Two Week Wait

Fifteen minutes at an early morning doctor's appointment was all it took to change my world.

Early on Friday morning, we bundled up and walked in the dark to our internal ultrasound appointment, breath puffing out like smoke against the cold morning air. The ten days before the appointment were ones spent in relative panic, fueled by irrational Google searches about 29-year old women declared barren and free of eggs and whose uterine cavities had been consumed by endometriosis. Stupid internet. Stupid baby-hungry brain.

We walked into an empty clinic office and took a seat in the waiting area. Within three minutes, we had been called back and Dr. Peterson was waiting for us with a wide smile. He had me get settled into the ultrasound room, stepped out to let me get all arranged from the waist down in a sheet, and then we did the ultrasound.

To my shock, he said, "your uterus looks great, no endometriosis, and while we're in here, since it's day 11 of your cycle, we can go ahead and check your egg follicles." He shifted the ultrasound wand and a round black spot showed up on the screen. An 18 millimeter egg follicle on the right side. Dr. Peterson noted the size and said, "that looks great. Almost ready to release. Let's check the other side, but it's rare to have them on both ovaries. Well, except for you, apparently." I had another mature, dominant follicle on the left side, at 21 mm. He noted all of the sizes, and told me that we would do an Intrauterine Insemination on Sunday morning. He prescribed an HCG trigger shot  for me to give myself on Friday night to stimulate the release of the eggs on Sunday morning, and twelve days of progesterone to be taken after the IUI to prepare the lining of my uterus for implantation.

The next 36 hours were a blur. I gave myself the trigger shot in my lower abdomen on Friday. I felt a little nauseated, and since then have felt this weird seasick feeling in my lower body-my uterine area down through my legs. Saturday night and Sunday I had some twinging around both of my ovaries, which I assume were the follicles rupturing. Sunday morning I had a major temperature drop, which can be indicative of ovulation if followed by a sustained rise over the next few days, and so far the pattern is holding steady. We began a fast on Saturday night (along with many dear friends and family members) and prayed especially for this procedure to work if it was God's will. I slept well, and felt peaceful.

On Sunday morning, I woke up at 6:15, showered, got ready, and tried to quell the anxiety in the pit of my stomach. My HSG in August was so traumatic that the thought of a date with another speculum and catheter scared the daylights out of me. All day, I felt the comfort of Heavenly Father with me as we went through every moment of the procedure.

I spent most of the day amazed not only by how simple this procedure was, but also by how many couples IUI has blessed. After the andrology and IVF lab had all of the necessary materials for the procedure, BJ and I went to relax for an hour while they centrifuged and prepared the "sample" for the insemination. They basically spin all of the really good quality stuff to the top, eliminate the toxins and other materials that can inhibit conception, and then pump it up on a sugar substance like Red Bull to give it some extra pep in it's step. Pretty cool. Pretty amazing.

When we returned to the fertility center, we waited for about ten minutes with a few other couples. We all had the same look on our faces: hopeful anticipation, radiant joy, and an underlying quiver of fear and doubt. When you plunk down between $400 and $500 to do what nature intended for you to do on your own, it messes with your head. This was our first time, and I felt like there was a roller coaster in my stomach. Some of those couples may have been on their second, third, or fourth try. There was a strange sense of silent solidarity in that room. For a moment, I thought my heart would burst from the outpouring of love I felt for those other couples. When the nurse came to bring us back to the room, I had tears in my eyes.

The insemination was very fast. From speculum in to speculum out, it was a matter of about three minutes. I explained my HSG-related trauma to the procedure nurse, and she was very gentle and had no problems reaching my cervix or threading the catheter through. She had us check the labels on the insemination vial about 20 times (wouldn't that be a nightmare if it were the wrong vial!), and then connected it to the catheter, and boom, we were done. She wished us luck, and then I got to lay there for fifteen minutes with my legs up to give the little guys their best chance of saying hello to my egg. All I experienced from the actual procedure was some very mild cramping.

In two weeks, I can do a home pregnancy test, and if it is positive, I will do a blood test. If it is negative, then we move on to another cycle with some fertility drugs, and we do it all again.

I am nervous, hopeful and excited all at once. I am also crazy emotional and hopped up on hormones that make my cry at the drop of a hat. In the middle of the grocery store. About not being able to find the right kind of oranges that are on sale. Sigh.

We don't know what is going to happen, but we will soldier through whatever the result is. If our test is positive, we will tell family and close friends, and wait a few weeks until the ultrasound to establish a heartbeat before telling everyone else. If it is negative, we will need some time to process, regroup and reassess before talking about it. The whole purpose of this blog is to share and connect with others experiencing the same struggles, and I want to be open and vulnerable about everything that I am experiencing. Sometimes it just takes a little time to be able to be open.

