Life Matters

People who know me well know that I am politically minded, perhaps to excess. I am a news and political commentary junkie, and express my opinions on current issues openly in face-to-face conversations. 

I have dialed back some of the vigor with which I engage in debate, and I hardly ever enter the fray online, since I find the lack of accountability and overall vitriol associated with the "mask" of the internet counterproductive when trying to have a legitimate conversation about the things that really matter. 

But I won't hold back in my opinion on this particular topic. First, because it has been a moral absolute for me since I was a teenager. Second, because it is so closely tied to everything I am dealing with in my own life right now.

Life matters.

I've said this before, in a variety of contexts. In some circles, it is met with nods of agreement and understanding. In others, it leads to a discussion of exceptions and extremes. And sadly, it has also been met with anger, accusation and demeaning attacks.

Life matters.

We are a day away from what I honestly, in the deepest parts of my soul, believe to be the greatest tragedy perpetrated against mankind, by mankind-the day that marks the anniversary of the Supreme Court decision of Roe vs. Wade. 

I am not debating the merits of the case that has redefined personal politics for over 40 years. 

I am stating something that I know now, more than ever to be true.

Life matters.

Since October, I have said goodbye to life. I firmly believe my first lost pregnancy in October was a twin pregnancy. I have no medical proof of that. I do have intuition and spiritual knowledge that has helped me to know that. Those babies came and went in the blink of an eye, but left an indelible mark on my life. And they were, contrary to what many would say, babies. Small as a grain of sand, but they were babies. They were life. 

My more recent loss, a little over two weeks ago, was more tangible. Pictures on the ultrasound tangible. Felt like a miracle tangible. A baby. A life created by people with the help of a talented physician and some powerful medication. Small, only a centimeter. A miniature peanut on the screen. An absolute life. 

The political fracas over abortion makes my head spin. Makes me sick. It always has. Now, more than ever. Because if those babies who are aborted 6, 8, 12, even up to 24 weeks are not life, then what are my little angels? 

Are they not life too? Were the moments I felt my heart connect to them and communicate with them nothing? Does the grief I feel over their in-utero deaths not exist?

We have devalued life to the point that we don't even recognize the miracle that exists when a life is created. It is an absolute, undeniable miracle.

I have watched dear friends lose children at different points. Some, when they were teenagers, and a gaping hole like none other has been left in the wake of their magnificent, sparkling, joyous lives. Others have lost babies after only days, and sometimes, minutes, of their birth. The hole left behind is no less real. Those lives mattered. They were miracles.

After three and a half years of trying to create a life, I am now, more than ever, convinced of its' majesty. It is no accident. It is not something to be made into a political fight. It has nothing to do with privacy. To end it, at any point, is a tragedy and I daresay, a sin that I cannot comprehend. 

I don't say this to ruffle feathers or pick a fight. 

I do say this to plead and implore that we each reexamine the value we place on life. 

There are medical considerations related to this subject that are hard to fit into my moral framework. I have had to work through those. My recent miscarriage came with the option of a D&C. I chose no, with the understanding it may become medically necessary. These things happen. Thank the Lord above for amazing medical advancements and technology.

But ending life out of choice, to stave off inconvenience, to run from responsibility, and sadly, even to avoid painful situations that leave horrible emotional scars, is something I cannot understand and will never support.

Life begins with the miracle of conception. Every life has a purpose. Every life is beautiful. 

Today, and for many days to come, I will weep for my own sweet angels, whose lives DO matter, and will matter forever.

I will also weep, as I have for many years, for the more than 55 million lives of babies that have ended since 1973. Their lives mattered. They DO matter. They will matter in the hereafter. 

I pray for those who have lost children, at any age, including before birth. I pray without judgement and with endless compassion for those who have chosen abortion in their own lives, that they will find peace and healing. 

I pray for us as a collective humanity, that we will see the value in all life - no matter how small. 

I close with the words of the blessed Mother Teresa from her courageous address to the National Catholic Prayer Breakfast in 1994, for she has said perfectly what I feel in my own heart. 

