into such a wonderful person. Hopefully, that amazing adult that we’ll be so proud of will be one of a few that we get to claim, but we’ll take one step at a time. Last weekend was Palm Sunday, and it was so interesting. My husband and I were at mass, and the gospel for Palm Sunday is the story of the Passion. This is definitely not new to me, as I’ve heard/participated in the Passion every year on Palm Sunday for as long as I can remember, but this year something was different. I have admittedly found my relationship with God has become much stronger. Communication is now more like a conversation with a friend than a formal, forced prayer. I get a lot more out of mass, I get the most inspiration and hope from scripture passages…just generally in a much better place regarding my faith life. With that, I shouldn’t have been as surprised as I was, but I was a bit caught off guard by the fact that I found myself very emotionally affected by having to say things like, “Crucify him!” in playing the part of the crowd in the Passion story, and it was really hard for me to do. I got choked up, and really struggled with having to say it out loud. I mentioned it to my husband later that day, and his response was, “I am pretty sure that’s the point,” which is, of course, true, but whether it’s what was supposed to happen or not, it never had before now. God was really speaking to me. I have become really protective of the God that we believe in, and with that, I’ve found my faith in our journey renewed. As we all know, going through this is so, so incredibly hard. It’s torture. Emotionally, physically, mentally…relationships get strained, it brings out anger, sadness, jealousy…so many things. There are going to be bad days, but like I’ve seen on so many inspirational memes, “Life isn’t about never having storms, it’s about learning to dance in the rain.” Nearly all of every situation is how you handle what’s happening to you. Yes, we have lost three sweet babies. Babies too perfect for earth, that didn’t get to be born…and I miss them. There are holes in my heart, distinct gaps where each of them will live forever. I imagine what they would look like, if they were boys or girls, who they would grow to be…what their names would have been. The dreams continue…dreams of a baby shower, and a nursery, and newborn photos, that I now have a special image in my head of. I have our pregnancy announcement planned down to the color of one specific detail that will tell the gender of the sweet babe we’re announcing. A dear friend of mine struggled for a couple of years with secondary infertility. They got pregnant easily with their first baby, and she’ll be 6 this summer, and their second is only a few months old at this point. In that time of trying to conceive their second child, they did suffer a loss, and I remember when they were going into their IVF cycle, which ultimately helped them conceive their perfect and precious little rainbow, we were talking about how she asked her husband if he was going to want to make a big social media announcement of their pregnancy, and his reaction was that he didn’t want to, that there are so many people that are going through such a hard time, and he wouldn’t want to rub it in their face or make them feel badly…and immediately, my response was, “I totally get that…but when we get there, I’m doing an announcement.” And we both laughed and she agreed that we’ve absolutely earned that moment. We’ve earned that time to shine and be excited and proud for the world to see. We’ve earned the right to celebrate with the whole lot of people that have prayed for and with us for that particular miracle. So, I’m going to do something new…something that I do as a way of staying hopeful and giving myself a reminder that we will get the dream of our hearts…I keep motivational quotes or scripture passages as the screen saver on my phone. When I’m having a bad day, and I see that screen, and it makes me more annoyed than uplifted, that’s how I know it’s time to switch to a new one…so, I’m going to start sharing my quote of the moment! Right now…my screen says the following: “May He give you the desire of your heart and make all your plans succeed. – Psalm 20:4” And with that, I’ll end this update. As always, thank you for the continued prayers, and keep ‘em coming! Let’s absolutely storm heaven, and make this time time that we get there! Make this be the time that God says it’s time for our dream to come true! Prayers can really work miracles…so let’s move some mountains! We thank you. We love you. God bless. ❤🙏🏻😘

I Have Updates!

Well…we actually have some news! It’s been an absolute emotional roller coaster of a week, but at least I have something new to report. So, this week was finally time for my repeat ultrasound, and I went into Wednesday’s appointment hopeful and confident that I was going to be told everything was back to normal and we would have a great report to take back to our doctor the following day to get a new game plan. Well, if you know me or my family, things are never quite that easy for us. This was no exception. The ultrasound was really painful, so I immediately feared the worst, and when the tech came back with a preliminary report she said that they do show that there are still cysts on both ovaries, but that they do appear to be smaller than they were in January. Sigh. Still cysts. Both ovaries. Another blow. I did not take this news well. I went to the car and sat there for no small amount of time…for a good 20 minutes I sat in my car fighting the urge to cry. This lasted until precisely the moment that I called my husband to tell him the results and just fell apart. I was sobbing and sobbing, tears everywhere, saying things like, “I’m so freaking sick of bad news,” and, “can’t things ever just go our way?” “When can it be our turn?” And…as always…I apologized over, and over, and over again…while he said in reply every single time, as usual, “No sorries.” The phone call to my mom yielded similar results. I could actually hear her hurt through the phone. I know how much pain I have thinking about the babies that we’ve lost…the pain of knowing that there was something wrong, and I couldn’t help it. That they were alive, and then they weren’t, and I was completely helpless to change it…and I still can’t quite imagine her pain hearing me hurt the way that I was. The long and short of it is that was a long, hard day. I had an appointment for a massage and facial, and decided to keep it, even though I had the sore and puffy eyes of someone who had obviously been crying and I was afraid I would be too upset to really relax and enjoy it, but I was pleasantly surprised. It was very relaxing, and gave me a lot of time to be alone with my thoughts in a relaxed and meditative state. I prayed a lot, and visualized myself standing face-to-face with God, and holding my broken heart and my stack of worries and fears, and I watched myself reach out my arms and hand them all to God. In my head, I told God that I needed him to take these things, I acknowledged that nothing is impossible with God, and I asked him to please help us get to our dream soon…I then saw, in this scene that was playing out in my head, God hand me a baby wrapped in a blanket. I then talked to dad. I think that I’ve mentioned here before that mom told me a story once about how she was watching Long Island Medium and the lady talked to someone who was telling her that she was struggling with the fact that her deceased parent would never know their grandkids, and this is something I have struggled with, and continue to, and her response to this woman was that, “they want me to tell you that they knew your babies before you did. They took care of them until you were ready for them here on earth.” This was a conversation that I had with mom a couple of years ago, when dad was still alive, but we could tell he was nearing the end, and it’s never left me. I think about this often, and picture dad up in heaven taking naps with our little ones, and watching over them carefully until it’s time to get them down here to us…well…after my interchange with God, I talked to dad…I had some stern words for him, and I told him in no uncertain terms that it was time. That he was being selfish and it was time to share them with us. That we are ready for our babies to come down here to us here on earth, and that he needs to share. I left the massage with much more peace than I had going in, and I am very glad that I went. My music, that I say all the time I feel is God speaking to me through the lyrics, was filled with things telling me to, “Just let 'em fall, right down your face; Hit the ground, in a pool of grace; And feel the things, you haven't felt for years; That's why God made tears.” And I did…I cried. I prayed. I begged God to turn things around… I went to bed on Wednesday fearful of what the doctor’s appointment the next day would bring. I don’t know why, exactly, I was so fearful, as really worst case scenario would be more delays…but this didn’t seem like the type of thing that would be a complete closed curtain on our trying to have babies…While I don’t like the thought of more delays, it’s not really something to necessarily be scared of. I was a little nervous at the thought of having to go back in for more surgery, but I went to bed with the understanding that overthinking and trying to guess what would happen was pointless, so all I could do was continue to hand it to God and hope and pray for the best. I explained to a friend of mine that if I couldn’t find a way to have faith that we’ll get there soon, and that when we do, all of this that we’ve been through will make sense to us somehow, what are we even fighting for? We’ve come too far, fought too hard, and owe it to those babies that I truly believe are up in heaven waiting to come down to us to see this through. Not to mention, we want it too badly. It’s truly our dream…and we’re not ready to give up on that dream. I have to have faith in that, so faith is what I will keep on focusing on. Thursday I woke up and was exhausted. I was working from home for the morning since I had a half day for my appointment, and it was nice to have that time to myself to mentally and emotionally prepare for the appointment that I was so anxious for. When it came time to go, the sun was shining, and I was staring at a gorgeous bright blue sky on a 75* day, and listening to music and it was a really peaceful drive to the doctor’s office. I got there, and (as is pretty typical, and doesn’t really bother me much anymore at this point), I had a bit of a wait, but I focused on breathing and praying, had some more conversation with God…asked God, St. Ann, and St. Gerard to guide our doctor’s hand and mind to the path that will get us to our healthy babies, and again turned over my fears to Him. I replayed the vision of seeing God hand me a baby wrapped in a blanket from the night before, and just after, heard through the wall the sound of a pregnant woman there for her checkup getting to hear her baby’s heartbeat. It was such an amazing sound, and I can’t even imagine the emotions that will run through me when we get to experience that for the first time. I fully expect it to be completely overwhelming, and I absolutely cannot wait for it. Then it came time for doc to come in and talk to me…*deep breath*…he sat down and started looking through everything, and he started reading the results from my ultrasound. At first, he seemed concerned, but then he went back to a year ago and wrote down what was seen in my ultrasounds over the last year, both before and after surgery. He mapped everything out, both in ovary size and cysts, when present, and what we found through talking over everything, is that there is still a cyst in both ovary, but they are markedly smaller than they were, and that’s good news. He also pointed out that in January, results showed hemorrhagic cysts, but that those appear to have resolved themselves, which is very good. The ovaries were still swollen, but it seemed to be relative to the cysts that are still there. After we talked through everything, he said that he was much less concerned than he was at first glance. I pointed out that I decided the silver lining of this cloud was that a year and a half ago I didn’t respond at all to Clomid at even double the dose, and now a low dose blew things up, but all that tells me is that I’m responding better…things are working better…things in there are awake and ready to rock and roll! He smiled and leaned back and said that he hadn’t thought of it that way but that I was absolutely right, and that’s a very good point. I pointed out that I had noticed a significant uptick in cervical mucus (sorry if TMI), and he said that that’s very promising, and he’s very happy to hear that. He did say that he believes last month’s cycle was anovulatory (I didn’t ovulate), because my ovaries are very mad right now, and we just need to get them happy again. Right now, we have to focus on getting the cysts to shrink/go away, and get the ovaries back to normal size, and get things in there happier again, so we have to, unfortunately, take a couple more months laying low. I will be doing post-ovulation progesterone pills for 10 days post-peak for the next two months, at which point I’m supposed to send him my chart and have a phone follow up to discuss progress. I asked if he wants me to get blood drawn, and he said my chart will show him the most. I’ve had a lot of funky spotting patterns, and he believes this to all be related, so as that slows down and things normalize more, he’ll be pretty confident that things have calmed back down. We have to focus on this as priority 1 before moving on to anything else more aggressive. We then discussed that Clomid, at least at this dose, was not right for me, so we may try something else, such as Letrozole, after my ovaries are happy again, BUT….Clomid may not be 100% off the table. Why? This made me nervous at first, but he pointed out that we don’t yet know if and how I’ll respond to Letrozole, and while I had an extreme response to Clomid at the dose that I was on, we know that I respond to it. If, and that’s a BIG if, we were to try Clomid again, it would be at a super, super, super low dose, but we know I respond well (TOO well…he actually said that it was probably the worst reaction to Clomid that he’s ever seen) to it, so he doesn’t want to completely take it off the table permanently. So, where we are right now, is technically waiting some more, but we’re waiting with post-peak progesterone support, and were not given any indication that there’s any harm in trying these next couple of months. We simply won’t have any boost to my ovulation at the front end, but maybe we can get our miracle without that (we have, after all, gotten pregnant with much worse conditions before). Maybe the lack of gluten, return to exercise, healthy habits, and progesterone support will be enough to get us over that hump. If not, we’ll watch things and try something more aggressive when my ovaries are happy again. So, we are back to hoping and praying and trying to see what we can do, armed with the knowledge that there are more options right around the corner, should we need them. Then, he said something else. He looked at everything, asked if I had any questions, and then tapped my chart, shook my hand, and said (more than once) that he was “optimistic”. Not hopeful. Not “cautiously optimistic,” like we’ve heard in the past….he’s optimistic. Just plain old thinks we’re close and that we will get there. This one word was like lifting 50 pounds off of my shoulders. I immediately felt reassured that we’re going to get there. We WILL get our rainbow baby…we WILL get our dream. He’s optimistic, and he works miracles. We will be the ones that get to hear a heartbeat. We will be the ones getting to see a little gummy bear moving on an ultrasound. We will be the ones planning a nursery and baby shower. WILL. He’s optimistic…so we’re hopeful. More hopeful than ever. I left there, I called my husband and gave him very different news than 24 hours earlier. I called my mom and had a similar conversation. I felt so much better. I texted the friends that were waiting patiently for updates…and then, my music spoke to me again. This time, the song wasn’t talking about letting the tears fall…today the lyrics had this to say: Don't you be afraid Of giants in your way With God you know that anything's possible So step into the fight He's right there by your side The stones inside your hand might be small But watch the giants fall We could really live like this Can't you imagine it So bold, so brave With childlike faith Miracles could happen Mountains would start moving So whatever you may face Ask and believe You're gonna see The hand of God in every little thing Miracles can happen Anything is possible Watch the giants fall We have faith. We have an amazing support system. We have the most wonderful doctor that God could have ever directed us to…and he’s optimistic that we’re going to get there soon. I also will never stop seeing that vision that I had of God handing me that wrapped up baby…cooing and healthy…and ours. I can’t quite explain what happened or what washed over me when I “saw” that…and it’s not left my thoughts since. And speaking of our support system…I toyed with saying anything about this, but I just feel like I want to share. I was eating breakfast with an old friend last weekend, and she was asking how things were going. I gave her the latest update, and she asked the questions that a lot of people ask…things like, “have you guys ever talked about adoption?” To which I told her that we sadly couldn’t afford adoption, and that while I admire the people who are able to be foster parents, but that for those, most of the time the goal is for those children to be cared for short term while they wait for the circumstances to allow them to go back to their biological family, and that I don’t know that I could do it. We would have absolutely no issue loving that child like our own…we would give them our all. They would be our world…but I don’t know that I could survive them being taken away from us after that. Right now, it’s not right for us, and we know that. She then asked if we’ve ever considered using a surrogate, to which I told her that that’s another one that’s very expensive, because typically you have to pay for all medical expenses as well as a lofty fee to the woman carrying your baby for you, all of this in addition to the cost of actually implanting said woman with an embryo, and hoping that it works. It’s all very complicated and expensive, so not really something we’ve thought about much to be honest. She then said, “Well…I mean…there are people around you that have a uterus around you that they aren’t using…and I mean, I think it works pretty well, so if you ever want to use it, it’s here.” And I almost cried right there at the table. She then went on to say that she doesn’t think our situation will come to that, but just knowing that we have someone willing to do that for us is so touching. We’re truly loved in a way that I never thought possible, as someone who struggled her entire life with self-confidence issues and bullies…we just feel so lucky. Telling my husband about this conversation, he was almost moved to tears, just like me. We have the most amazing friends, and you’ll never convince me otherwise. We will get there. We will. We are close…how do I know? Because I handed God my broken heart and my fears, and in return, he handed me a baby. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve visualized myself handing my fears to God…but I can tell you with 100% accuracy how many times God has, in return, handed me a baby. That’s an easy stat to remember…because this was the first and only time I’ve ever experienced anything like it…it was pretty darn amazing, and honestly I have trouble really describing how it felt. It washed over me like a peaceful shower…I’ve never felt so strongly that God’s message to us was clear, and that we’re right around the corner from our rainbow. Keep those prayers coming! We can move some mountains! 🙏🏻🌈

