My Two Week Wait: Enduring the Silence

No, we haven't started In-Vitro or done a transfer.  No, we haven't attempted in any way to get pregnant at all this month.  My husband has actually been out of state most of the month and rather inaccessible. 

This two week wait is one I've never had to endure before, and one I hope I never have to endure again.

If you have been following my blog, you know that there have been recent moments of chaos in my life.  There's been much more going on than what I've shared here, so if you can envision a life of chaos from what you've read so far, amplify that in your mind several times over and you get a glimpse of how chaotic my life has felt.  Whether or not it's really been in chaos is up for debate, but the feeling of chaos has been present for a while.

Before I had to deal with the FN (fertility nazi), there was a lot on my plate that I had to deal with while my husband was away for training.  Enter the FN and the stress she interjected into my life and the "lot" on my plate seemed to double.  And after my encounter with the FN, even more was put on my plate.  Let me tell you, this girl is full.  I didn't want the serving I began with, and I certainly don't want the additional portions.  But they're there, so I'm dealing with them.

There are times in a military spouse's life where silence is dictated by the military.  At times it's a must to remain silent about future dates and events.  At times it's a must to be kept waiting in silence for the safety of the general population.  Then there are times when the silence, at least the quantity of it, makes absolutely no sense and isn't really about safety at all.

In the midst of his absence, my husband informed me that he would be out of communication for a period of two weeks.  No text messages.  No e-mail.  No Facebook.  No phone.  Nothing.  For two weeks.  Not ten days.  Fourteen.  Possibly more.

Some of you may be thinking that'd be heaven.  Some of you may need a break from communication with your spouse.  But at this point in my life, I really need his input.  I don't just desire it.  I need it.  

At first I thought I'd send him e-mail messages that he could read when he regained communication privileges.  So, I sent out recaps of my days into cyberspace to sit in his inbox for two weeks.  I soon realized that those messages were only fulfilling part of a need.

I am a very verbose person (clearly)!  Tiny details are important to me, so it's nearly impossible for me to leave them out.  I'm the same way on the listening end.  I want to hear the details.  I want to know the thoughts and feelings behind the story.  I want to understand the depths of what the person experienced or thought.  And I often long for a response, feedback, to what I've said.  (Feel free to leave comments on my blog, by the way.)

I thought, initially, that I'd be fine with the two weeks.  I wasn't happy about it at all, and I cried when we said "goodbye" in our last phone call, but I figured I could tough it out like a good military spouse.

I was wrong.  I did not anticipate how incredibly painful it would be to be completely cut off from the man who has shared my heart and life with me for the past nearly nine years.

In dealing with infertility, there are few (in the immediate, tangible sense) who truly understand.  I have friends in different cities a few hours away that I can call, but in my immediate surroundings, I have no one (aside from my husband).

Add to that the fact that we were keeping our pursuit of IVF a secret from family and fertile friends because we're not even sure we will get to fully follow that path.  For the first time in my life, I understood how it feels to deal with infertility completely alone.  I've never had to endure a procedure without the support of friends and family.  We've always kept them informed every step of the way.  And I've always had my husband at my side, or at least accessible via telephone, to keep him informed of how things went.

But this time, I was facing the FN and her ridiculous repeat tests alone.  The silence was more than I could bear.

I had silence from the one person in this world who knows me most intimately, so I could not draw from his strength or wisdom; and I felt I had to remain silent about what I was going through (fertility-wise) to spare my family and friends the pain of disappointment if things didn't work out.

I felt isolated, like one tiny speck on a perfectly white canvas.  There was all this world around me, but I had nowhere to turn.

I wish I could say that the communication blackout has been lifted, but I still have at least another day and a half of it to push through.  I can say that I was compelled to share with a select few in my immediate surroundings our plans to pursue IVF.  Not only because I needed someone to drive me to and from the hospital for the test, but also because I needed an outlet.  Did it make all the other stuff I have to deal with disappear?  Of course not, but it made that one big piece a little easier to bear.

One thing that I have learned in this silence made it easier to endure.  As I sent out e-mail and text messages to my husband, I knew they were not received and that I would not get a response.  I was void of anticipation, and felt very stifled.  But that realization was juxtaposed against the reality of my communication with God.  (Bear with me.)  When I think or speak something to my God, it doesn't fall on deaf ears or bounce off the atmosphere into nothingness.  The way I know this is I receive responses.  No, I've never heard the audible voice of God, nor do I expect to this side of Heaven, but there is movement in my heart, prompting in my spirit, and thoughts at the perfect moment that do not come from me.  I can think, speak, type, call, and write to my husband all the live-long day, and no matter how desperately I desire a response from him, there will not be one in this blackout.  But even as I long to hear from my husband, I can hear from my God through his word, his Spirit, and even his people.