"But I feel that the greatest destroyer of peace today is abortion, because it is a war against the child, a direct killing of the innocent child, murder by the mother herself. And if we accept that a mother can kill even her own child, how can we tell other people not to kill one another? How do we persuade a woman not to have an abortion? As always, we must persuade her with love and we remind ourselves that love means to be willing to give until it hurts. Jesus gave even His life to love us. So, the mother who is thinking of abortion, should be helped to love, that is, to give until it hurts her plans, or her free time, to respect the life of her child. The father of that child, whoever he is, must also give until it hurts.

By abortion, the mother does not learn to love, but kills even her own child to solve her problems. And, by abortion, that father is told that he does not have to take any responsibility at all for the child he has brought into the world. The father is likely to put other women into the same trouble. So abortion just leads to more abortion. Any country that accepts abortion is not teaching its people to love, but to use any violence to get what they want. This is why the greatest destroyer of love and peace is abortion...

But what does God say to us? He says: “Even if a mother could forget her child, I will not forget you. I have carved you in the palm of my hand.” We are carved in the palm of His hand; that unborn child has been carved in the hand of God from conception and is called by God to love and to be loved, not only now in this life, but forever. God can never forget us."

~Mother Teresa, February 5, 1994,
The National Catholic Prayer Breakfast

Life matters.

Loss

For eleven days, we lived a dream. 

For eleven days, we were parents.

Fourteen days after our third IUI, there were two pink lines. Something I had waited years to see. 

There were kisses and tears and excitement flowed between us. We tempered our excitement with realism, knowing we needed to have a blood test for confirmation. The blood test came back positive. But my HCG levels were low. Only a 24. Low, but ripe with promise and potential. 36 hours later, they were at 60 and on track for a steady rise. We scheduled a 6 week ultrasound. 

We let close family and a few friends know. We held each other close. I prayed every day, saying "strong baby, healthy baby," over and over. I named our little angel "nugget" and hoped that he or she would hold on and be ours forever. 

I bought pants that would stretch with me for a few months. I started thinking about paint colors for the guest room. I read everything I could about having a healthy first trimester.

My body changed. I was exhausted. Sore. In desperate need to upgrade my bra size. Moody. Hungry, Bloated. Slightly crampy. Nauseated. 

Then, nine days after the test, five a half weeks into my pregnancy, the pain started. Tuesday and Wednesday nights were awful. I didn't sleep. I couldn't go to work. I clutched my tummy and just prayed it was progesterone side effects. The pain stopped. I went to work on Thursday morning. I started bleeding lightly. I threw up in the bathroom and left work immediately.

I went home, called the doctor frantically. I went in for a scan, and the ultrasound didn't show anything. No yolk sac. No heartbeat. It was still early, and possible that nothing would show up. I was sent to get blood work done. We held out hope that things were okay. 

Friday morning, there was a gush of red, and we knew. Our angel was gone. Tears and sobs and desperate aching. My blood levels showed a miscarriage. "Spontaneous abortion" was the official diagnosis.

So now I wait. Wait for the bleeding and pain to stop. Wait for the nightmare to end and dawn to break. Wait to be able to choke out a sentence without feeling like I am going to vomit. 

Three years. Three IUIs. Countless shots. Thousands of dollars. A million wishes and prayers and hopes. Gone in a moment and in a rush of blood.

I am exhausted and weak and broken. I do not understand. 

I awoke this morning with a horrible thought. The thought that I flushed my baby down the toilet yesterday morning. 

There are those that will try to placate me and say, "it was so early." Or, "it wasn't a baby yet."

They don't understand. In that magical moment when divinely appointed conception occurs, it is a baby. It is a life. It is full of hope and promise and that baby, small as a poppy seed, contains all of the promise of life. 

I know that early miscarriages happen because things aren't right. Genetically. Developmentally. They are Heavenly Father's way of mercifully taking care of things as gently and naturally as possible. 

Mercy hurts like hell. 

So we wait. And we pray. And I bleed. And I yell and cry and hit the wall. And I love my little angel that I miss desperately already.

We're not ready to talk about things in depth, but as we have opened our life and struggle to so many, we share the new of this tragedy and our deep sorrow as well. 

We'll try again. And again. And again. We will have a family.

And someday, we will meet our angel baby and my tears of sadness will turn to tears of joy and understanding. 