It's All In Our Heads

Well, there really isn’t much, physically, to update. Still waiting for my cycle to start (I think it’s coming any time now!) and that’s about it on that. Nothing new really. What has been new, is that my thinking has changed this week, and I’m not entirely sure how or why. I’m not doing anything different, with a few exceptions… 1) I’ve started taking yoga classes multiple times a week. One of the things about yoga is that you focus on affirmations, not wishes. You’re not asking the universe for things that you want to happen (“Please let me get pregnant and have a healthy pregnancy,”), you think in affirmations, (“I will get pregnant. I am strong, I am fertile, and I will be a mother.”). Why do you do this? Because, as one of the instructors that I’ve come to love says, “Thoughts become things,” and speaking in affirmations helps your brain and body acknowledge what it is, not wish for things out of thin air. It helps me to really focus on what I have, and not spend my time convincing myself that not only am I not these things, but trying to bring them to myself by way of some external source. For me, God is still the center of what I am and what I think and do, but at the end of the day, affirming myself that I am strong and that I will be a mother has helped me stay positive, and I will continue to speak the affirmations when I am practicing yoga or quietly thinking and praying that I AM strong. I AM fertile. I WILL be a mother….because thinks become things…and those are the things that I want…and WILL…be. 2) I’ve continued to cut out gluten, and it’s still helping! I haven’t lost pounds, but I’ve certainly lost inches, and I’ve gained confidence and strength that I’d missed. This past weekend I did back-to-back yoga classes on Saturday, spent the afternoon walking around Ikea, and Sunday we took the dogs for a 4 mile walk. Things I could NOT have done a month ago are now things that I’m excited to have back in my life. I’d missed the endorphins that you get from exercise, I’ve missed seeing the changes in my body, and I’ve missed the feeling that I’m truly doing something to help our situation. Between cutting out gluten, exercising regularly, healthy eating habits, positive thinking, and speaking and thinking in affirmations, not silent wishes… I am genuinely starting to feel like a new person. 3) I’ve been watching a lot of pregnancy vlogs on YouTube. This may not seem like something that would be helpful to someone in my situation, but for some reason, seeing weekly “bumpdates” from pregnant women and seeing video after video of people crying in their bathroom seeing their positive pregnancy tests…for some reason this has brought me a lot of hope. It’s shown me all of these people that have gotten their dream…OUR dream…and it gives me so much hope that someday soon I can be one of those people. I can be one of those people celebrating their positive pregnancy test and getting to think of a creative way to tell their husband that there were two lines. For whatever reason, watching these people get the thing that I’ve been dreaming of for my entire life has helped renew my faith in miracles….and renew my faith that ours is coming. One of these videos that I watched I commented and told her that I was praying for her and thanked her for her positivity in the midst of her own miscarriage, and told her a little about our journey so far and how I can relate to her feeling of loss so strongly, and said that I am confident that God will bring us our miracle…and her response to me was, “God has promised you the desires of your heart. Rest that He will do the work.” It’s a beautiful sentiment. So simple, and yet, so moving. 4) I’ve been working to consciously hand over my fears to God. We pray each night before dinner, and I find myself closing my eyes so tight and really breathing into the words that I say…truly thankful for everything we have. I stood in the bathroom mirror this morning, talking to my husband while I got ready and he showered, like we do every day, and was telling him that if things had not happened just exactly how they did, we wouldn’t have added a second dog to our family. We have had our sweet Bandit boy for just over a year and I genuinely could not imagine our family without him in it. The reality is that if we had not lost our previous pregnancies, we would not have gotten him. At the time we rescued that sweet cyclone of a boy, our first loss would have been a toddler turning 1, and if not for that baby, our second loss would have been a bouncing baby about 6 months old, and if not for either of those, I would have been in the thick of my second trimester with loss number 3. We wanted a second dog for a long time. Before we’d even gotten married we’d talked about wanting to add another dog for Daisy to play with, but never did. I’m 100% sure that had we been able to bring home one of those three angels we lost too soon, we would not have gotten him, and I’m so grateful that we were able to bring him into our lives and our home. He belongs in our family, and for this there is no inkling of doubt. Now that we have him, our family is only missing one thing…the kiddos that we’ve wanted for so long to play with the sweet pups that we’ve been allowed to love and spoil. They’re our family too, and we’re so grateful for those sweet souls in our home. But, my thoughts haven’t always been so clear, and I’ve had times where I really struggle with the clarity that brings that reassurance to my heart that I’ve somehow been able to see so clearly the last few days. Saturday we were walking around Ikea and I saw spice racks, and said to my husband, “When it comes time for us to put together a nursery, I want to get some of these to use as book shelves near the rocking chair that we buy.” He just smiled and nodded, but the truth is, even as recently as a month or two ago, and as far back as several years, seeing those would have made me very sad. It would have made my heart heavy with the fear that that day would never come. I think the difference right now is that when those feelings pop up, I stop what I’m doing, and at times even out loud will cup my hands together and tell God that I’m handing those things over to Him, and ask him to help take away those fears. To give me peace and reassurance that our miracle IS coming. That my fears are unnecessary. I acknowledge the fear, and hand it to God, instead of staying in it, and allowing it to bring me down. And, you know what? I’m not perfect, and not every day is perfect, but it is helping. I saw a meme the other day that said that the reason we’re tested with rough waters is because the devil can’t swim…He’s trying to bring us down, but it’s made us stronger, which makes the devil fight even harder to bring us down…but I’ve been making sure that I bring God into those situations, and I refuse to let the devil bring me to drown. God will save us if we ask for His hand, and I’ve noticed a difference in my heart since I began asking for it. Finally, this isn’t something I’ve been “doing” per se, but a couple of weeks ago, at my uncle’s funeral, when I went up to the casket to say my final goodbyes to this man that I hadn’t been especially close to, but who my dad respected and loved and who I had seen try so hard to fix his mistakes and repair broken relationships, one of which was mine. I remember a couple of months before our weddings about 4 years ago, he called me and said he wanted to catch up and that he had talked to my dad and how proud of me he was and how wonderful of an adult I’d grown to be and all this. I remember it was a really touching and heartfelt conversation that I look back on and smile about still to this day. At the funeral, I said some prayers, I asked him to continue to watch over his kids and all of us, and I ended that conversation with him by asking him to talk to my dad….I asked him to use his big brother status to slap some sense into dad and tell him it’s time to send those grandbabies that he’s been taking such good care of up there down to let us love them here on earth. This was two weeks ago yesterday… …this week, I’ve noticed a difference. **No judgement** I’ve found myself in hardcore planning mode. I’ve spent any free time looking at baby stuff online…but not in a way of hoping and wishing and fighting back tears….this has been very different. This has been more like…planning. Like, I’m looking online and in my head I’m building a registry that we don’t need yet. You can call me insane (I felt it a bit, I won’t lie), but there were a couple of times that I had to stop myself from starting a registry, and at one point am confident that the only thing that did stop me was that for a registry I assume they ask you for a due date, and as we’re not pregnant, we don’t have one of those. I have also had to stop myself form buying things when I have seen them on sale. Earlier this week, I made the absolute decision as to which stroller/car seat combo we were going to inevitably want and need, and when I saw it on sale, had to stop myself from ordering one…What?! Don’t judge me…I didn’t actually buy anything, and I didn’t actually start a registry, but it’s just strange and I can’t quiet explain this shift in my thinking. I came to the conclusion that maybe God is telling me something. God, of course, knows things we don’t, and He knows what’s coming…and I just can’t say enough that I feel like He’s sending me a message. I feel is so strongly. I sleep soundly at night, with a dreamless sleep, void of the nightmares that as recently as a week or two ago I was having nightly. I wake up rested and ready to face the day, and this morning I found myself singing along to a song in the car that was telling me to, “Tell your heart to beat again, close your eyes and breathe it in, let the shadows fall away, step into the light of grace. Yesterday’s a closing door, you don’t live there, anymore. Say goodbye to where you’ve been, and tell your heart to beat again.” And now, I sit here listening to another song promise me that, “This is going to be a glorious unfolding. Just you wait and see, and you will be amazed. You’ve just got to believe the story is so far from over, so hold on to every promise God has made to us, and watch this glorious unfolding.” I sit here typing these words, thinking about the things I’ve been feeling deep in my heart lately, and I have goosebumps head to toe, and the soft smile on my face that tells me that finally, somehow, I believe them. Yesterday is gone. The heartbreak is in the past, and I don’t live in that brokenness anymore. God has pulled me out of those dark days, and has replaced those feelings of fear and what if with hope and someday soon….the feelings I’ve handed to Him, he’s taken from me and thrown right out, and rewarded me for doing the right thing by bringing a peace to my heart and reassurance that our time is coming. He’s sending messages to my heart to not be sad about baby things…because we WILL need them soon. To be excited at the thought of planning for the someday that’s finally going to come to us. He’s sending us messages that help us understand why we went through this struggle…he’s helping us make sense of the heartbreak…and giving us renewed reassurance that the heartbreak won’t last much longer. I can feel it. This is going to be a GLORIOUS unfolding….just you wait and see, and we will all be amazed… If you’re reading this, I am so appreciative of your prayers and thoughts, and just know that every single one of you still in these rough waters with us, I’m praying for you, too. 🙏🏻❤🌈