It was just very exciting to me to be reminded of how truly miraculous communication with my God actually is.  So, in the midst of the silence from my spouse, my God whispered to my heart that He's very much here with me. 

I would like to be able to say that I've endured this two week wait with grace, dignity and poise, but much of it has been spent fretting over and being angry about my circumstances.  Thankfully, there have been small victories, but two weeks (as you all well know) is a very long time.

May your two week waits be few in number and filled with hope and peace!  You are some of the strongest women I know!

Blessings,

Julia

Deployments, Doctors, and Disregarded Time

I've been wondering lately what life in the realm of infertility will be like when my husband is deployed.  It's during his absences for trainings that I contemplate such things.


I would say that this will be uncharted territory for us, except for the fact that we already have a 15 month deployment under our belts that fell just as we were wading into the area of fertility treatments.


Medically (and I get it, even though I don't like it), that 15 month deployment cancels out a year and 3 months of our infertility.  Meaning- since we couldn't have sex for 15 months, then we weren't infertile during those 15 months.  It's silly, if you ask me, but I understand the strange logic in that.  


Early on, after enduring that 15 months and being told by a fertility specialist that those months didn't count toward our accumulated time of being infertile, it only slightly bothered me.  It knocked our number of years of "trying to conceive" from 4 years to a little over 2 years (or something like that).  It wasn't a big deal because we had accomplished a lot during that deployment. I had all kinds of testing done in preparation for my husband's return, I took birth control pills for a short time while he was away to get rid of some giant cysts on my ovaries, and I became educated in what we were about to face.  It made sense to me, at the time, when I was told that months without intercourse don't count toward infertility.


This time around, however, it's a bit different (and yet strangely familiar).  This time, instead of attempting IUI (intra-uterine insemination), we are trying to get our ducks in a row for IVF (in-vitro fertilization) treatments.


This time around, instead of 4 years infertile, we are 7 years infertile.


I say "7 years" with confidence.  In spite of being told last week that b/c of the 15 month deployment we are only considered 5 1/2 years infertile, I still say "7 years" with emphatic confidence, and here's why:


Seven years ago, we stopped preventing pregnancy.  For seven years we have been prepared to have children introduced into our lives.  Seven years ago an ever deepening longing to have children and to become parents began developing in our hearts and in our minds.  
The fact that we were only able to have intercourse over a period of two weeks during a 15 month deployment does not negate the reality that we wanted to have children.  It does not negate the fact that we used every opportunity we had during those two weeks to attempt to become pregnant.  
To take away from the overall equation those 15 months and reduce our status of infertility from 7 years to 5 1/2-ish years, is to rob us of our right to grieve over those 15 months.  We could not change our circumstances during those 15 months, just as we have not been able to change our circumstances over the course of these seven years.  
It's abundantly clear that having sex hasn't brought about pregnancy for us for those 5 1/2-ish years the medical world recognizes as our time of infertility, so then, why disregard a period of 15 months where we were unable to perform an impotent act?  
Clearly the issue for us in not that we are unable to become pregnant because of a lack of having sex.  I assure you, we've had lots of practice over the last seven years.  Basically, we have spent the last seven years trying the same thing over and over again and expecting different results (um...isn't that the definition of insanity?).  The times we have gone in for medical help, we have been almost chastised for counting 15 months (minus 2 weeks) when we were unable to perform that action.  My question to them is, "What does it matter that we couldn't?  Do you believe we are going to get different results?"  If so, then what does that make them?  Yes, insane.


My point to that tirade is that when we were newbies to this whole infertility thing, the logic made sense; we hadn't invested the very depths of our hearts into longing for children.  Now that we have walked this road for coming close to a decade, I say, "Give a couple some credit and count their full journey!"  I assure you, we wanted children very, very much during that 15 month deployment and it killed us to know we couldn't make many attempts at that, just as we still deeply long for children and it's killing us that all of our attempts at it are fruitless.  At this stage of the game, those 15 months should be to our credit, not discounted.


So, why the rampage?  (It's not really a tirade or rampage, although it would be fun to imagine my voice that way while reading this post...truly, I am very calm at the moment.)