Fifteen minutes changed the course of our lives. In two weeks, we will have a similar experience as we find out whether or not we were successful. Just a few moments in the grand expanse of time.

So we wait out those two weeks, and we pray, and we hope and we dream, for ourselves and for everyone else who is trying to have their own little angel.

Bread and Stones

For me, the past three months have been all about learning the difference between bread and stones, and realizing that sometimes what I think are stones actually turn out to be bread. Blessings and trials-one and the same. Oh, what a complicated path we all walk. 

Six weeks ago, I walked away from a full-time teaching position at a great school after my first day of training and orientation. I had spent nearly six months anticipating what this new position would bring to my life, feeling unsure and unsettled about the opportunity the entire time. Sometimes, you do what you feel is necessary to take care of your family, like accepting a job that you have very mixed feelings about. And sometimes Heavenly Father smacks you over the head with a two-by-four less than a week before students arrive and tells you to get the heck out of dodge. So I cried the whole way home from my first day of training, had a very long talk with my amazing and supportive husband, prayed and asked for guidance, and drove the hour commute the next morning at 6 AM to inform the director of the school that I was resigning. I felt as if I were begging for bread and kept receiving nothing but stones to satiate my hunger.

Here's the thing-this job would have precluded me from doing everything I need to do to make sure we have a family. There is nothing on this earth more important to me than my current and future family. And at 29, I don't have the luxury of time or flexibility to play the waiting game any longer. I need to aggressively pursue my options to make a baby a reality-whether that is through fertility treatments or adoption. A two to three hour daily commute, severely restrictive leave policies, an insanely demanding schedule for uncompensated work time, and a seriously bad feeling in the pit of my stomach meant that my only choice was to walk away. Leaving this position turned out to be bread after all. 

But walking away blew up ALL of our life plans in a matter of seconds. No dual income. No chance to save for adoption or fertility treatments. No life that we had dreamed of and anticipated. 

God has a way of guiding you through the stormiest of times and bringing you back into a safe harbor. In the midst of all of this turmoil, I felt His hand guiding us toward a new and better route. Even though the trip has been scary, and the hard times are likely far from over, we know that we are in His hands, and that He will never, ever leave us. And He will teach us the difference between bread and stones.

Within a week of leaving my full-time position, I was set up to regularly substitute teach at a local elementary charter school. In the next few weeks, I will begin back-to-back long-term subbing positions at this school, working full-time until at least February. The school is amazing, is less than 10 minutes from home, and is exactly what I needed in my life at this moment. My sweet husband was given the opportunity to work from home and was also was promoted and given a substantial raise. We have seen the Lord's hand in our life, handing us bread, the essence of life, making up for what we lost, and leading us to something better and more fulfilling. Things still are not easy, but they are definitely looking up. 

Which brings us to the most important goal of all-operation baby. Now that I am working close to home, I have the time and ability to attend my needed fertility appointments. In August, after my HSG procedure, I was referred to a Reproductive Endocrinologist at the Utah Center for Reproductive Medicine, part of the University of Utah medical services. My potentially arcuate uterus needs further study, and my wacky periods and ovulation need more evaluation. 

BJ and I left bright and early this morning for our appointment with Dr. Peterson. I was nervous and excited and really anxious. After spending fifteen minutes trying to find the office and arriving late, my blood pressure was through the roof and wouldn't even register on the machine. The nurse was very patient with us as I calmed down and returned to some semblance of normalcy. A million questions about our medical histories later, the doctor joined us and our short, sweet and productive meeting commenced.

Basically, Dr. Peterson laid out a short term plan to get us pregnant as quickly and naturally as possible. Today, I had a blood test to check my AMH levels to tell us how many viable eggs I have left. Next Friday, I have an internal ultrasound scheduled to evaluate ammenorrhea, or painful periods, to make sure I don't have endometriosis...which is also a convenient way to have an insurance-covered diagnostic ultrasound done to check my arcuate uterus and the development of my egg follicles this month (since we scheduled the ultrasound on cycle day 11). As long as things check out okay with my uterus and I don't have endometriosis (which is very unlikely), and I have a developing egg follicle, I will get a shot to stimulate ovulation. Several days later, they will mix my hubby's little swimmers with the equivalent of Red Bull to get them good and energized, and we will do an intra-uterine insemination procedure. This could potentially all happen by the 21st or 22nd of October, so it is moving very quickly. We will do one natural cycle of this approach, and if it does not work (or I do end up presenting with endometriosis), we will move to a maximum of three medicated cycles of Clomid, Red Bull for the little guys, and IUI procedures with follicle ultrasound monitoring. Right now, it feels like bread is raining down from heaven.