No News Is....No News

Well, it’s been a bit since I’ve updated, really because there isn’t much to update. We are still waiting for the hyperstimulation to collect itself and calm the heck down so we can resume trying with a new approach, and in the meantime, I’ve decided I need to take these super crappy lemons and try to make something resembling lemonade, as the sage-like doctor on ‘This is Us’ would say. With that, I started doing some research, and stumbled onto a blog written by a woman with PCOS that has successfully had two children, that was discussing how her approach to dealing with her PCOS diagnosis was to immediately adjust her diet. What did she do? She cut out gluten. I was trying to get my head on board with cutting carbs entirely, and was really struggling with it. The thought of no bread, fine…but the thought of no bread, fruits, or half of the veggies out there made me immediately just picture a life of bland chicken breasts with no sauces (too much sugar), no potatoes, no fruits, and that sounded so hard to me. Hard I’m obviously no stranger to, I’ve dealt with plenty of hard things in my life, especially through these last 3.5 years of dealing with the emotional tornado that is infertility. But there’s hard…inconvenient…and there’s hard…impractical for long term sustainability….and this felt, for me, like it was just not something that was sustainable. I didn’t want to develop habits that, as soon as I get pregnant I completely abandon and find myself with a super unhealthy pregnancy, gaining weight at an alarming speed, and unable to re-lose it after I have that baby, and spend the rest of my life miserable because of it. I wanted something that seemed more manageable to me, and something that I feel like I can sustain long term. So, I did more research on the connection between cutting out gluten and PCOS leading to success in conceiving and managing symptoms. What I found was a wealth of information showing that gluten is really the aspect of carbs that is the most damaging for PCOS patients, and that this is really where a lot people need to focus their energy. Why? Gluten is inflammatory. PCOS needs anti-inflammatory to be a focus because that will keep things from flaring up like they naturally have a tendency to do. This also can help with endometriosis, as inflammatory things can make that worse, as well. So, I decided I would try to adjust things to accommodate a gluten free lifestyle. I am thrilled to report that it’s been almost a week, and so far, I’m still craving sweets, bread, and baked goods (my go-to cranberry walnut muffin from the always tempting office coffee bar, pile of pancakes, or a big sandwich are all so hard for me to force myself to stay away from) but it’s getting easier, little by little. I also am having dreams of carbs. Last night, in the middle of an otherwise awful and nightmarish dream, was the random detail of me stealing, and eating (and enjoying) someone else’s donut. After taking a bite, I walked back up to her and said that I ate her donut, but that it was delicious…just in case that helped her make peace with it, I guess. Other than that, I’ve found it a pretty easy transition! I’ve been snacking on nuts, eating protein and lots of veggies, gluten free carbs in situations where I would really find myself wanting to binge on all things wheat, and I find myself grateful every time I’m put in a situation where I fear I’ll be put in a tough spot and find that they have gluten free options. I’ve found my will power to be stronger than I anticipated it would be, and in the last two days have managed to avoid the bread basket at an Italian restaurant (followed by enjoying a salad and reasonable portion of gluten free pasta as my meal) and last night, when at a baby shower, I turned down my favorite cake…chocolate cake with cream cheese frosting. These may not seem like much to anyone else, but I assure you, this was HUGE for me. I’ve been exercising again (carefully, so as to not overdo it and hurt the hyperstimulated ovaries any further), but it’s felt good to move again. I am quite tired, as I have been having these insane dreams pretty much every night, and another part of the PCOS, anti-inflammatory diet is cutting out coffee, even decaf. I haven’t had coffee in a week, and I’m definitely still missing that morning comfort…I’ve been drinking decaf exclusively for months, but even the placebo effect that comes with drinking a hot cup of decaf is missed. It does help me drink more water, and like I’ve said repeatedly to my husband (and anyone else that asks), at this point, it’s a small sacrifice, and if it leads to our rainbow baby, I’ll not even look back and think that I missed it. It will just be part of what I had to do to get to where we wanted to be. Right now, I yawn a little more, but I sleep a little deeper most nights. I’m ready to pass out for bed by 9, but I have been working out more, so the hours in my days are more meaningfully spent, so it’s a trade-off that I’m, as of yet, still okay with maintaining. In the last week, I find myself less bloated, clothes fitting a bit better, blood pressure better than it’s been in about a year, and able to maintain the gluten free lifestyle without having to cheat (though, apparently, my subconscious would disagree), and able to constantly remind myself of why I’m doing it and that winning. I’ve lost a couple of pounds, and just generally am feeling good with my decision to take this approach. As far as the hyperstimulation, we are still a couple/few weeks away from a repeat ultrasound that will hopefully show that we are ready to proceed with trying to get pregnant, and hopeful that this will have been what ultimately pushed us over that line to success. I anticipate that when we do resume trying, we will be doing so with Letrozole, and lately I’ve seen several posts in a support group that I’m in for people following NaPro like us that had the same or similar diagnoses and followed a Letrozole/HcG protocol and got pregnant pretty quickly, then maintained with progesterone support once pregnant throughout pretty much their entire pregnancy. When we go to talk to our doctor after the repeat ultrasound is done with my next cycle, I’m going to ask about the HcG approach, versus progesterone post-peak. I am absolutely not opposed to blood test as opposed to urine home tests, and if it gets us there, I’m happy to switch up the protocol that we try. It sounds like this could be the solution for us, and I’m really hopeful. I’m hopeful that the changes in my diet, the return to an active lifestyle, good sleep habits (most nights), and the right medications will be exactly what we need! On Tuesday we laid my uncle to rest. He was my dad’s older brother, leaving only their oldest still alive out of the three. I prayed a lot to dad during the funeral and asked him to make the transition from the living world an easy one for his brother, and I asked his brother to get up there and get dad to work! That we have too many guardian angels to still be down here begging for our miracle, and he needs to get to work up there! I also thought about how I’ve been told that dad is up there with our babies, taking care of them until it’s time to send them down….so I asked my uncle to let dad know that it’s time to share. It’s time to send our babies down. It’s time to be grandpa from a distance. Time to let mom be a grandma. Time to let us be parents. For my sister and brother to be an aunt and uncle. There is no nice way to say that we don’t know how much longer my sister will be here on earth with us, and as hard of a time as I’ve had with dad not being alive to know our kids on earth, it would really bother me if my sister doesn’t live long enough to experience being an aunt, because I assure you it’s a special kind of love. Speaking of my sister, I was doing a fair job of holding it together during the funeral, while cracking a couple of times, but really lost it when, during the mass, my sister leaned over to me during the petitions portion of the mass and said to me, “I prayed for you,” when we were asked to offer up the prayers that we hold in the silence of our hearts. I thanked her, and crumbled. I was absolutely touched that she, in the midst of an endless list of health issues and things for herself that she could pray for, she chose to pray for us. I was honored. I am honored. Another thing that happened on the day of the funeral was I talked to a woman from our parish growing up that had come to pay her respects, and she is an elderly woman with, I believe, 12 or 13 kids, and 28 (we asked her that day) grandkids, and when she asked how long we had been married now, and I said 3.5 years, she smiled and said, “Good job, keep it up!” and when I mentioned that we’ve been struggling with infertility and are hopeful that we’ll soon be able to start our family, she looked at me and said that before she was married she was told she would never have children of her own. This was drilled into her to the point that she had the talk with her now husband regarding her never being able to give him children and asking if he would be able to make peace with that. He took a chance on her, and God proved that doctor wrong. She said it wasn’t until after a full-term stillbirth shattered her, and she had a discussion with her priest about how she was struggling, that she was sent to a new doctor, got a second opinion and a new approach at treatment, and was able to have the large family that she and her husband had always dreamed of having. It gave me so much hope. She insisted that I continue to pray, give it up to God, and never forget that NOTHING is impossible with Him. That what may seem impossible to us is nothing to God, and He can change our circumstances in an instant, so never give up hope. To keep praying and it will happen in the perfect time. It was a beautiful talk. This morning I saw another sunny day rainbow, and realized that maybe this whole time they’ve just been there to reassure me that we’re on the right path. To let me know that we’re being led, and that we’re doing exactly what we’re supposed to be, and that our miracle is right around the corner. Keep those rainbows coming…and I hope soon we’ll have our own to hold here on earth! Thank you again for taking the time to be a part of our journey, and for the thoughts, prayers, and support. It will be such an honor to celebrate with you WHEN we get there! 🙏🏻❤

It's Just Not Fair!