Our big mystery, as you probably already noticed, is that we are moving forward toward pursuing IVF treatments.  We haven't shared this with many people because it's not a sure thing that we'll even be allowed to pursue IVF.  If this seems strange to you, let me introduce you to the military and the world of government health-care ;-)


In the military, it is not impossible to get a referral to a civilian doctor that specializes in something outside of general practice; it happens all the time.  What is almost impossible is getting a referral to one of four military hospitals across the country that perform in-vitro fertilization at a significantly reduced cost to those in the military.  (Before you go tooting horns about yet another example of how awesome government health-care is, keep in mind that you get what you pay for...bedside manner becomes terrible when doctors and nurses aren't competing for your business.)


Getting a referral should be the easy part, but where I live, it's not, thanks to the "lovely" lady I so sweetly referred to as the "fertility nazi" in a previous post.  I thought about my choice of words later and realized they are extremely politically incorrect and might offend some people.  If you have been offended by that, I am sorry, but I leave that title for this woman because I am still appalled, wounded, and angered by her behavior.


But, the truly sketchy part, after getting a referral submitted to the hospital, is what transpires afterward.  Apparently, there are a LOT of people in the military dealing with infertility and pursuing IVF.  Because of that, there is usually a waiting list for the treatments.  So, here's the basic process of "can I please have an IVF at a significantly reduced cost?"  

• First, you get a referral.  This should be as simple as visiting your PCM and answering a few questions, but in my world it has involved me being given "the runaround."
• After you get a referral, it is submitted to the nearest of the four hospitals conducting IVF where it sits in a pile for a MONTH before it is even looked at by anyone.
• Then, someone picks up the referral, examines it for whatever parameters are required, and if it measures up, it is submitted to the powers that be to be considered for approval.
• At this point, someone looks over the case, I'm assuming they request any testing that may be missing (I'm not sure), and then they decide if this couple is worthy of an IVF (and I don't know how they make that decision).  At which point they approve or decline the couple.
• After approval, there is still a waiting list.  It can take anywhere from 4-6 months before the couple is called in for their first appointment.
• Finally, the couple is called in, and the real fun begins.

So, because we don't even know if we will be judged "worthy" of IVF treatment by the hospital, we haven't really made any big announcements that we're traveling down this path.  It took a great deal of effort and a lot of running around (and going behind the fertility nazi's back) to get a referral submitted to the hospital.  It will be another month before we hear anything.  


Tomorrow I am having a redundant, slightly invasive test done (redundant because it's the second time I've had it and there's truly no cause to order it again, other than it's what the fertility nazi [FN] wants) to make sure that my uterus, fallopian tubes and ovaries are all still beautiful and in perfect working order (as they were the first time I had the test done).  We'll see what comes of it, but hopefully all will be well (mostly b/c if it's not then it means the FN was right and she prides herself on being right and having power).  


Then, at the end of the month, I am having hormone levels checked.  I'm okay with this test because frankly I'm surprised there isn't more emphasis placed on monitoring hormone levels when a patient presents with infertility.  It seems, instead, that a lot of time is spent controlling hormone levels because we have the power to do so.  But what if it's something as simple as a person producing too much of or not enough of a particular hormone that's keeping them from getting pregnant?  My only regret about the end of month blood test is that it reinforces the FN's sense of power and control.


I'll have to share my story about the FN later.  As it is, I have already written too much for one blog post.  Guess I'm making up for lost time ;-)


As for being in uncharted territory, it's a little difficult for me.  My emotions are less stable and more raw in this place and I don't have the luxury of comfort keeping me sane. I'm happy to invite you all along for the ride, but I fear I may not always be as uplifting and encouraging as I had hoped to be through this blog.  If you'll grant me a little grace through this process, hopefully there will be moments that will make it worth reading.


Grateful for your support,
~Julia

The Pregnancy Test Phenomenon

Forgive me for my lack of posting the last couple of weeks.  Things have been beyond chaotic in my life lately, and I've had neither the time nor the presence of mind to sit down and compile my thoughts into something worth reading.  Tonight I decided "enough is enough" and that whether I had the presence of mind or not, I needed to post something.  So please bear with me.

You may recall from a previous post that I had an unusually long cycle between January and March.  It's a rare occurrence, but it's also happened enough that our hopes were not even slightly elevated in regard to pregnancy.