Phew-that is a lot of words. But it is a PLAN. A REAL PLAN. We are so grateful for it, and for a team of doctors that want us to get pregnant quickly and naturally. It may or may not be successful. But we are going to give it everything we have and work through these next four months (hopefully only one!) with faith and vigor. 

These last three months have been pretty hellish for us. Disappointment piles up and begins to choke you out of your own life. Walking away from that job was the first time I have felt sunshine in my life in a long time. Having new opportunities and blessings presented to us increased the light in my life. Today, our amazing doctor blew the rest of the clouds away and let the sunshine stream into our lives with his amazing gifts and talents. We are cautiously optimistic, but so hopeful at the end of the day, because we know the Master is in control, and can see so far past what we can ever imagine.

One of my favorite songs offers a window into how I feel on the days that I am both discouraged and uplifted. I never knew it was possible to have both of these feelings at once. But infertility opens windows and doors into emotions I never knew existed. My struggle is my own. Others may try for years for a baby and never arrive at that result. I may be one of those women. But the words in this song help me to hold on when I feel the need to despair (so what if walking through Deseret Book and hearing it playing makes me burst into tears in front of other customers). And as the last notes fade away, I feel nothing but hope that we will somehow, someday, be parents. In the song, "Better Promises," Hillary Weeks sings, 

"You gave me bread, 

but I thought it was a stone, 

and before You could tell me yes, 

You had to tell me no. 

If you had given me what I wanted, 

I would not have seen, 

that You had better promises for me."

I know that He has better promises for me. Promises greater than I can ever imagine. Perhaps BJ and I needed more preparation to become parents. Maybe we needed BJ's promotion and raise. Possibly, I needed to have an Abraham and Isaac moment with my faith and was tested with confusing job opportunities. We may be people that Dr. Peterson needs to bless with his incredible gifts and talents. We most definitely need to learn patience. And maybe there is a baby out there who may come to us through adoption. We don't know. But I know that He will calm us so we can ride out the storm, and if we reach out our hands, we can walk to Him on the rough waters of life. 

So internal ultrasound and (more likely than not) IUI, here we come. 

Step one on the journey of the rest of our lives.

Step one in realizing that what we believe to be stones may be bread after all. 

The Flyer Comet

When I was twelve, the scariest thing in the world to me was the roller coaster at our local, historic amusement park. The star attraction at Whalom Park was The Flyer Comet, a classic wooden coaster, perched on the shore of a lake in central Massachusetts, and by the time I was old enough to ride it's rickety tracks and dilapidated cart train, had been in operation for nearly 60 years. The Flyer Comet was a hallmark of New England culture, and the fact that the entire structure shook as you whooshed around the curves, and that the paint flaked off in sheets as metal wheels clacked over the worn track wasn't enough to deter thrill-seekers from riding the ancient attraction. The scariest part of riding the Flyer Comet was a section they called "the black hole," which was a covered portion of track built over a steep drop (often rumored to cover faulty portions of the structure). For a few seconds, the darkness enveloped you, your heart raced, stomach churned, and mind spiraled, before you shot out the other side into brilliant sunlight over deep blue water, arms raised to touch the sky with outstretched fingertips, heart full of exultant joy and body buzzing with adrenaline. 

I feel like I am stuck on the Flyer Comet, trapped in the "black hole," and I can't get off the ride. 

In the past ten days, I have walked away from a full-time teaching opportunity less than a week before school started, created a new plan for employment wholly dependent on substitute teaching jobs, and found out that our problems having a baby may be more serious than we initially thought. I am spiraling, sometimes it feels like without direction, but banking on that moment of shooting out of the "black hole," hands raised joyously toward the heavens, lungs bursting and heart soaring as light overcomes darkness and hope fills my soul. 

For the first time on my life, I am running on nothing but faith. There is something exhilarating and liberating about turning control over to God and opening yourself to His goodness and glory to satisfy every possible need. There is something awesome and humbling about knowing that after doing everything in your power to satisfy your temporal and eternal needs, it will never be enough without His grace. So while I am terrified and stuck on what seems like an endless trip through the "black hole," I know with a faith that burns hotter than any earthly flame, that if we live our faith daily, commit ourselves to Him, see the needed specialists to help us have a baby, and work our hardest to meet our financial needs, He will help us achieve our eternal and paramount goal of a family. There is no way to meet that goal running on our old plan of working 65-70 hours a week teaching and commuting. So we have a new plan. 

The new plan is this-give it our all. Keep our heads up. Be flexible. Be receptive to the Holy Spirit. Move forward with faith. Steel ourselves. And wait for the sun to come back.