Pushing Through

A view of the waterfall in Bells Canyon

Two weeks ago, my husband and I went on a truly amazing hike. Well, it was amazing when we got to the top and were rewarded with the view of a hundred foot waterfall crashing into a mountain river, white spray misting through the air and sound thundering across the canyon. The whole way up to this waterfall, I was thinking, "why the crap did we do this?" I cursed in my mind (and OK, let's admit it, out loud) too many times to be proud of as I crawled up giant rocks, banging and scraping my knees and arms as I hoisted up and over the chunks of granite that peppered the forest floor. We climbed at a steep incline for the last mile and a half, and I felt my heart thudding in my chest in a steady rhythm as we kept ascending, stopping only briefly for to rest our aching knees and ankles. We hit several false summits, and I was almost in tears by the last one. 

When we finally reached the top of the trail and scrambled down to the waterfall, the sight was absolutely breathtaking. The way down was equally as difficult in terms of impact, but we reached the bottom with a sense of exuberance and accomplishment. I couldn't help but be struck by the symbolism of what we did. The hike was an exercise in pushing through the pain. Not pushing through by numbing out and shutting down, but by acutely feeling the pain and difficulty in every step, and still moving forward. I can't say I enjoyed the actual process of pushing through, but I do value what is on the other side of that-the knowledge and assurance that I can do really hard things and those things can make me mentally, emotionally and physically stronger. 

I think my life right now is defined by this idea of pushing through the pain. I shut down completely from January to June this year-work necessitated a level of focus, commitment, and composure that demanded I not turn into an emotional wreck that curled up on the classroom floor to join first-graders in their temper tantrums. When work ended, I slammed into a brick wall of all of the feelings that I hadn't been feeling. It was like being punched in the gut. But I am learning that walking through each day in emotional pain is preferable to walking through each day feeling nothing at all. I hate the way I feel sometimes. It is torture to be around children for me. I want to burst into tears at the sight of them. I can't handle being in the same room as a pregnant woman. I can't even watch the adorable videos the people I am closest to in my life post of their beautiful babies on Facebook because I know that they will send me into complete meltdowns. I am overcome so many days with absolute despair. It is really the most horrible, difficult thing I have ever experienced. But for the first time in months, I am actually experiencing it, and I am grateful for the companionship of my sweet, supportive husband and my Savior as He walks hand in hand beside me. Even when I am furious at Him for making me endure this hell. But I will take angry over indifferent, and I know He will too. 

We are only a tiny step closer to an end to project baby (whatever that end may be). After two months of very, very unpleasant hormone supplements to suppress a persistent cyst on my right ovary, I have the go-ahead to go off them. These pills made me feel like garbage-emotionally and physically. At the end of taking them, the cyst on my right ovary is resolved, but there is a small one on the left ovary now. Dr. Peterson has now seen enough of a pattern to classify them as alternating functional cysts (hormone producing) rather than endometriosis, which I guess is good news. I need three weeks to clear my system and return to a normal cycle, and then we start all of the fertility drugs again. We have waited 6 months for this, so we are anxious to try again. I am hopeful that the perfect storm will hit-I'll be pumped up on the drugs, husband will be in the last two months of his zinc/folic acid supplement trial, and I will be in a place where I am not only mentally but physically healthy, and the magic will happen. We get three chances at the magic. Then, the conversation will have to change.

Due to my low AMH levels (eggs in reserve), our doctor wants us to start talking about IVF if our current plan of action doesn't work. I have never wanted to pursue IVF, however, as our church has moved away from facilitating very affordable adoptions, a $15,000 IVF package has suddenly become the more affordable option. I don't know how I feel about it yet. I think that's a mountain that I will wait until the last possible minute to even consider climbing. 

The rest of the summer will provide plenty of chances for growth and fun and pushing through the pain. We have some great (hard!) hikes planned. I am working out like a crazy woman each day and it is definitely giving me an Elle Woods-esque rush of endorphines (because happy people just don't shoot their husbands). I am spending lots of time with my husband who I adore more and more each day. Isn't it amazing how you only fall deeper in love with someone as you struggle through the hard stuff together? We have a great vacation to Florida (yay for Disney and Harry Potter world!) planned for the end of July/beginning of August. I know I am going to keep hurting through all of this, and I don't think that will change. But I can see a way to appreciate the good things while I am hurting. 