During a visit to the doctor, upon learning of the unusual length of my cycle, the doctor insisted that I take a pregnancy test then and there, despite my assurance that I could guarantee the results would be negative.  I complied, peed in the tiny cup (that a man obviously designed because the thought would never occur to a man that a cup that size would result in a guaranteed "peeing on the hand" scenario for a woman - truly, we need Solo brand party cups for those tests), and learned before I left the clinic that the result was negative.  

There were no thoughts of the possibility that levels might not be high enough to detect in a urinalysis, or that perhaps there was something faulty with their test.  I had no doubt in my mind even before the result was given to me that it would be negative.  It is always negative.  Even the time I thought I saw a faint second line on an at home pregnancy test, I knew in my heart that the second test would prove to be negative, and it did.

So, I continued about my daily life, taking care of the chaos surrounding us and enjoying the fact that I did not have to deal with my monthly slap in the face just yet.  The entire month of February was "slap-free" - happy birthday to me!  :-)

As the number of interim days passed 33, rounded 44, and approached the 50's, I began to notice tell-tale signs that my reprieve was about to end.  And then I woke up with nausea.  I chalked it up to stress and perhaps something I ate, and ignored it.  It struck again, ever so slightly, one afternoon, and I dismissed it as readily as it came.  Finally, on day 51, a wave of nausea hit me suddenly as I was about to enter Target.  I decided a pregnancy test was in order.  I waited for the nausea to subside, called my husband to give him a head's up of my plan, entered Target, and bee-lined toward the pharmacy, then the checkout counter, and (after paying) I went straight to the bathroom and took the test.

Negative.

The actual test
I took in the bathroom
at Target

No surprise.  No genuine disappointment, because I wasn't "appointed" to believe that I was really pregnant.  I knew without a doubt that it would be negative when I was making my way to the pharmacy.

But there's an interesting thing that has been a trend with my body and my mind throughout the last seven years.  If my body is going long on the interim time between first days of cycles, I can almost guarantee that if I pee on a pregnancy test stick that I will start my period the next day.

For whatever reason, hospital tests do not cut it.  Apparently, for my body to get the signal from my brain that it is in fact NOT pregnant, I have to physically hold a stick that has come into contact with my urine and wait for it to indicate (whether by lines, plus/minus signs, or words) that I am not pregnant.

It's like my ovaries are in limbo, wondering, "Do we ditch the corpus luteum, or do we keep it around?" when they suddenly receive a signal from the brain that confirms that they do, in fact, need to ditch the corpus luteum and commence the flow.

True to form, after peeing on a stick in Target and reading the result "not pregnant" on the stick, the next day, day 52, became day one for me and I was spared the extra horror of explaining to the fertility nazi I met for my appointment a few days later why I considered it "normal" to have a 51 day cycle.  She does not know it went that long, and is actually under the impression that my cycles are regularly every 33 days.  And as far as I'm concerned, she'll never know any differently.

As to why I dubbed her the fertility nazi, that's a story for another day.  Let's just say for now that I can't remember the last time I cried as long or as hard as I did after my encounter with her.  And, yes, I get the privilege of having to see her again in the near future.  That should be fun.

Has anyone else encountered this strange pregnancy test phenomenon?

Periods, Junk Food, and Crying Out Loud

I asked God for the same favor this month that I have asked for the last several months: If I'm not pregnant, can I please not have my period?


Seems like a silly request, especially when you'd think I'd ask something like, "Can I please be pregnant this month?"  But why wait for the monthly slap in the face to reveal what you already know to be true, when you can request the gentle awareness of that fact instead?


The reality is that after seven years of never once having a positive result on a pregnancy test, the "can I please be pregnant this month" request fades into the background.  There's an unspoken understanding between God and me that the pregnancy request is always on the table.  And, after seven years, it can be a bit too painful to consciously ask, when I know he will grant that request when he's good and ready.  (Brings to mind images from childhood of asking and asking for something from my parents, who fully intended to give me that thing but were making me wait for it, with good reason.)


As for my period this month, it seems that my request in that area has been granted, which is a double edged sword.  On the one hand, I have the confirmation of a negative pregnancy test from my recent visit with the doctor, and on the other hand, I am questioning what reproductive repercussions will result from this granted request.  I may not have a single thing to worry about, however, as I have plenty of 45-48 day cycles under my belt, and I'm only on day 41 right now.  Regardless, I have a small break from the nuisance of a certain monthly visitor I have grown to regard with disdain.

As shocking as it may seem to some of you that I, (1) made the request I made, (2) believe my request was granted, and (3) am not freaked out by a 45 day cycle, what was shocking to me was my unexpected emotional response to the events of this week.  Call it a "freak-out" moment, a break down, or a good-old-fashioned cry, it surprised me and felt like it came out of nowhere.  (It's been a while since that's happened to me.)