We need to find out if I have a misshapen uterus that could challenge carrying a healthy baby to term. We need to find out if I am able to ovulate at all. We are at a point of moving beyond the help that my OBGYN can give us. We are upping the ante. We have our first reproductive endocrinologist appointment on October 8th.  We need to find a way to meet our financial obligations on a reduced income. But I know that he will help us to do all of those things, because more than anything else, He wants us to have a family and to know the full spectrum of experience that raising children will bring us. And He and BJ and I will do whatever we need to do and are inspired to do to make that happen. 

I have a feeling the Flyer Comet and I have a few more rounds to go, but the moment of transformation from inky darkness to brilliant light will make every second of the experience worthwhile. 

So we soar on through the darkness just before dawn. Heads up. Hearts full of love. Hands stretched to the sky. 

A Tale of Five Catheters

I don't know about you, but a speculum is my most favorite medical instrument in the entire world. I was so lucky, that I got to be speculumed twice in 10 minutes today. I also got to experience having no less than 5 catheters threaded up through my cervix. Aren't you just dripping with jealousy? Apologies in advance for the absolute "TMI" nature of this post.

It doesn't matter how many times you put on that flimsy little doctor's office nightgown, pop your feet into the stirrups, and display your lady parts in all their glory for a pap smear-it never gets any less awkward. Now, take yourself out of the comfort of your regular gyno's office, put yourself in cold and sterile hospital environment with people you have never met, and multiply the weirdness of a pap smear by 10, and you have yourself a delightful little procedure called a Hysterosalpingogram (HSG). 

I was terrified to have this done. I know several people who have a had a range of experiences with the HSG, and 98% of people who post about theirs online sum it up with a description like, "it was worse than childbirth," and "I wanted to die," and "I felt like my entire abdomen was on fire." So naturally, as a person with some fabulously convenient anxiety issues, I have spent the last 10 days freaking out about this procedure. I expected the worst pain of my life. I expected to kick the doctor in the face with my rubberized sock-clad foot, leap off the table, and tear down the hallway, knocking carts of medical supplies over as I made my great escape from the hospital wearing only a flimsy johnny. I am happy to report that this did not happen.

It was awkward as all get out. I would even venture to say that next to the bladder infection/UTI from hell last summer, it was my least favorite medical experience ever. But I did not want to die, or have a flaming uterus, although I did come close to kicking the doctor in the face. Thank heavens I didn't actually do it. But it was sort of a comedy of errors, bordering on, "you have got to be freaking kidding me!" 

BJ took the day off from work and came with me. Which was both for support, and necessary, since I was buzzed on 1000 mg Ibuprofen, 1000 mg of extra-strength Tylenol, and a 1 mg of Xanax. My OB realized how completely freaked I was about doing this and was very willing to help me be as medicated as possible. By the time we got to the radiology department at LDS hospital, I was enjoying not being able to feel my lips or tongue, and definitely grateful that every attempt by my stomach to do flips was quelled by the effect of benzodiazepines. Thank you, drug companies the world over for that little slice of heaven. As soon as I was called back into the changing area and instructed to put on the johnny, scrub pants and grippy, rubberized socks, I was keenly aware of everything that was going on. Instead of having a panic attack freak out, I just got super emotional and started streaming tears down my cheeks. The cute x-ray technician was very sweet, offered a lot of comfort and support, and fetched hubby from the waiting room to accompany me through the rest of the procedure.

My OB was supposed to perform the HSG, but was called out for a delivery, so a PA in the radiology department did it, assisted by the nice x-ray tech, Toni. They were incredibly gentle and sensitive and explained everything that was going to happen and were incredibly respectful of my modesty and obvious discomfort. But it doesn't matter how many times you have someone use a speculum on you-it never, ever becomes less awkward or unpleasant. And today was no exception.

After the first speculum insertion, they went ahead and inserted a long, thin catheter with a balloon on the end that is used to push the dye into the uterus. As the PA worked with the catheter, she said that "my cervix wasn't happy about this." Um, yup. Definitely not. Last time I checked, no cervix is too happy about getting snuggly with a catheter. Ugh. So the catheter goes in, causes a bunch of super-uncomfortable pressure and cramping, and then, the balloon on the end breaks. Oh yes. That's right. So out it comes, and in goes another. Everything is good, the dye goes in, speculum comes out, I am slid under the x-ray imager, there is a lot more cramping and discomfort as I feel the dye surge up and through my lady parts, and as I watch the screen above me, my uterus fills with the contrast dye and the left tube fills and spills beautifully. I can see my ovary and tube perfectly, and it's great. The PA adds more pressure to force dye into the right tube. I clench BJ's hand because it hurts and cramps like the dickens, and what happens? The catheter comes out. Just pops right out. The pressure chose the path of least resistance, and just popped the danged thing out of me.