Well, as you can probably guess, it’s been a rough day. The last time I updated, we were hopeful that this first Clomid cycle had worked for us, and that we were 9 agonizingly short months away from our rainbow…and then, I went for blood work. 7 days post peak (or ovulation), I had progesterone and estradiol (estrogen) levels pulled, as was the doctor’s request to go with the Clomid. By this point, I’d had a couple days of mild cramping, crazy dreams every single night, excess cervical mucus, excessive thirst, a couple of dizzy spells, a couple bouts of insomnia…pretty much every textbook pregnancy symptom. We were really excited to see what the bloodwork would show. The nurse called back the following day and said that my progesterone was extremely low (7.2), and my estrogen was extremely high (642…which is approximately three times the high end of normal). She mentioned that this could be a sign of hyperstimulation of my ovaries from the Clomid. I mentioned that I didn’t have any pain with ovulation but that I was having a lot of pregnancy symptoms. They told me to go ahead and wait until 12 days post peak and take a pregnancy test. That was yesterday. I took a couple of tests over the weekend and they were all negative. It’s early, I told myself (repeatedly), and kept waiting for the next day. Symptoms persisted, and new ones began. I was EXTREMELY exhausted (point of reference, I next to never take a nap, and even more rarely sleep in, and on Saturday not only did I wake up, startled and groggy from a deep sleep, with the ‘absolute latest we can sleep, just in case,’ alarm, but I took two naps, yawned through dinner, and went to bed only about a half hour later than normal. Sunday I had a pretty relaxing day, and in spite of this, I fell asleep on the couch at 6:30, woke up at 8:45, and went to bed at 9 for the night) and the thirst got insanely more intense. I would literally drink 100 ounces of water within the constraints of a normal 9-5 work day and by dinner time be so thirsty my throat was itchy and dry and I had cotton mouth. The same would happen if I didn’t bring water to bed…bed which was now interrupted with not making it through the night without having to use the bathroom…also very unusual for me. I was SO sure. This was IT. I was so sure that I calculated what our due date would be, and got really excited to see that it would be within a week of our anniversary in October. I was so sure that I didn’t turn a blind eye when I saw sales on baby items when I happened to be putzing around an online store. So sure that I didn’t stop myself from wandering around the baby department when I happened to be at Target. Sure, a lot of the symptoms that I was having could also have been hyperstimulation, but things like increased cervical mucus, crazy dreams, and extreme thirst I didn’t see mentioned anywhere, so I was still pretty darn confident. I was making sure I was being careful. Avoiding caffeine, wine, lunch meats, and all of the other things that pregnant people are supposed to avoid. I was allowing myself the rest that I so clearly needed, and making sure to not lay flat on my back or let the dogs jump on me. I wasn’t lifting anything heavy, and even found myself holding my stomach at times when I was walking. Then, it was THE day. 12 days post peak…test day. I was just ready and waiting for that second line to show up…except it didn’t. I took two different tests, and neither of them had anything positive to say. I called the doctor’s office and let them know that the test was negative, but that I was still having a ton of symptoms. They asked me to go for a blood pregnancy test just to be sure that the home tests weren’t giving me false negative results. Even THEY thought this could be the one. Last night I tested again…this morning, yet again…both still showed only one lonely line. Today, blood work results were in. “Less than 2.” Less than 2. For anyone that hasn’t spent several years engrossed in all things pregnancy…anything less than 5 is considered a negative result. So…this wasn’t it. What this was, was the hyperstimulation that the nurse warned me may have been a concern. With literally a 2 minute phone call, all of the symptoms that had me so excited for the changes that were about to take place now have me terrified for what happens next. Hyperstimulation is no joke, and I’m admittedly worried. I’m worried about the fact that my symptoms don’t seem to be getting better. I’m worried about the fact that I am supposed to do a second attempt at Clomid to see if this is how my body reacts or if it was an isolated reaction this one time. I’m worried about the fact that I’ve noticed pain near my ovaries all day, leading me to believe that I likely have a cyst or cysts to worry about. I’m worried about any potential delays that this may cause. I’m worried about if it will be worse the second time we try it, and if it is…then what? Do I end up in the ER? Do I end up sidelined for several months? What happens then. I’m just worried. What was a head and heart full of excitement and anticipation of what I was just so sure was going to be the best and most exciting phone call I ever received quickly turned to fear and concern and anxiety over the list of questions that the call, which was definitely not what I was hoping for, actually delivered. As for now, I have an ultrasound tomorrow to see what things now look like in there, as a result of the Clomid and crazy estrogen spike. After this, I expect we’ll get some idea as to what we will be doing next. That may be Clomid, that may be Letrozole. I trust our doctor, and I know he genuinely has our best interests at heart, so I trust his direction when he gives it…but I’m scared. I haven’t cried yet, as I’ve somehow managed to hold it together. This, however, is a ticking time bomb, and I expect it to be short lived. I’m waiting for the comforts of home to allow me the solace that I need to fall apart without fearing loss of any personal dignity. This whole thing sucks. It sucks, and it’s just not fair. How much should a person have to go through? How many times should I have to watch the pain in my husband’s face when I tell him that the test was negative…again? How many times should I have to order a new test or procedure to clean up the unexpected mess from the last thing we tried? How many times should I have to give a lengthy update to our family because our update is never a simple, “we’re pregnant!”? How many times should I have to listen to the nurse sigh before she gives me results, because it’s always something bad? How many times should I have to beg God through sobs for the miracle that we’ve wanted for so long? How many baby showers do I have to go to before I get to be the one it’s thrown for? How long do I have to stare at the door to the room that we thought would be a nursery by now knowing that it’s just a glorified junk drawer, holding all of the things behind a closed door that I don’t have the energy to deal with? How many cycles should I have to spend any extra money that I may have on pregnancy tests, only for them all to be negative and feel like a waste? How many times should I have to do everything I’m supposed to, only to have it still not work? It’s just. Not. Fair. In other news…I’ve also decided that I’m going to begin a vlog (video blog) through a YouTube channel, and I was going to begin that with this cycle, but now I’m not quite sure. If you’re interested in the details for that channel when I get started, leave a comment and I’m happy to share. As always, thank you for the continued prayers and support, and keep them coming. We need them now more than ever.

The Big World Keeps On Turnin'