Here's what happened:

• My husband and I had the conversation I mentioned in my last post which took us out of a place of waiting and moved us into a place of action again (I promise I will eventually shed more light on that subject when the time is right).
• It took a few days for me to become 100% convinced that we were making the right decision, so I was a little melancholy for a few days while I mulled things over in my mind and heart.
• My husband and I both came to the aid of a dear friend whose husband is deployed and has three young children at home who was feeling a bit overwhelmed.  My husband kept the children occupied and I did chores around the house while my friend prepared dinner and took a moment to breathe deeply without children around her ankles.
• The next day, that same friend asked if I could watch her two youngest children while she attended a school program for her eldest son.  I went over to their house and had a fantastic time keeping her kids.
• Later that day, my husband came home and updated me on some happenings with our renters (and the timing of us moving out of our temporary housing and into our actual house) which were particularly stressful.

That brings us to the initial buildup before the shockwave of my emotions erupted in full force.  I responded to the stressful news about our renters with intensity, drama, and anger far too extreme for the circumstances.  Even I realized I was overreacting, but I felt compelled to respond that way and incapable of changing my attitude.  I informed my husband that this was the worst day ever and that I didn't want to go to our bible study and I didn't want to see people and I didn't want to talk to people and on and on and on.  (I had called him before he came home, and had indicated over the phone that I wasn't really up for being social, although I had no idea why.)


When I'm overreacting, it's pretty much a given that I will be super clumsy and end up with some kind of injury.  True to form, I stumbled around the tiny space we live in, tripping over cats, bumping into doors, and managing to get scratched by one of the cats while he was playing.  I got ready for bible study and demanded asked God to please change my attitude as I had a crappy one and I was incapable of changing it myself.

Did I mention I had grabbed a half pint of ice cream from the freezer to eat on the way?  Yeah, I was in that crappy of a mood.


We arrived at the house where our bible study group was meeting and I'm sure I was muttering any number of unpleasant statements about why it was a bad idea for me to be there, and how terrible Rice Dream Ice Cream tastes and why on earth would anyone want to make ice cream that tastes like a popsicle stick blah, blah, blah.  


And just as we were about to open the doors to get out of the car, I was overcome with emotion and had a ridiculous (yet horrifying to me at the time) thought that I had to share with my husband.  

I asked him, "Do you want to know what the worst part about this whole stupid day was?"  Cue the tears that render one speechless.  He waited.  I finally eked out that the worst part of the day was that I almost bought and ate a bunch of "crap food that I'm not allowed to have!"  Then I began sobbing. (Was I an emotional wreck or what?  Wonder if the 45 day cycle has anything to do with that.) 

Somehow, I went from that "revelation" to the realization that I had also allowed myself to believe that I would make a good mother.  At this point, I honestly didn't know what was truly bothering me.  I was beginning that emotional walk-through women sometimes often have to take to get to the heart of what is really bothering them.


I went on to explain that the day before, when we had helped my friend with her kids, and then again that day while I was keeping her kids, I was encouraged by our responses to her children and I allowed myself the luxury of believing that I would make a great mom.  


Please don't misunderstand!  I have never truly believed that I would make a terrible mother.  But, as a coping mechanism on this journey, I have allowed my many shortcomings as a homemaker and keeper of two cats to become greater in my mind than they actually are, so that I could put a "reason" on why God was not allowing us to have kids.  I know it's not reality, and that that's not how God works, and that there are a lot of things about me that exude motherhood.  But it helped me keep hope at bay so I could hunker down for the long haul.  And those two days with my friend's kids, combined with our newly forward progression, breathed life into that hope again, and it was painful.


Through many tears and several minutes during that time in the car before bible study, I unravelled the chaotic, tangled threads in my mind and found the starting point.  Gradually, I realized that I was really simply grieving another failed fertility treatment.

 

For an entire year I had strictly adhered to a diet, a lifestyle really, that I genuinely hoped would put an end to our infertility.  And that day, as I was shopping for toiletries, I passed by junk food (the sight of which usually makes me sick) and I not only craved it, but I almost justified buying it and eating it.  More than once in that store, I was tempted to buy many things I'm allergic to, as well as things I avoid out of common sense.


So, even though the past year has not involved countless doctor visits, strict timing of certain activities, pills, shots, and sonograms, once we decided to move forward out of this place of waiting, the efforts of the entire year became a failed fertility treatment.  Which means we are essentially back to square one.