The PA apologized multiple times, said the tube filled partially, but she would like to do it again to see if it can fill and spill completely. She asked if it is ok. I am laying on a table, gown hiked up, husband holding my hand, cramping like the worst period of my life times 10, and she wants to put that danged speculum back in and try again? GAHHHH. Of course, I said yes, because I was NOT coming back for another test unless hell froze over. So a bunch of pillows get stuck under my back to change the angle, the speculum goes back in, the catheter is reinserted, and it breaks AGAIN. Another catheter goes in. Breaks AGAIN. I flippin' kid you not. At this point, I am starting to cry, my uterus hates me, and all I want to do is kick the very nice PA in the face (and she was honestly so, so nice) and leave an imprint of the rubberized sock on her cute face. 

The PA asks for a different type of catheter that is smaller and has a c-shaped clamp on it to make is stay inside of my cervix. I felt that one going in like a razor blade. But it stayed. Out goes the speculum, in goes the dye, the cramps and pressure surge again, and my right tube spills. It wasn't as intense a flow as the dye through the left tube, but it was spilled and both tubes were declared open. The PA said there could have been a mucus plug or something blocking it, but it was flowing freely when we were done. Out came the catheter, and the cramps surged for several minutes while I lay on the table, totally exhausted. She explained that because of the clamp on the last catheter, I would have some significant bleeding. They covered me with a nice, warm blanket, swaddled my bottom area with a Gandhi-like towel diaper, and went over the images with me. 

My left tube looks great. The ovary was visible and nicely shaped. The right tube is also open, but took a lot more effort and pressure, and may have been cleared by the contrast material. The ovary doesn't look as well-developed, and that could be playing a role in my irregular ovulation. Both tube structures looked great. Your uterus should look like an upside down pear, and mine had a dip at the top. She said she needed to do an official measurement as she wrote her report for my OB, because that can be problematic, but that it was mild and more likely than not is nothing to be concerned about. If it is a concern, it would make my pregnancy a bit more risky and I would need closer monitoring and possibly a C-Section for delivery. It all depends on that official measurement. I will know more about that next week.

After resting on the table for a while, I sat up and let some of the dye work it's way out. Then it was off to the bathroom in my Gandhi-getup to deal with the blood and dye, and to get dressed and put on a lovely diaper-like pad, which I get to continue sporting for a good 24-48 hours. Awesome. 

Overall, it was less horrible than what I was prepared for, but it was no walk in the park. I am so thankful for my supportive husband and proactive doctor. I am beyond grateful for answers. I know my tubes are functional. I probably have one that works better than the other. We have information to move forward with a cycle of Clomid in September/October. I don't have any adhesions, growths, or anything majorly wrong. I can deal with having a twice-inserted speculum, five catheters, some bleeding nasty cramps, a diaper to soak up the leaking dye and Xanax haze if it helps us get closer to having a baby.

I received a number of blessings from my husband and a good friend to help heal and comfort me before the procedure. I totally loaded up on the drugs. I hate to think about what it would have been like without them. I am still feeling the effects of the Xanax and have been popping ibuprofen all day to help with the residual cramping. My best friend received the next best thing to a drunk dial from me after the procedure, and as she said so eloquently, I was clearly trying to outdo Lindsay Lohan with my pill consumption. I definitely felt like a loopy, drugged up person for the afternoon, and slept for several hours when I got home.

So, HSG. I fought you, and I definitely feel like I won in the final moments of the battle. But I NEVER, EVER want to do that again. Five catheters. Five stinkin' catheters. Blech. 

Tests, More Tests, and Avoiding Becoming the Next Octo-Mom

I realized something last Monday at my fertility consultation. Those charts, diagrams and explanations of bodily functions displayed on the wall of the OBGYN's office don't make you feel awkward until you spend 45 minutes in that room with your husband waiting to talk to the doctor. I think that by the end of the experience, BJ was more informed about the internal structure of the baby-making woman parts than he could have ever wanted to be. He was a total trooper though, especially because cute Dr. Laine spent 90% of the time really only talking to me while he sat in the chair next to the paper-covered exam and rubbed my knee while we talked strategy for Operation Baby. Oh, and the appointment was the day before our two-year anniversary...what a great way to celebrate!

This was my first time actually meeting my OB (I have worked with her Nurse Practitioner and Medical Assistant) . She is incredibly nice, down to earth, and best of all, pretty realistic and conservative in her approach to maximizing my fertility. Going on Clomid scares the crud out of me. My mom is a fraternal twin, and my risk of having twins is pretty high as it is without blitzing my follicles with Clomid. Dr. Laine said something to the effect of, "when you want a baby so badly, twins sound wonderful. The reality of a twin pregnancy and the first years of parenting twins is a really different story." I would prefer to achieve pregnancy as conservatively as possible, and it makes me feel a lot better to have a doctor that didn't just bust out the prescription pad for fertility drugs five minutes after meeting me. I feel good about sticking with Dr. Laine through these next few months as we figure out what is going on with me, and confident that she will refer me to any needed specialists when the time is appropriate.