So, I haven’t updated in a bit, but there just hasn’t been a ton to say. Things have been pretty quiet. The craziness of the holidays has calmed down, and things are getting back into a routine for us. We have very recently started trying to get exercise back in our day-to-day. Nothing crazy, just walking and getting some extra activity in there. We do hope to get pregnant (obviously) at some point (hopefully sooner rather than later) and when that happens, I want it to be a healthy pregnancy. I want to make sure that things like blood pressure, blood sugar, circulation, and heart rate are kept at a healthy level. I haven’t been going to the trainer since early-November, for a couple of different reasons. I am so paranoid of miscarriage. Infertility, and recurrent loss specifically, can create a certain level of PTSD, and I do think that I have a touch of this. I wouldn’t say that I obsess over it, but I definitely am so afraid that when we do get pregnant, I have genuinely been afraid that I’ll be too scared to enjoy being pregnant. Knowing that pregnancy is this thing that I’ve dreamed of experiencing since I was young, that’s a hard one for me. I want to be pregnant, but with that, I want to enjoy it. A friend of mine has said that she prays for us that when we do get there that we’ll be given the same peace that she had. I pray for this, too. But…first things first…we have to get pregnant. (Please, God…soon!) So, back to quitting the trainer. The trainer wasn’t cheap. Absolutely worth it, but definitely an investment. I was going 2-3 times a week, and we worked hard. I definitely had my butt kicked every single time. I was getting stronger, which was a wonderful feeling, but I know that with pregnancy, you’re not supposed to lift heavy things, so when I would get to the post-peak half of my cycle each month, once we were back to actively trying to conceive, I was so paranoid to the point of near-tears a couple of times, that if I did get pregnant, that I wouldn’t know and would go to the trainer and do a 150 pound deadlift and it would cause the baby to not implant properly, or cause a miscarriage before we even got off the ground. I don’t know that there’s any truth to this, but I’m just so afraid of risking it. With this, I found myself not going the second half of every cycle. Once I knew I was past ovulation, and was officially in my two week wait, I would stop going. I would make excuses or just not show up, but at the end of the day, I was going two weeks out of every month, roughly. At the same time, I also started worrying about being able to justify the expense, with us actively back to hoping for a huge and permanent added cost. So, when you pair me going two weeks out of every month, spending what I was spending, and having trouble justifying it as is…I just felt like it was time to walk away for at least the time being. So, since early-November, I haven’t been working out with any sort of regularity. I want to make sure that I am establishing and maintaining healthy habits, before, during, and after any pregnancy(ies), so we’re phasing ourselves back in. It definitely feels good to get moving again! As for this cycle, the last time I checked in, I had gone to the doctor and was told that I would start Clomid on CD5, and would take it through CD9. At first, I didn’t have a ton of reaction to it, but noticed that if I took it at night, around lunch time the following day I’d start to feel sick. I noticed that this would continue any time I let my stomach get too empty, so each day around lunch time I would feel pretty blah. I would get nauseous, super tired, a bit dizzy at times, and just generally felt gross. It did get progressively worse by the end of the 5-day course of meds, so I was grateful when it was time to be done, though it never got super bad. I never did actually get sick, and all-in-all, it wasn’t too terrible. The dizziness definitely got worse by the end, but all things that I’ve experienced before at one point or many through the last 3.5 years of us traveling down this road. I remember that the one other time I’ve been told to take Clomid, I didn’t have much of a reaction to it, so in a strange way I was excited to see it working. Peak day came relatively quickly, but only a day or two off from what peak day had been in previous months, so it seemed to line up pretty well. Peak day came around day 11, and I started my count for the P+7 blood work to check my progesterone and estrogen levels, which will actually be drawn tomorrow. This cycle is different as we’re not doing progesterone shots, so I, once again, am in a world of unknown expectations. The last two months I had some waves of nausea around this point (6 DPO) and some mild cramping, but the last three months of progesterone therapy haven’t been successful yet, so it’s fairly clear to me that those things were being caused by the progesterone. The nurse reassured me that the hormone can mimic pregnancy symptoms, so that would certainly make sense. So, jump ahead to this month…no progesterone, but starting on 5DPO (yesterday), I noticed some mild cramping near my right ovary as well as some general abdominal cramping today and yesterday. No spotting at all (knock on wood) up to this point, a couple of random headaches, and even a single wave of nausea Sunday evening, which is right around when implantation could have been starting if I did, in fact, get pregnant this month. I also have been having crazy, super insane dreams every night. Some nights these are disturbing (for example, last night I had a dream where I had our 1 year old niece with me, and I was somehow out of town without my sister in law in a strange place, completely unsure of why or how I got there, and some man was trying to convince me to sell two of my framed photographs, that had been taken out of my parents’ old house. He told me that he expected to get around $10,000 for them at an art auction, so I said he could. His sister (both of these were people that I neither knew nor have I ever seen before) then was supposed to be driving us to our hotel, and I was sitting in the back seat holding the little bug because there was no car seat wherever we were, and she was driving the opposite direction. I asked where she was taking us and why we weren’t going back, and she got mad at me asking why I was so worried about it, and I told her that the baby was tired and I needed to put her down to sleep and got very worked up. She finally took us to the hotel and it was a super sketchy dive motel, and made me very uncomfortable. By then, the baby was wide awake and kept rolling off of the bed while she was playing…SO. STRANGE.) I have noticed today that I have a bit of a super-sniffer, as I had broccoli with lunch and as soon as I took the lid off of the container, I was smacked in the face with the smell of broccoli so strong that it almost turned my stomach a bit and made me not want to eat it. I also have noticed that, even when I’m drinking plenty of water, I’m a bit bloated and dehydrated (doing the pinch test on my hands and fingers, it stays pinched for a good few seconds after I let go, even after 100 ounces of water that day). The last thing is that I’ve noticed an increase in cervical mucus (apologize if TMI). Since these seem to be all of the same things that I noticed the last couple of cycles, I had originally shrugged all of these things off…but then I remembered that we’re not doing progesterone this month, so I shouldn’t have the false symptoms…which gives me some hope. Obviously, it’s way too early to tell, but it’s rare (read: never happens) for me to be crampy for several days without signs of a period starting, so we will see what happens. I’ve started watching pregnancy vlogs (video blogs, for anyone not familiar) and I would love to keep one. Whenever we do get pregnant, this may be something I try. I’ve loved watching people’s journeys, and one of them today pointed out that they realized that they hadn’t posted a bunch of update videos because they didn’t want to post them and then have something go wrong…but that they realized that these are the people that they would want for support if something did go wrong, so they went ahead and posted them. This is pretty much how I feel about any future pregnancies. I’ve toyed in the past with starting some sort of YouTube channel or vlog, and haven’t ever actually done it, but starting to really think that I might, come the time when we are pregnant. For now, I’m trying to eat healthy things, get my water in, make sure I’m moving around enough to keep the blood flowing, and just keep stress low. I don’t want to over-think things so much that I’m adding unnecessary stress to myself, so I’m being cautious of that. All of these things are things that could easily just be my normal cycle and not pregnancy at all, so I’m hopeful but trying not to think about it all that much. As always, we would appreciate any and all prayers that we can get, we would LOVE for this month to be the one that ends with the wonderful news of a second pink line. Speaking of second lines…I’ve thrown away the package of tests that resulted in a false positive last month, as I just don’t have any desire to go through that emotional roller coaster again. So, I’m opting for the more expensive, name brand tests for now. I’ve heard good things about some other cheaper brands, but am just so nervous now. In any event…thank you, again, for all of your support and for taking the time out of your busy life to read about ours. I am so touched to have so many people praying and hoping with and for us, and the kind words that we hear are so heart-warming. It truly makes the hard days a little easier, and confirms that we’re fighting for exactly what we were meant to be…parents. ❤

Onward and Upward...

So, last month didn't work. To say it went out a bit on the traumatic side would be an understatement. Friday morning (13DPO) I took a pregnancy test. Immediately I saw a super faint second line. I was obviously elated. I took the test at 2:30, and I literally didn't sleep anymore. I was so excited. As much as someone who has had 3 miscarriages says that they are afraid to get excited until [insert milestone here] that's not really accurate. The truth is you are instantly excited. The second that line shows up, your whole world changes. You immediately morph from a person hoping for something to happen to a person who can in an instant picture it all. You can picture your belly and shopping for nursery furniture. You picture how you'll tell your family and it's all so...idillic. I called the doctor literally the second the office opened and told the nurse that there was an unexpected twist..."I had a faint positive on a home test." She reassures me that because I've always had low hormones, a faint test would make sense. She said she'd talk to the doctor and call me back. A couple hours later I was asked to come out to the hospital and have a stat blood HcG test taken, and then she walked me through what my progesterone protocol would be. I started thinking about how perfect it was. We had a family gathering the next day and would get to tell them in person. We would get to celebrate with everyone and have them share in our excitement. But, at 3:45 the nurse called. The HcG came back as "less than .1". 0. It was literally 0. I was one of the super rare false positives. I had one of the almost unheard of tests that had a second line shown up with no hormone to cause it. I was crushed. The next day I made it through a first birthday party and a house full of toddlers, trying hard to not let it all get the best of me. Then we spent our New Year's Eve making every superstitious decision that we could. Tempting no fate. We did everything we could to encourage our best possible luck. We curled up in our pjs and snuggled with the dogs while we laughed to a couple of our favorite movies and relaxed until midnight. We toasted, screamed happy New Year, and promptly at 12:05 went to bed, exhausted. The next day we woke up and spent the next two days relaxing and doing very little, and it was much needed. New Year's Day also happened to be cycle day 1, as Aunt Flo made her way to visit that day. A fresh start if I've ever heard one. That made today, the first day that the doctor's office was open since then, cycle day 3. I called to let them know that, as the doctor was supposed to be letting me know what our change in protocol for this cycle would be, and I wanted to make sure he knew what we were dealing with. The nurse called a few hours later and asked if I could come out this afternoon ("He is looking at your chart and was wondering if you are able to come out here today, now works") and I first panicked because I didn't know why they couldn't just tell me what he wanted to do over the phone and had no idea what the urgency was. I got there (on a day where he normally doesn't take appointments) and he talked through what last cycle showed and what our options are. Ultimately we decided we are first going to try Clomid. He explained how it works and why he thinks it is potentially a good option for me. Primarily, Clomid is an estrogen blocker, and it blocks the estrogen from signaling the brain, so it instinctively produces a surge of more hormone. This helps strengthen ovulation and drives the cycle. He said that Clomid and Metformin, in studies where control groups are either each medication alone or both together, that the combo therapy, far and away, showed better results. I've taken Clomid once in the past and it didn't do much, but none of my issues were being addressed then. It can't really be compared to now as we aren't sure what my body is going to do now that things are very different. The reason for the urgency was that it's very specific as to when it's taken in the cycle, which meant we didn't have much time to make a decision, and it was easier to talk through in person. So this month I will be taking Clomid and not post-peak progesterone to see what reaction I have to the medication. I'm hopeful and praying for the best. We are praying that 2017 is our year. The symbolism of me starting on January 1 felt very telling to me. It felt like a sign. Praying that it is. With every prayer I've got. Happy New Year! 🥂

2016...You Were A Year...