Thankfully, I have the most patient and understanding husband in all the world.  He loves me through my times of chaos and mood swings.  He waits for me to form thoughts and words around my tears.  And he didn't mind that I made us late for bible study while I sobbed about junk food in the car.  Because he allowed me to go through that process un-rushed and unhindered, I was able to grieve the thing I needed to grieve and move on.


The layers of this journey seem endless, but I am so thankful for the partner God blessed me with to walk with me through it.


"Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen." (Hebrews 11:1, ESV)
Definition of "hope: to desire with expectation of obtainment" (Merriam Webster Dictionary, m-w.com)

Where We Are

It all started with a conversation.

Or did it?

Perhaps it all started long before that conversation.

Perhaps it all started with a question.

Or maybe it started with an observation, which then launched a desire, which birthed a dream.

It seems like there have been so many starting points along this road.  No wonder it took us so long to realize we were even on it. 

Starting points.  New beginnings.  A dream that will not die.  

It’s difficult to know where it began, and difficult not to wonder if it will ever end.

And the stories!  The stories never end. 

Two years, four years, eight years, nine years, twelve years....The length of time some people I know have waited without seeking help before their dream was fulfilled.

Should we keep waiting?

One, two, three, five, seven, nine, eleven, fourteen....The number of attempts I know of that failed for others with the most sophisticated, expensive help available before the dream became a reality.

Should we charge ahead?

The starting points never end.  Or is it that there was really only one starting point and there are just many forks in the road?

I had grown comfortable on this journey, secure in waiting, relieved to not have to think about making decisions.

And now I find myself at a starting point again.  For my husband, it is just a fork in the road.  For me, it is a place to begin again.  Perhaps it’s at a higher elevation on this journey, as if I climbed some stairs.  Progress and growth of my spirit and character was not lost.  I’m definitely farther along in those areas than I’ve been before.  

And yet, there’s something very familiar about it all.  

I have definitely faced this decision before.  Many, many times, in fact.  But I have always faced it from a new place on this road, so it always seems I am starting all over again.

I am aware of so much more, so the decision should be easy this time, right?

In many ways it is an easy decision.  In fact, the decision has been made.  Phone calls have been made.  Plans are set in motion, and tomorrow marks the first step on this “new” path before me.

But am I ready?  

I don’t feel a sense of dread.  I don’t have any trepidation.  I don’t sense that there’s anything wrong with moving forward.

Instead, I find that it’s very much like waking up in a warm, comfortable bed on a cold, wintery Saturday morning when I know there are things that need to be done, but I feel like I’ve got the whole day to do them.

It seems that I have milked staying in the warm, comfortable bed for all it’s worth, and it’s time I attended to what needs to be done.  There are no clanging bells of an alarm, no shouting voices telling me to get out of bed.  There’s just the realization that I’ve been there long enough and that laying there any longer is something I would regret.

I am thankful to be in this place, but I find that my countenance is somewhat subdued.  The air is a bit colder out from under those figurative covers.  My figurative clothing is much less comfortable than those cozy pajamas worn for resting.  I am having to adjust to this change, but it feels good to be moving again.

Have you been there?  At the very least, have you had one of those real Saturday mornings?

I am looking forward to what’s ahead, but it’s a bit of a shock to my mental and emotional systems right now.

I have grown used to being blind-sided by statements from well-meaning people and questions from curious strangers.  I have not, however, grown used to being blind-sided by a change in direction, or a change of plans.

I was blind-sided by the conversation...the pivotal conversation with my husband that planted a starting line right in the middle of the road again.

But this is good.  And it will be good.  

I look forward to sharing more details in the future, but for now just know that the familiar ground I’m treading upon is taking some time to get used to again.  If you’re one who prays, I would sure appreciate your prayers as I, as we, move forward together in hope.

Blessings!

~Julia

Wait, You Mean It's Not Just Us?

When I first started this blog, seven years into our journey of infertility, I had no idea how many other blogs and websites there were devoted to the subject of infertility.  Believe it or not, I actually believed I was launching something "new".  Sure, I figured there were some blogs out there, but infertility is not something that's talked about regularly in most public venues.  I've actually been surprised at the amount of press infertility has received this month.

I will admit, I'm fairly new to the world of blogging in general.  I've heard about blogs for years and have been reading personal blogs of friends and family for a while.  It wasn't until I googled the word "gluten" the day I found out I had to be gluten-free that I discovered there were blogs out there with a purpose beyond updating friends and family about life.  (No, I haven't been living under a rock, I'm just a bit slow to embrace some things about technology.)