So the long and short of our appointment was that my basal body temperature charting seems to be indicating irregular ovulation, and likely periods of anovulation. It looks like I am ovulating every other month, and irregularly at that, so there may be an issue with my Fallopian tubes. I had my progesterone tested two weeks in a row, and I am definitely not ovulating this month. We also broached that oh-so-lovely and tender conversation about weight again, but Dr. Laine was so gentle and kind. After sharing her own experiences with struggling with her weight, she said I was down 10 pounds from my last appointment, and over the next 8 weeks or so, would like to see that downward trend continue. No "you must reach this weight for me to help you" ultimatum, no criticism of the fact that two years of unemployment and emotional stress have helped me to pack on some very unwanted pounds. Just some simple suggestions to help me continue to be successful, and an absolute insistence on small, meaningful changes and not a ridiculous crash diet.

The next step, beyond continuing to chart each day and continue testing my progesterone through my next cycle, is to have a Hysterosalpingography at the start of my next cycle in August. Basically, they will insert a catheter into my uterus, flood the uterus with contrast dye, and x-ray me to see if the dye flows normally through my Fallopian tubes. If the dye does, then we know that there isn't a blockage. If it doesn't, then we need to resolve the blockage, or come up with another plan. The test isn't terribly pleasant, is danged expensive, and may end up being inconclusive, but it is the next logical step, so we will be scheduling that soon. The silver lining is that woman have an increased rate of conception the month after the test is performed, so here's hoping. After the test, we will reconvene in September to go over everything and reevaluate our approach. It is likely that I will go on Clomid in September, but will be tracked by an endocrinologist to study my egg follicle development to be sure I am not going to end up as the next Octo-Mom. Shudder.

Overall, it was a positive experience, but definitely emotional. It doesn't matter what happens with Operation Baby, I end up in tears. I feel like I have what I need in place to move forward now-a wonderful husband, an army of people that I know pray for us, a Heavenly Father who loves us and will bless us for our righteous desires, and a medical specialist that can use her gifts to help us have a baby. But it doesn't make things easier, and I am really at peace with admitting openly that I am not okay with the fact that my reproductive system is on the fritz. In a world full of covering up hurt and struggle for the sake of appearance, I am getting more and more comfortable with just being okay with not being okay. 

Over the past few months, I feel like I have also had a lot of time to reflect on the inevitable question that all couples dealing with infertility must face, "How far will we go to make this happen?" Everyone has their own answer to that question, and that answer is one that is only arrived at with a lot of serious consideration. I know that for BJ and me, we are only willing to go so far. I will do the testing. I will do some fixes for internal problems I may have. I will take Clomid or it's equivalent. I will pursue intrauterine insemination. That is it for me. I will not do fertility shots. I will not undergo major surgery. I do not want to do invitro. If we cannot get to pregnancy on our own within those parameters, we will take the money we would be spending on fertility treatments, and move forward with the adoption process. If we are not successful by June of next year, we will go ahead with a home study and begin looking into our options. For me, the $10,000 I would spend on invitro would be better spent working with LDS family services to bring a darling baby that desperately needs a home into a family full of love, desire and acceptance. 

In my heart, I think our journey may take us down the path of both pregnancy and adoption. I am not sure at all how this will work out, and I am not all fine and dandy with the way things are, but I am grateful to be on a path and walking toward positive and productive action. I can't do this all on my own, but I can do it one step at a time, one day at a time, and with a mustard seed of faith. 

Expectations and Extremity

In my heart, I always believed that my I would be pregnant at the same time as my best friend, Aly, and Meredith Grey. Yes, Meredith Grey from "Grey's Anatomy."

It sounds totally nutters, but I am completely serious. Best friend and I have this intense soul-mateish relationship, a lot like Cristina and Meredith on Grey's Anatomy. She is my person. When one of us is having a hard day, the other can kick our butt out of bed and get us motivated. Or we can just watch endless hours of Netflix on the couch and be completely satisfied by just being. It is a special bond that can never be replicated. So, naturally, in my mind, Aly, Meredith and I would all be having babies together.

Imagine my disappointment when stupid Meredith Grey got pregnant before I did. I wanted to hit the TV and tell her that she has too many unresolved emotional issues to be bringing a child into the world. For heaven's sake, the girl was almost blown up by a bomb in a body cavity, quasi-committed suicide and died and came back to life, and messed with a clinical drug trial that could have cured Alzheimer's. It is not fair that she gets an adopted baby, a biological baby, and Patrick Dempsey. Ugh. 