Well, we are in that week…that week at the end of the year where everyone has gotten past Christmas and is looking towards the end of the year and a new fresh start. For some people, 2016 was a wonderful year, full of blessings beyond measure. It’s one that they’ll look back on as a year that changed their life in the best possible ways, and it will hold a special place in their heart. It will not be that for me. Let me take you back a few days and tell you how Christmas went. Christmas Eve went quietly. It was strangely relaxing for a change, and all went smoothly. My family came over to our house for dinner and to hang out for a while. I cooked dinner, but was thankfully able to prep the food ahead of time to a degree that I was able to even lay on the couch for a couple of hours and relax before family got there, completely ready for hosting to begin with hours to spare. Dinner was delicious, there was more than enough food, we watched Christmas movies, and shared many wonderful gifts. It was a very nice day. Christmas morning I woke up, and I made the mistake of taking a pregnancy test. I know that, in my head, it was an attempt at a lucky miracle that would help me get through a day that I was having a really hard time facing. Christmas is that day that I have always dreamed about sharing with my children. I’ve spent years dreaming about hanging a “Baby’s First Christmas” ornament on the tree and dressing our little ones up in the fanciest tiny clothes for all of the pictures that we’d look at for years to come. I was hoping, in my head and heart, that a pregnancy test showing a second pink line would bring the promise of next year finally being that year, since (yet again) this year was not. It would give me something to be excited about, when I was having trouble finding a way to just keep breathing. Well, it backfired. It didn’t go like I’d hoped in my head, which I’m getting depressingly used to, but rather, there weren’t two pink lines. There was one pink line…so dark it was almost red. I stared at it for what felt like a lifetime, waiting for something to appear that my head knew wouldn’t but my heart hadn’t come to terms with yet. I got up and threw it away, and went back to bed, feeling defeated and dreading how the day would go. I woke up a couple of hours later and got in the shower, and when I got out of the shower, for whatever reason, I dragged the test out of the trash can, effectively crossing my fingers that I was just wrong before. Guess what? I wasn’t. It sent me down a rabbit hole. I walked into the living room where my husband was on the couch enjoying some much appreciated puppy snuggles, and burst into tears telling him that I was dreading the day. That the test was negative and I was dreading spending the day hearing all about our niece’s first Christmas. Spending the entire day watching her every move, laughing at any new milestone, and hanging on her every blink and babble. I questioned if I was strong enough to make it through it, and was genuinely not sure what the answer was. I love my in laws. I love our niece and I love spending time with them, but the weight of everything that was breaking my heart was profound, and I just didn’t know how it would be for me…but I was confident it wouldn’t be great. I said to him, through sobs, as he was hugging me and rubbing my back, trying to calm me down, that I was not even sure that I could handle mass with my family. That I couldn’t handle the parade of happy families gushing about how blessed they are, parading their children around in their Christmas dresses and suits, smiling and happy. Just the thought made the sobs even worse, and he asked me to send my mom a message saying that we wouldn’t be there. I sent my mom a text apologizing, and explaining that I was having a really rough morning and just couldn’t do it. She, of course, understood, and begged me to send my husband her love and to not worry about her and just take care of each other. She said she’d say some extra prayers that this is the last Christmas with this heartbreak, and I would spend the next hour on the couch, collecting myself in an attempt to pull myself together to go spend our niece’s first Christmas with my husband’s family. We got to my husband’s parents’ house, and it was quiet. We were the first ones there, just spending time chatting with his mom. Things were going okay. I was no small amount distracted by the fact that it was obvious that I had been crying all morning, and hoping that no one would say anything. But then, my father-in-law sneaks up behind me and shoves, within inches of my face, a “Baby’s First Christmas 2016” commemorative coin that he’d bought for our niece just gushing about how, “isn’t this so neat?! It’s a precious metal coin, and this WILL be worth something someday! I can’t wait to give this to her!” and then marched over to shove it in my husband’s face. I could feel myself tearing up, and this man was completely insensitive and oblivious. Off in his own world, not caring that I was visibly heartbroken. He knows that we’ve been fighting this fight for more than three years. He knows about every miscarriage, every procedure, every test. Every failed attempt. He. Knows. He knows, and he still insisted on shoving it in my face. I’m sure he is just excited to finally be a grandpa, but it shattered me. It broke me into a million pieces, and he didn’t even care. Again, I want to stress…I love our family. I love our niece beyond measure. But it was so hard. The whole day. Everywhere you turned there were gifts for her. Toys piled up as tall as the adults in the room. Packages hidden in every corner, and most of them for her. I sat in near silence, most of the day. Held our niece only when she was handed to me. I didn’t play like I normally do. I was really struggling just to get by. Actively reminding myself over and over again in my head just to keep breathing in and out. Trying just to make it at all. I couldn’t be especially worried with how I was acting, because literally my only mission was to make it to the other side. Then, things took a strange turn. I checked my phone and had a voicemail from my sister. I listened to it three times that day. In her voicemail, she was laughing and happy and wanted to share a story about a conversation that she and mom had had with one of the ladies at church. This woman was the daughter of an amazing woman in our parish that was like everyone’s grandma. Her name was Dorothy, and she was the sweetest angel on earth that you’d ever meet. It didn’t matter if she felt great, miserable, healthy or sick, happy or sad, or anything in between…she had a smile on her face and was genuinely happy to see anyone that crossed her path. Dorothy is, unfortunately, no longer with us on earth, but her daughter was talking to mom, who had told her why we weren’t there. Her reaction was that Dorothy was always helping people that were trying to have babies. That if she found out someone was struggling, she’d say this specific prayer, and they would almost immediately after fall pregnant. Sue smiled and said, “You tell them not to worry, I’ll put Dorothy on it. She had a way of helping people have babies, and she may not be here, but I’ll talk to her, and I’ll put her on it. She’ll take care of it!” and just listening to it brought tears to my eyes. I told my husband about it, and saw him tear up. I collected myself without falling fully into tears (somehow) and we went back to our day. That little bit of hope, that we have another angel working in our favor, gave us a little boost, and it was enough to push me through the rest of the day. I still couldn’t bring myself to spend much time playing with the baby, but I was talking more, and I was more present. I have since apologized to my sister-in-law for not being more excited to celebrate her little girl’s first Christmas, but explained that I was just having a really hard time. I hope she understands. The next day I woke up with a horrible cold, absolutely miserable and wanting to do nothing. I spent the entire day on the couch, moving only to go to the bathroom or eat, and ignored every single thing that I was supposed to do with my extra day off…and I’m not sorry. My husband, God bless him, waited on me hand and foot, bringing me water or juice, food when I needed it, and anything else that I could want or need. I spent time in and out of sleep, and got some much needed rest. I recuperated from what was a relatively traumatic Christmas day, and now we look forward to New Year’s Eve. New Year’s Eve is our niece’s first birthday, so most of the day will be spent celebrating that, but after that’s over, we will be having a blissfully quiet and uneventful night at home. This morning, the 10DPO brown spotting that I’ve come to expect and dread showed up, so I’m less hopeful that this month worked, but given that there were some differences this month (brief, but intense, waves of nausea once each day on 6, 7, and 8 DPO, and CRAZY dreams pretty well every night since about then), so maybe we’ll get our miracle just in time for the year to end on a high note. I’m praying, while protecting my heart, and hoping for the best outcome. Today I should get the results from the bloodwork drawn on Saturday which should tell the doctor if I’m having weak ovulations, and need some help in the form of Letrozole at the beginning of my next cycle. This also should tell him if/how much additional progesterone supplementation I may need. Praying for good things to end the year. Either good news for this month or the promise of something new to try next month. Something to give us hope of a new outcome early in the new year, and a different feeling next Christmas. 2016, you were a year. A rough year, filled with blessings all around us, making us acutely aware of the blessings we still don’t have. We have so much love for all of the sweet babies born this year to our dear friends, and just as much longing in our heart that 2017 brings us a similarly wonderful blessing. We have so many wonderful things in our lives, and we’re not blind to those, we know we’re truly blessed in so many other ways, but we pray so hard for this missing piece to our family’s puzzle. Our battered heart beats for that missing piece, and longs so intensely for that hole to be filled. I hope that your family is one that had a wonderfully blessed 2016, not a rough one like so many of us. I also pray that your year ends on the highest possible note, and that your 2017 is wonderful, as well. Prayers, love, and hugs to anyone reading this. Come on, sweet Dorothy…we need you!

The Message in the Music Strikes Again

Today, on my way back to the office from my ultrasound that doc ordered, I was thinking with a heavy heart wondering what the results would end up meaning for us. The ultrasound showed that I had, “multiple small bi-lateral follicular cysts,” and the tech insisted that it was pretty typical to see multiple follicles in a cycle. What stood out to me was the, “bi-lateral,” aspect. Yes, it may be totally normal to have multiple follicles working on this cycle, but is it so typical to still have multiple from last month that are still hanging around? I’m praying that this will just mean that my progesterone needs to be increased, or that this will be the catalyst that he needs to start something new like Letrozole. Neither here nor there, I’m in the car, thinking about all of this, and this song comes on. I’ve heard part of it maybe once, I think…and today, for some reason, it caused me to just stop and listen. My head was nearly totally free of other distractions, which is so rare for me, as my mind is constantly going a million miles (and directions) a minute, which I’m sure comes as a shock to exactly no one reading this. This song, it just spoke to me. Just reading the lyrics right now, in preparation of pasting them here…I have chills. I have goosebumps just reading the words. The song this time is called “The Glorious Unfolding,” by Steven Curtis Chapman, and it goes like this: Lay your head down tonight Take a rest from the fight Don’t try to figure it out Just listen to what I’m whispering to your heart ‘Cause I know this is not Anything like you thought The story of your life was gonna be And it feels like the end has started closing in on you But it’s just not true There’s so much of the story that’s still yet to unfold And this is going to be a glorious unfolding Just you wait and see and you will be amazed You’ve just got to believe the story is so far from over So hold on to every promise God has made to us And watch this glorious unfolding God’s plan from the start For this world and your heart Has been to show His glory and His grace Forever revealing the depth and the beauty of His unfailing Love And the story has only begun And this is going to be a glorious unfolding Just you wait and see and you will be amazed We’ve just got to believe the story is so far from over So hold on to every promise God has made to us And watch this glorious unfolding We were made to run through fields of forever Singing songs to our Savior and King So let us remember this life we’re living Is just the beginning of the beginning Of this glorious unfolding We will watch and see and we will be amazed If we just keep on believing the story is so far from over And hold on to every promise God has made to us We’ll see the glorious unfolding Just watch and see (unfolding) This is just the beginning of the beginning (unfolding) I mean…if you’re me…this is so soul-touching. This is EXACTLY what I needed to hear right now. Don’t try to figure it out. Just listen to what I’m whispering to your heart. I know it’s not anything like you thought the story of your life was gonna be. It feels like the world is closing in on you…BUT IT’S JUST NOT TRUE…. There’s so much of the story that’s still yet to unfold. I have truly felt since I was a tiny girl that I was meant to be a mom. I was meant to be pregnant and give birth to children and raise them to be wonderful people. I’ve known this. It’s been something I’ve felt strongly for as long as I could remember. When I was a kid, I didn’t care about video games, I wanted dolls. I wanted babies. For Christmas, I wanted a new baby, and I wanted clothes for her, and accessories. I had pumpkin seats, and bunk beds, and blankets, and you name it. I cared more about those babies than anything to do with myself. I remember the name of the first Cabbage Patch Kid that I got. It was from my grandma and grandpa for Christmas when I was probably 3 or 4, and it was a little bald boy named Patrick, and he had blue corduroy overalls with a little elephant on them. If a new baby came out, I wanted it. The very first doll I ever was given I still have to this day. She’s sealed lovingly in a plastic bag with the blanket that my grandma made for me when I was born and the bib from my baptism. These are literally the only things that I still have from my childhood. I have a couple of pictures and these three things. Quite literally this package contains all of the most important things to me in this world…If you were to look at this, you’d see exactly what matters most to me….a blanket from my grandma (family), the bib from my baptism (faith), and the first doll I was ever given…a baby. Faith, family, and motherhood. That’s all I’ve ever wanted…to the point that it’s literally all of the physical things that I’ve held onto. So I’m listening. I’m listening to what God has whispered to my heart, and it’s impossible to deny that the strongest part of that is that God has whispered to my heart that I’m meant to be a mommy. The journey there isn’t anything like I thought it would be…but it’s not over. There’s SO much yet to unfold… …and it will be glorious. I’ll wait and see, and I’ll be amazed…The story is far from over, and I’m holding on to every promise that God has made….and I’ll watch this glorious unfolding. Thank you, God, for speaking to me today, when I needed it so, so badly. Up next…blood work to confirm ovulation so I can begin my progesterone injections and subsequently have my hormone levels checked, and then we see what new adventures next month brings.