I began this blog with the intent of reaching out to others on this journey, hoping that somehow they would stumble across it and be encouraged that they are not alone.

For the first few years of this journey, my husband and I felt like we were the only ones in our age bracket struggling to have children.  I knew couples older than us who had been unable to have children, but none our age.  Sadly, at the time, I wasn't willing to accept comfort from the older couples I knew in our situation because I was determined that we would not be in their shoes at their age.  I've said it before, but it's interesting how we think we have so much more control over things than we actually do.

Regardless, it would have been nice to know at the time that there were others our age going through what we were going through.  A shoulder to lean on, an ear to vent to, another couple to hang out with that didn't have kids already, or the promise of one on the way.

We were surprised three years ago when our paths crossed with three other couples on this journey in the same town, at the same church.  I chalked it up to God's divine hand bringing us together with others in our circumstances so that we could all encourage each other.  While I have no doubt that is truly the case (seriously, we could have ended up NOT meeting anyone in the same circumstances), I realize now that the reality of infertility is much different than I perceived.

Imagine my surprise when, having finally learned how hash tags on Twitter work, I came across a plethora of blogs written by women on this same journey.  Imagine also my surprise when I came across statistics in several different articles that indicate that the number of couples struggling with infertility is 1 in 8.  One in eight!  That's staggering!

Here we were, on this journey for seven years and I only just learned of that statistic in the past month.  How is that even possible?

I have never been one to keep my thoughts and feelings to myself, so I would talk about our infertility with anyone that was interested, provided I was in an emotional place to handle it.  I was surprised to discover that there were people suffering through the emotions silently.  Now, although I shared our situation, I still felt extremely alone and isolated because most of the people I shared our story with had no idea what it was like to walk in my shoes.  

It makes sense to me now why people going through this are hesitant to share with others what they're dealing with.  I have experienced judgement from others, not only regarding our decisions, but also about our circumstances as a whole - believe it or not, there are people out there that think a lack of children is a sign of judgement from God.  I've been advised and counseled by well-meaning individuals to the point that I can finish their sentences when I encounter other well-meaning individuals.  I've been misunderstood, misheard, had my statements completely ignored, experienced pity (which can be a pitiful thing), and been told that what I had decided to do was ungodly.  I've had questions asked of me that if I had been the one doing the asking might have gotten me a slap in the face.  I've been the recipient of looks, stares, sneers, and had friendship withheld because I walk down this road unashamed.

So, yes, I can imagine why some people choose to remain silent.

I discovered, roughly two weeks ago, as I was reading an article about the silence of infertility, that there is an annual awareness meeting in DC for infertility.  The organization that arranges this gathering is disheartened by the lack of attendance each year, and was even chastised for it by a congresswoman who was there to support them.  I think that an awareness gathering could be a great thing for the many suffering through these circumstances.  A problem I see is a lack of awareness among the very people they are trying to help.  

I find it strange that a couple, actively engaging the culture around them, with access to the internet, savvy about the latest in politics through the news, could walk on this road for seven years and never hear one thing about an organization dedicated to helping infertile couples, never know of one blog or website available with resources to help them through this journey.

I am thankful to have stumbled across these resources and this information.  It has caused an upheaval in our lives on this road, but it has been good.  It's as if a deserted road we've trudged along, taking each challenge head-on by ourselves, suddenly has call boxes, mile markers, and informative billboards and road signs along the way. 

I've linked to the articles I mentioned in this blog post.  I advise that you read them with a grain of salt.  I'm still mulling over some of the points, but they're worth reading to be informed.

It is difficult to break the silence, and it's something that should be done with caution.  But I believe it is worthwhile to do so.  Not only can it help in dealing with the myriad of emotions  and decisions we face, but it can also be very helpful to others.

Knowing When to Hold Them

I'm in a different place emotionally now than I was just five years ago.  My husband and I both are, although our paths to this place have not been identical; but that's another blog post.

A little over five years ago, my younger sister had her second child - a precious baby girl.  At the time, we were only two years into this journey, only having one year of knowing we were infertile under our belts.  I can't remember if we were in the process of moving or if we had flown in for a visit, but we had the rare treat of being able to see a newly born member of the family just a few days after birth.  