Then, back in March, on my birthday, best friend calls me to tell me she is pregnant, and expecting her little bundle of cafe con leche joy (the baby of lily-white best friend and caramel Mexican husband is sure to be beautiful) in November. I was genuinely, completely, and absolutely thrilled for her. In every possible way. She will be an incredible mother, and her husband will be a wonderful father. I had none of the Meredith Grey-induced rage when Aly told me she was pregnant. We talked for a good hour about how important it was for her to tell me, because it would have been far worse not to tell out of fear of hurting me. So naturally, when we hung up the phone, and I looked down at my 9 month old niece that I was babysitting, I burst into tears. It is incredible how something so joyful, beautiful and incredibly happy can reduce me to a blubbering, bawling mess of a woman. I am not jealous. I am not angry. But I am aching inside and beyond disappointed that I am not part of this great fantasy of a pregnancy triumvirate that I have dreamed about for so long. 

Best friend and I talked today about them finding out the gender of baby Jimenez next week. I am thrilled for them. And I spent the better part of tonight wiping away tears as I mourned what feels like an incredible loss to me. I don't know how it is possible to mourn the loss of something you never had. Perhaps I am mourning what feels like the loss of a dream. I may never know exactly what this feeling is, but I know that it is all tangled up with feelings of happiness and joy for the person I am closest to in this life besides my husband. There must be something absolutely exquisite and wonderful on the other side of this personal hell, because I cannot see any other reason behind having to experience this gut-wrenching back and forth of emotions. 

Several years ago, before I met my husband, I experienced what was absolutely the most horrendous break-up of my life. I felt like my soul had been ripped from my body and that I was wrecked beyond all repair. There are really no words that can adequately describe how horrible things were. I know that there was some serious divine intervention that lifted my burden of anguish and pain to help prepare me to meet my husband six weeks later. Some valuable counsel that I received at the time was this statement: "We come to know God in our extremity." I thought I understood what that meant at the time-in terms of love lost and earth-shattering disappointment, I suppose that I did. But extremity is a far deeper and more complex idea that I could have ever realized. 

Extremity is the maximum extent of joy, and in it's opposite, pain. It is the highest high and the deepest low. The brightest day and the darkest night. I believe we experience extremity relative to our current path in life. Three years ago, my extremity was having my heart broken by the person I believed I would spend forever with. Two years ago, it was the palpable elation of marrying the most kind, gentle and wonderful man in the world for time and all eternity. Today, it is feeling a consistent sense of loss and emptiness as I yearn for a child that will fit perfectly in our arms and be bound to our hearts for eternity. It is feeling the most exultant and pure joy for my best friend as she prepares to welcome a perfect, heaven-sent soul into her life. It is weeping over the room that sits empty in my house, waiting to welcome our baby home. 

I do not know God yet, but He is revealing himself to me slowly in my extremity. And maybe that is what this struggle is all about. But for right now, I still hate Meredith Grey. 

A Trial of Faith

Normally, I don't write about deeply personal experiences of faith. I share them with people in my life through conversation, but sometimes sharing them online to a potentially wide audience seems strange and almost disrespectful. But I know that I need to share this, for all of the other women and men who may read this who are struggling with fertility, or perhaps any other crisis of faith or timing in their lives. I took a break from blogging over the past six weeks or so. Sometimes, baring your soul and struggles can be really difficult and very tiring. So I went on a blog-cation and then, today, I felt like I needed to write again.

On the positive front of Operation Baby-cute husband's testing all came back normal, and our fertility consultation is scheduled for July 17, a day after our second anniversary. That day feels like a light on the horizon for me, and I am remaining nervously optimistic for that meeting. 

But to be totally honest, I am struggling hard right now. As I have been temperature charting for a long period of time, I have felt like maybe, just maybe, I had pinpointed the optimal time for baby creation. I was so optimistic this month, even after taking three pregnancy tests that all came back negative. I left for a four day camp-out with the young women from my church, hopeful that I would return home and another test would be positive. Then, BAM, the need to take that test disappeared. I stood in the bathroom, crushed (but cognizant enough to resist the urge to curl up on the floor of the scary state park campground bathroom), then retreated to my tent to cry for a while. After I used every tissue I had to soak up the tears, I prayed. 