Latest and "Greatest"

Well, yesterday was my touch base appointment with the doctor, which I’ve been really excited for. The point to this appointment was to make sure we were doing the right things. Making the right decisions. Taking the right steps. After one month of half-trying, and two months of officially trying to conceive, complete with progesterone injections, blood tests, etc, we have as yet still been unsuccessful. I fully accept that there’s only somewhere in the neighborhood of 20-40% chance of success in any given month (they say 20-25% for two healthy adults, but with the charting that we do, they say that not getting pregnant within 6 months is typically a sign of issues versus the year that they say for those not charting)…but I still have had no easy job of handling our lack of success each of the last two months. What we know? I appear to be ovulating on my own, and that my progesterone is low. We know that in the last 9 months we’ve established or diagnosed that I have 9 different issues going on at the same time, and of those, we’ve addressed 8, so we’re arguably very close, which is promising. He pointed out yesterday that any one of our issues could potentially cause problems, so the fact that I have 9 fighting each other for center stage makes the fact that we’ve had miscarriages at all that much more surprising. There is just SO much going on in this body of mine, that we’ve truly come a long way. He seems very pleased with the progress that we’ve made, even if we’re not yet to that pregnancy finish line. So now to what we don’t know. We don’t know why I’m still spotting through half of my luteal phase, even while doing progesterone injections. We don’t know if this is because I’m just not getting enough, if I’m not absorbing enough, etc. We also don’t know the quality of my ovulation. We know that I typically have long cycles (now) because I’m extending the second half of my cycle. Previously, even though my luteal phase was only about 3-5 days long, I was still having seemingly regular, full cycles of a “normal” length. This means that even if I’m ovulating on my own, it’s happening late, and he questions if hormone support is an issue on the front end, as well, and now that we’re hormonally extending the second half of my cycle, my cycles are a bit longer than “normal,” too. This month we are going to stay the course, in a sense, while testing for things to see what we need to do beyond that. We can hope for the best for this cycle, though this has given me some reason to believe that this cycle will likely not necessarily be extremely viable as a month to conceive, but it should at the very least paint a clearer picture. I will, again, test to confirm when I actually ovulate, and do my progesterone shots on peak day + 3, 5, 7, 9, and 11, and at some point around day 9-10 I will begin pregnancy testing, to err on the side of caution. What I will be changing this cycle, is I have an ultrasound on Monday to check for the presence of new cysts on my ovaries (which could be another sign indicative of too-low progesterone), and I will also have hormone levels drawn just before we do my P+7 day injection to see how far those levels are dropping between injections. My estrogen level will also be drawn at this time to check for the quality of the ovulation. If my progesterone is low, that will likely be increased going forward for luteal phase support. If my estrogen is low, I will likely start taking Letrozole in the first part of my cycle to help encourage a strong ovulation. If both are low, I’ll likely do both of these things going forward. He also wants to re-check my thyroid. Previously, this has been fine, but it’s not something he’s actually tested. In short, lots more tests are coming in the next couple of weeks, so I’ll, as always, take any prayers and positive thoughts we can get. Now…with all of this…he said yesterday that he’s, “Cautiously optimistic,” and when I left he shook my hand, smiled, and said that he’s hopeful for exciting blessings for us in 2017. I so, completely and whole-heartedly, hope he’s right…and there’s that word again…hope. I waited a day to write this update, for a couple of reasons. My knee-jerk instinct was to leave his office really frustrated. He mentioned Letrozole, and I got really excited. Something new! Progress! Tangible changes to what we’re doing. In my head, I just keep hearing the saying that the definition of insanity is repeating the same action and expecting a different result…so staying the course was hard for me to swallow. This was another month of waiting. Another month of wasting time. Another month (on the “good” side) wasting an opportunity to change something and give us better odds. Then, I talked to my husband. He pointed out that the doctor is optimistic. The doctor doesn’t seem pessimistic, hopeless, or negative. The doctor seems hopeful, and he wants to be careful. Cautiously aggressive, if that makes any sense. He wants us to progress and make sure we’re doing the right things as soon as possible…what he DOESN’T want to do is jump down a rabbit hole, throwing new medications at me that will alter my cycle when we don’t know exactly what altering is needed at this point. He wants to take whatever big steps we need to take, but he wants to be more comfortable with the fact that we need them, aren’t just trying something new for the sake of trying it. I told my husband that I was really frustrated. I didn’t want to wait more. I wanted to do something now. I wanted to end the year on a high note, not end the year with the realization that 2016 was a complete bust… …then my dear, sweet husband reminded me, in the way that only he could, that we’ve been down both the impulsive, ‘throw this at it and see if it sticks’ and the super frustrating, ‘stay the course, this should work,’ roads, and we hated both of those, so why on earth would I want to do those things now?! He wants to test more, for the sake of acknowledging that he doesn’t want to continue staying the course but he doesn’t want to impulsively throw a new medication that I may not need or be helped by at the mix just to try it, which could potentially cost us several more months than the one month of testing to figure out our sweet spot. He’s absolutely right, and that’s why I needed to wait to write this. Waiting until today, I had time to calm down and clear my head. Yes, it’s frustrating, but only in the sense that it’s a frustrating process. It’s crazy-making. Trying to conceive is something that is not for the faint of heart, to be sure. It’s something that is hard. Every month you go through the stages of grief. You get hopeful, and then you go through it all, disappointment, loss, denial, all of it. Every. Single. Month. Going through that is so hard. It’s emotional, it’s exhausting, and it’s all worth it if at the other end of it you eventually have a baby to show for it. You eventually get to that finish line, where you’re holding your healthy baby, listening to them coo and babble, watching them sleep or play…and you look back and those months feel like a day, because it’s all worth it. You see little onesies that read, “Worth the wait,” and you think, “Yes! It will be! One of these days I’ll look back and realize that that little miracle was worth all of this,” so the next month you do it all over again. You bargain, and hope, and if you have to, you grieve all over again. It’s absolutely worth it…but I’ve had someone say to me after 2 months of trying to conceive that they now know what I’ve been going through because this is so hard (mind you, I was 2+ years into this struggle by the time they said this to me)…and I assure you, you have no idea. If you are one of those lucky people (like her, who managed to get pregnant and go on to have a healthy baby 9 months later on her second or third month of trying to conceive)…I promise you, 3 ½ years later, you don’t really know. I’m THRILLED that you don’t, but you genuinely have no idea. When you are looking at your little one about to turn 4, I want you to look back and think how hard it would have been for you to imagine what it would feel like if you were still trying to even conceive that little blessing…because that’s where we are. Friends with babies that were conceived quickly and born healthy right out of the gate, you won’t have any idea of the concept of how long it’s been until that sweet baby is 3…and that’s based on the hope that we get there soon and that the stopwatch stops sooner rather than later. After talking to the doctor yesterday, if he’s cautiously optimistic, I have no reason to be anything but cautiously optimistic right alongside, and I genuinely believe that he will be as excited as any family member or friend when we get to tell him that we’re pregnant. He’ll be as jazzed as anyone else to schedule that first ultrasound, and more overjoyed than most to see our tears when we hear a heartbeat for the first time. He’ll be thrilled to get the call at midnight that it’s time to come deliver OUR baby…because I have every reason to be “cautiously optimistic,” that this WILL happen. Yesterday, I couldn’t have written this update with that perspective. Yesterday my heart was sad, my brain was frustrated, and my soul was tired. Today, I have the renewed hope that comes with the realization that we’re doing every single right thing, and right things get rewarded. It may take longer than we’d hoped, and our journey may not look at all like what we thought it would look like, but at the end of the day, like many people have told me, God doesn’t put a desire in our heart that he has no plan to follow through on, and I’ve always known in my heart that I was meant to carry and birth our children. I was meant to be a momma and raise little people that will grow to leave a mark on the world. I was meant to find one soulmate to grow old with, that believed in old fashioned values like me, and wanted to sit in our rocking chairs telling our grandkids about how their parents were when they were little. It’s what I’ve always dreamed, and I’ve found my partner. I have found a husband that wants those things too. He wants to grow old and be someone’s Pop Pop and coach little league and go on boy scout camping trips with our sons. His dream was just as vivid as mine…which is why I firmly believe that our three angels are not meant to be our only children. We will be parents. I will have babies. I will get to see my husband’s reaction to that first breath that our babies take. I will get to squeeze his hand as he kisses away my tears when I can’t hold them back after I hear that first heartbeat. I am meant to be a momma…and I am going to go ahead and try to stay cautiously optimistic that our road is heading that way soon. Prayers, if you have them to spare. Thank you so much for the continued love and support. You all mean more than the world to us.

Hope...It's a Funny Thing...

We are to the point in this cycle where I have begun testing every day. For some people, they can wait until they are late and then test…for me, I can’t. By the time I’ve missed a period, we’ve historically already begun miscarrying. I have to catch things SUPER early to make sure hormones are appropriately adjusted…so I don’t get the leisure of letting my body tell me. In addition, I’m on progesterone shots, so I can’t trust any twinge or symptom either. This particular hormone mimics pregnancy symptoms, so when I feel something, it more than likely means absolutely nothing. What it also means is that when I sit at my desk at work and see a picture that shows a positive pregnancy test and says, “All I want for Christmas is to finally see that second line appear,” I will immediately start crying, and hope no one notices the quiet girl sniffling back by the window. Hope. Such a funny thing, hope. Hope sounds like it should be a good thing, and a lot of times, it is. It can get us through really dark days with the promise that something better could still be coming. In this struggle, though? Hope can be mean. Hope is a fickle mistress, as they say. Because of the way my cycles work (or don’t, as the case may be), and the fact that I have to test as a precaution any month that there is a chance I could be pregnant, hope can be a repeated slap in the face. If you are someone trying to conceive, taking a pregnancy test is typically a sign that you have some reason to hope that it will be positive. When you’re in my situation, though, there’s not necessarily that hope there, it’s more just that you have to test whether there is hope or not…but even if there’s not necessarily reason to have that hope that it could be that miracle that you’re praying for, when you take that test, you start to dream of the what ifs. Like when you buy a lottery ticket…you start planning the mansion you’ll build and picking out the charities you’ll donate to. Decide which family members will suddenly get a refund from their mortgage check when they find out it’s been paid. Whether you actually think you’ll win the lottery…you hope. Why? Because there’s a chance…so why not? Well…the flip side of that, is that more times than not, if you’re me, you’ll take that test, and day, after day, after day it will be negative. One glaring line, dark as a sharpie, because there’s no second line that it’s dividing it’s dye with. No mistaking…not even a faint glimmer…hope…lost. Until tomorrow, when you have to do it all again. Shampoo…Rinse…Repeat. You get that hope, you start to dream, and then you’re crushed again…day, after day, after day. This morning, for the second day in a row, I took the required test, and it was negative. One line staring back at me, shooting that hope right back down. It’s still a little early, I tell myself. Maybe tomorrow’s the day, I tell myself. Then, a few hours later, the brown spotting started. That stupid, awful, maddening sign that this month likely didn’t work either. This time, it was late enough into my cycle for me to at least not over-inflate my “hope” that it could mean something new. Some new sign that something was happening. Some miracle that was just showing up. This time, it was just like last month. This time, it’s just a sign that we may not have it all figured out yet after all. Next week I go back to meet with the doctor to discuss what we’re doing and make sure we’re on the right track for everything. This afternoon, pretty quickly, my hope shifted from hoping that this month will work to hoping that next week brings new answers. New strategies. A new plan of attack that will bring new hope. Things for this month are not necessarily completely hopeless. I will still test the next day or two and see what happens, I just am not as optimistic as I was 24 hours ago. This morning, even though I had a negative test, I left the house, and once again I saw a sunny day rainbow smiling at me. I keep seeing these. I’d never seen one before, and all of the sudden, there they are, pretty regularly. This week, for those keeping track, I’ve had a dream about my dad, where for the first time since he passed he was happy and healthy. Not sick. Not weak. He was dad. Coach’s shirt, strutting around, smiling and laughing dad…and I’ve seen the 6th sunny sky with a rainbow looking down at me in as many weeks. I just cannot help but think that God is trying to make sure we know…our rainbow is coming soon. Our turn is coming soon. Our miracle is right around the corner…just maybe not this month… Still praying, and trying to still have hope. Struggling…but trying…