I was excited!  My sisters started having kids when I was in college, and I have treasured every moment I have been able to spend with my nieces and nephews.  I was a professional when it came to doting on them and making sure I got plenty of time to hold them.  I could not wait to meet the newest addition to our family.

My husband has always had a way of stealing some of my cuddle time with babies.  I don't know how he manages to do it, but one minute I'm holding a baby, and thirty seconds later the baby I just took from the mom is in his hands.  We've had many discussions on how he needs to wait his turn, so I made sure to reiterate to him how very important it was for him to let me hold my new niece.

When we arrived, we were greeted with much joy, and my brother-in-law graciously and generously brought my niece to me right away.  I was so excited!!!

As he placed her in my arms, I had scarcely held her for a moment before I almost lost it.  I can still feel her in my arms as I write this over five years later.  She was perfect. Her little body was all snuggled up like an Anne Geddes baby model, and she was the most relaxed baby I had ever held.  Her body seemed to melt into my arms as the wonderful smell of "newborn baby" filled the air.  Holding her was everything I had imagined holding my own baby would be.

The moment was perfect...except I couldn't bear to hold her.

For once in my life I was thankful for my husband's habit of taking babies from my arms.  I immediately turned to him and begged him with my eyes to take her.  I couldn't do it.  I had been longing to meet her, to hold her, to rejoice with my sister over her, and I couldn't do it.

I was shattering inside.  With all of my strength I attempted not only to maintain my composure, but to also express to my sister how happy I was for her.  But in my mind's eye it seemed that the walls were falling down around me, like so many pieces of glass.  I had not expected this to happen.  I couldn't separate the pain of holding her from the pain of not being able to hold her.  It made no sense to me and I was heartbroken.  My arms were empty.

I feared that my sister would see the pain in my face.  By this time our family knew we were struggling to have children.  I did not want her to think that I was not happy for her, because I was exceedingly happy for her.  I did not want her to think that I did not love her daughter, because I loved her more than I could bear.

Looking back now, I wonder if a part of me might have thought God was not being fair.  I honestly don't remember the thought processes that unfolded after that because I was bombarded with new emotions on this journey almost daily early on.  But I wonder if I thought that it was unfair of God to not only keep me from knowing the joy of having children of my own, but also to keep me from knowing the joy of holding my sister's child.  I doubt it was a thought that took form, but sorting through the emotions of that moment in this moment, I find myself thinking that it wasn't fair.

My husband holding
a friend's son

Many months passed before I could hold her.  I praise God that my husband was in a different place emotionally than I was.  I was content to let him hold her as I looked on in awe and wonder.  After that experience, I seldom held newborn babies.  If I did, it was on my own terms.  More than once I heard myself respond with a contented, "No," or "No, thank you," to a mom who asked me if I wanted to hold her child.  I always smiled, to make it known that I appreciated the offer, but that I was content to look on.

Now the times are seldom that it hurts to hold an infant, but I find that I still decline many of the offers to hold them.  I found that I get a better view when I'm not the one holding them, and I am also able to take photographs to pass on to the parents.

My niece on her 5th birthday

I had the privilege of seeing many of my nieces and nephews this past weekend.  What a joy it is to see them all growing up!  They are great kids with great parents.  Five years ago, I couldn't bear to hold one of those precious children.  It just so happens she was born at a time of deep emotional pain in my life.  Today, I can't bear to pass by her without kissing her on the top of her head, or throwing my arms around her in a hug, or flashing a great big smile her way.

God has redeemed the time I lost with her.  He held me the way I longed to hold her, and he has allowed me the privilege of many joyful moments with her.  That experience was one of the most painful experiences I have had on this journey, and it's the only time I clearly remember not being emotionally able to hold an infant.  The fact that it was family impacted me deeply.  The fact that God held me in the midst of that pain impacted me even deeper still.

If you're reading this in a state of infertility, it is my hope that you will be encouraged that holding babies and being around children will not always be painful.  It's okay to decline holding babies.  Use your discretion in those moments.  You know where you are in this journey. 

If you're a friend of someone struggling with infertility, know that it's acceptable to ask if they want to hold your baby, but that asking is much better than simply handing them the baby.  Not everyone has a difficult time holding babies, in fact there are times when it is helpful and can ease the pain of infertility.  But be prepared to hear a "no, thank you" and know that it's nothing personal.  Also be prepared for a flood of tears, and know that that's not personal either.  A silent hug, an "I love you" or an "I'm sorry" (as in, I'm sorry you're in pain) is appropriate in that moment.

"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God." 

2Corinthians 1:3-4