I have been struggling with praying for help with my fertility. Part of me feels like it is silly to pray about it-my body is my body, and it is going to do what it is going to do. The part of me that knows better, knows that I must pray about this. Prayer will bring comfort, guidance, peace, and purpose. But sometimes I am afraid of the knowledge that can come from prayer, because I have learned from experience that sometimes, prayer gives us God's answer, and not the answer we want for ourselves. And God's answer is always the right answer, but it can be a hard answer and a painful answer. My prayer (and it is a constant prayer that lives in my heart), did not give me the answer that I wanted. I did not feel like, "you will get pregnant," or, "this is the date that you will have your baby." I did feel something else.

After I prayed, I sat and reflected for a long time. I recorded some thoughts in my journal, and others were etched upon my heart. I thought about Abraham and Sarah. If Heavenly Father can help Sarah conceive, he will help me conceive. I thought about Isaac and Rebekah, and that she was "barren," and Isaac pleaded for their children, and they were blessed with twins. I thought about Rachel, and God "opening" her womb. I thought about Elisabeth and Zachariah, and how in old age, they were blessed with John the Baptist, who prepared the way for the work of the Savior. All of these women were righteous, dedicated, and covenant-keeping women. All of them were blessed. For some of them, it took many years.

In my journal, I wrote, "Even if my faith in my ability to conceive is weak, my faith in Christ can be strong."  We are asked to have faith as small as a mustard seed, and Heavenly Father will create miracles out of that faith. I may not be able to create a baby out of sheer will. My husband and I may need to be patient. We may need to seek more medical assistance. We may need to explore adoption. There are any number of possibilities. But I received, as an answer to my prayer, an assurance that, if I can exercise my faith in Christ,  Heavenly Father will work a miracle in my life. 

In the Bible Dictionary that comes as a reference in my scriptures (as part of the LDS canon of scripture-it references the Old and New Testaments), it says "Faith carries an assurance of the fulfillment of things hoped for...when there is true faith, there are miracles, visions, dreams and healings." I cannot describe the comfort that has come from reading those words. Faith, no matter how small, can bring miracles. 

Sometimes I feel that my faith may not even be that of a mustard seed. As I prayed, I remembered the account of the apostles in Luke 17. As the Savior teaches them about repentance and forgiveness, the apostles ask, "Lord, increase our faith." The apostles asked for an increase in their faith. Christ gave them the parable of the unprofitable servant and taught them greater lessons than they could have ever hoped for. If the apostles can ask for an increase in their faith and be taught and guided, any of His children can ask for an increase in their faith. I am praying for an increase in faith. I am praying for guidance. I am praying for understanding. I am praying for peace. In the midst of confusion, of turmoil, of deep anxiety and pain, I will stretch forth my hand to walk on the water to Him, my Savior, and when I feel as if I am to sink or be lost, He will reach for me and help me the rest of the way, as he did with Peter. " And he said, Come. And when Peter was come down out of the ship, he walked on the water, to go to Jesus. But when he saw the wind boisterous, he was afraid, and he began to sink, he cried, saying, Lord, save me. And immediately Jesus stretched forth His hand, and caught him." If I reach, He will take me by the hand. Whatever happens will be His will, and I will walk His path in faith.

After I finished praying and reflecting, I flipped back to an earlier entry in my journal. This entry contained only a scripture that I had written down on August 26, 2012. It spoke peace to my soul as I read it. The scripture is from the Book of Alma, from the Book of Mormon. For those who read this who are not of my faith, I ask you to examine the meaning and teaching of this scripture for yourself-it teaches a powerful truth consistent with the truths of the Bible, and testifies powerfully of Christ.

"And thou didst bear all these things with patience because the Lord was with thee, and thou knowest that the Lord did deliver thee...I would that ye would remember, that as much as ye shall put your trust in God, even so much ye shall be delivered out of your trials, and your troubles, and your afflictions, and ye shall be lifted up at the last day." (Alma 38: 3-5). 

I do not know exactly what is going to happen. I do not know the direction that our journey along the path of infertility will take us. But I am blessed to know and be reassured that if I have faith of even the smallest amount, that Christ will help me to be patient, understanding, and comforted. He will guide me and hold my hand as the storms rage around me. He will not take my trials and opportunities for growth and progression from me, but He will help me to walk through them with an open heart. He will help me to be like Rebekah and Elisabeth and Rachel and Sarah. He will open the way for us to have a family. And when I feel like I can't go on any longer, he will increase my faith. 

I don't know that I am much further along the path of understanding and progress than I was on Friday night when my period started and I wanted to lay on the floor of a scary state park campground bathroom and cry my eyes out, but I do know that I have felt Christ's companionship and love in these past few days that I haven't felt for a long time. I know that He was there with me in my tent as I cried, and that He was there as I prayed. And I know that the Son of God and the King of Kings and the Worker of Miracles is my friend, my comfort, and my brother, and that I will never be alone. And I know that through Him, we will someday have a family.