In My Dreams

So, this time two years ago, dad was home. He had just gotten out of the skilled nursing center, and was home, pretty well wheelchair bound most of the time, but starting to try his hand at a walker. He was frail, talked a little more slowly, pale, and just generally not the man that I’d always known before that. It would be another 5 months before he’d pass, but to say they were rocky would be an understatement. I remember thinking back at that point over the time that he’d been so miserable. In August when he was taken to the emergency room (via ambulance, which anyone that knows my father would take that to mean how serious it was if he was even willing to take that length) because his pacemaker was firing, none of us would have ever imagined that it would be months and months of hospitals, skilled nursing homes, wheelchairs, PT rehab, emergency room visits, and emotional and physical ups and downs. We never would have guessed that in such a short time he would go from someone who’s pacemaker was firing, to someone who’s BP dropped so low that his kidney’s shut down, to someone who had internal bleeding because of the blood thinners he was on to get his body ready to start dialysis…to strokes, to near overdoses because of accidental dosage issues with pain medication…just so much. When he finally passed away, it was on my sister’s birthday, and as we all sat there for dinner the evening before to celebrate (because it was a Sunday), we all kind of knew. We just had this feeling that this was it. Somewhere deep down I was so prepared for it that when my phone, on silent, rang in the middle of the night, I immediately was able to answer. Be that because I wasn’t really sleeping or because my heart just knew…mom didn’t have to leave a voicemail this time. When grandpa passed I had a voicemail asking me to call grandma’s house, and I just knew something had happened…this time, there was no call back required. I’ll never forget that night, or the days that followed. The next day we all went shopping to get funeral clothes. We went to the funeral home to plan/pay for arrangements. We finalized the details of the donation of his body to the local medical school. We tied up all of those loose ends. We told friends and family that he had passed, and news spread like wildfire. The funeral a few days later was like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Mom called our priest a couple of days before the memorial mass to ask if we needed to ask for servers, and father laughed at her and said, “I have 30 deacons, so far, dressing for his mass. I don’t think we’ll be needing servers,” and boy was that an understatement. His funeral was blessed with 30+ deacons, 6 priests, a bishop, a full Knights of Columbus honor guard, and a receiving line so long that we spent 2 hours watching it wrap down the aisle, out the door, and down the sidewalk, only to have many people told that there would not be time for them to talk to us, so they should just find a seat. Seats, which were beyond packed…to the tune of standing room only. It was like your most overstuffed Christmas morning mass and Easter Sunday all crammed into one. I remember so many small details of that day. When you look back on something like a wedding, you don’t remember the little things, as you barely had a chance to stop and even realize they were happening. This day, though, for some reason, I remember every single detail. I remember dad’s best friend for longer than I’ve been alive crying when I walked up to give him a hug, and saying that he couldn’t believe he was gone. I remember a man shaking my hand that said dad was his football coach his first year of teaching, all the way back in ’78. I remember the entire football team from dad’s school showing up in their Sunday best…with their jersey’s over their shirts and ties. I remember so many hugs, flowers, prayers, and faces…and I remember sitting in the front row, sobbing. I was not doing well. I remember saying how grateful I was that dad donated his body, because since there was no funeral, there was no wake. The 2 hour visitation before the mass started was it. We didn’t have to stand in the parlor of a funeral home for 10 hours answering how we were doing, how mom’s holding up, and hearing how great of a man he was. I genuinely don’t think I could have done it. I also remember that in the weeks that followed, I started having dreams about dad. In the first dreams about dad, he was sick, and I remember waking up in tears, upset that that was not supposed to be how I remembered him. I sent a message to a dear friend who had lost his mom a few years before that and asking him if those ever went away. He assured me that they would. That right now it was what was fresh in my mind, but that over time the happy memories would win. I longed for that day. When the dreams of sick dad stopped and the dreams of healthy dad started. Over the last year and a half, I’ve had a handful of dreams with dad in them, not a ton, and not constant, but a good few right at the beginning, and for some reason lately I’ve had several more. Last night, specifically, I had a dream with dad in it. Dad was talking, dad was walking, dad was wearing a ball cap, coach’s shirt tucked tightly into jeans and tennis shoes. He was strong. He was sturdy. He wasn’t frail. He wasn’t thin, but wasn’t at his biggest. He was just…dad. Happy, healthy, dad. We were at his school. I couldn’t figure out where anything was, and what I could find was a mess, but we were on his turf. We seemed to be visiting, dad included, but everyone was happy to see him. I was asking him where things were, and he was directing me where to go. There were other random aspects of this dream that don’t necessarily mean much to me, but I woke up so happy that I had dreamt about dad, and that he was happy and healthy in it. They say that when someone you’ve lost speaks to you in a dream that it’s them really speaking to you…and I found myself instantly trying to find some hidden meaning in what he was saying to me. Trying to find some sort of deep, profound message in his words to me. All I could remember was him telling me that the only other bathroom I could use was all the way up on the third floor. It’s hard, if even possible at all, to make some sort of deep meaning for my life out of being told where a bathroom is…but even without a hidden message, it was nice to hear from him. It was nice to hear him talk, and see him strut around like he owned the place. It was nice to see dad. Maybe the hidden meaning is that he’s finally comfortable up there. Mom told me something she’d heard once on a TV show from someone that was talking to a medium, who said to the medium acting as a go-between for this woman and her parent that she had lost, that she was most upset that she had lost this person before they were able to be a grandparent. I’ve struggled with this so badly. I could cry and cry over the thought that my dad so badly wanted to be a grandpa, and died before it ever came to be. What the medium said to this woman is that her parent was saying, “I’ve seen your children. I’ve held them before even you, and I’ve kept them safe up here with me until it was time for them to be sent down to you.” This brought me so much peace, for some reason. The thought that our babies are up there being cared for by dad. The thought that not only was dad a grandpa…but he was a grandpa first. I also have begged dad that we’re ready. That we’re ready for him to be comfy up there so that he doesn’t need them up there with him anymore. We’re ready for it to be our turn with them….and maybe this dream was dad telling me that he’s finally okay. He’s ready to help direct me, and maybe he’s the one that’s been sending all of the rainbows and little signs…and maybe, just maybe, he’s ready to start handing them down. We’ve had a lot of losses, and he’ll get to continue taking care of them indefinitely…so maybe he’s letting me know that he’s content now, and it can be our turn. As for us…we are in our two week wait. I’m trying so hard to be patient. We are 3/5 on our shots, and have another few days before it will be time to try an early results test or start hoping that my period will start if those tests are negative. Prayers, prayers, prayers…maybe this is dad’s way of getting us ready! We are SO ready!! Send that baby on down, dad!

Prayers, Prayers, Prayers!

Update: blood work results came back, and anything higher than a 2.3 confirms ovulation...I was at a 7! Progesterone shots start tonight...and the prayers that this month is the one have started already! Prayers, prayers, prayers, friends! We need all you got! 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

One Year Ago...

One year ago, on Thanksgiving Eve, I got a call from our RE's nurse telling me with a smile that you could hear through the phone that our beta blood test was positive. This time worked. This round was successful. "Congratulations, you're pregnant!" She said. I was so excited I was actually shaking. When I called my husband immediately after my voice was shaking so much with excitement that he thought I was crying and I could hear his voice drop. When I told him we were pregnant he let out a sigh so loud that it made me laugh out loud. I was on the phone with my mom when the caller ID popped up that our doctor's office was calling again. I clicked over and it was our doctor, calling to congratulate us personally. The number was low, but it was early, and they were far more concerned with how it would rise. To say we were elated would be the world's biggest understatement. You couldn't have wiped the smile off of my face with a Brillo pad. The days to follow would be an emotional up and down that I don't really care to relive at this point, but to say that I enjoyed every single second of being pregnant, even when it was scary. Even when we were nervous. Even when it was overwhelming and not going how we hoped. I enjoyed knowing that, if even for a brief window, I had life growing inside of me. A couple of weeks later that would no longer be the case, and it would be the start of what would change our path pretty dramatically from that point forward. This Thanksgiving is such a strange mix of emotions. We are dealing with being actively in our third year of trying to grow our family. We are dealing with the very happy anniversary of the positive pregnancy test...even if it didn't end well, I can't ever diminish the happiness that we felt one year ago on this day. I'm facing the reality that tomorrow marks the 15 year anniversary of my grandpa passing, and absolutely cannot believe he's been gone for almost as much of my life as he was there for. I felt like he was there for this whole lifetime, and in reality, about 3 years from now it will flip and the fact that he will have officially missed more of my life than he was there for will undoubtedly hit me hard. But even with all of those things going through my head...tomorrow is a day of thanks, and we have so much to be thankful for. We are surrounded by family and friends that pray for us and with us, wish with us for our every dream to come true, and make sure that we know we are loved and appreciated. We are in the hands of the most fantastic doctor and genuinely special men we've ever been lucky enough to cross paths with. We are actively working towards becoming parents, and are hopeful that our time is coming. We are so lucky to have families that love each other and are happy to combine holidays so it can be a relaxing and joy filled day, not one of stress and rushing around. In spite of everything...there is so much to be thankful for. We are truly blessed. I pray that you and your families have a wonderful day, filled with blessings beyond measure. I pray that you are able to take time to be aware of those blessings, and I pray that this time next year, we have a baby with us to be thankful for, too. God bless you and yours. Happy Thanksgiving. 🍁 ❤️🙏🏻