I may be scraped up, bruised, prone to crying in the presence of small-children, and soon to be pumped full of more hormones, but I am still climbing, and anticipating whatever view awaits me at the top. 

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. 

The Empty Room

There is an empty room in my house. Ok, so it’s not exactly empty.  It’s the room my husband conceived and created on his own when he lived in our condo by himself. The walls are a dark blue. The décor is composed of primary colors. The visages that stare out from the border lining the walls are those of…superheroes. Yes, we have a superhero room in our house. Captain America, Spiderman and Batman grace this room with their presence. For now. Someday, this room will be our baby room. And because of that, the room is empty.

This room is a holding pen, literally and figuratively. It’s the room we use for storage-Christmas decorations, craft supplies, workout clothes that we hold on to and never use. It’s the catch-all room for everything that doesn't have a place to go, which seriously makes me laugh, because I know exactly what I would put in that room if I had a choice. The room holds nothing of real value and at the same time, contains the essence of everything that I dream of. In my life, I feel like it is the height of irony.

To extend this empty room irony a bit further, I have been bombarded with a pile of free baby stuff. I am beyond grateful for all of this-swings, vibrating bouncy chairs, a pack and play, high-chair, glider, bags of baby clothes, maternity clothes, bottles, and nursing equipment. It is seriously amazing. It will be a huge blessing down the road. But oh.my.gosh. every time I see these amazing blessings disguised as knives in my heart, I cannot help but cry. So I have an empty womb, an empty room, and a massive collection of stuff for a baby that doesn't exist. If it weren't able to laugh about how weirdly twisted this all is, I would probably never get out of bed in the morning.

I formulated an attack plan last weekend. BJ and I spring-cleaned the house from top to bottom. The first room I tackled was the empty room. I sorted through the clutter and got rid of everything that wasn't absolutely essential. Everything is organized and packed into boxes. I put the baby swings, pack and play and high chair in the closet and closed the door. I placed the glider by the window. I put the clothes, bottles and other small items in a tote and closed the lid. I thought it would all make me feel better. After I was finished, I didn't feel better. It felt like I packed up my dream and hid it in the closet. Out of sight and locked up tight.

I don’t know what I am going to do about the empty room. I think it’s a work in progress, a lot like me. The OCD and hyper-vigilant part of me hates this idea of being unfinished and unresolved. The part of me that is trying to be more open and honest about how much this hurts is whispering to me that it’s ok to let the room be empty, and that just because it is empty, and things are packed into the closet, it doesn't mean that I have packed away my dream.

Sometimes I go in the empty room to sit quietly and think about what it will be like when there is a baby to fill it. You know, when I haven’t showered in days, and the diaper pail is overflowing, and there is spit-up all over my yoga pants, and there is a perfect, precious, tiny soul swaddled in my arms. There is a palpable ache in the core of my body and soul, a psychosomatic manifestation of how much I want this little angel. At times like these, for a moment, the room doesn't feel so empty. Then I start fantasizing about painting the walls and removing the superhero border, and ridding the room of all traces of the Justice League, Christmas decorations and piles of displaced minutiae, and a smile plays across my face. Just breathe, and learn to keep breathing.

There is an empty room in my house.  Ok, so it’s not exactly empty. It’s full of hope and promise, fear and anticipation, boundless love and fierce desire. And baby stuff. Lots of baby stuff.

Acceptance

Accepting change is hard. Beyond hard. It is the first step towards a reformation of one's self. I hate it. But I am trying.

On the outside, I have always been someone who projects an appearance of being "together" and "settled." I cling to this idea as if it is a life-raft to save me from certain drowning. My first foray into blogging was very much tied to this idea of projecting perfection to some sort of all-knowing, all-judging internet audience. You know, those people who actually create the amazing things we all drool over on Pinterest. Who bake layer cakes each week, grow their own vegetable gardens, re-purpose their husband's shirts into baby clothes and take family pictures with perfectly styled and coiffed children sprawled on vintage velvet couches drug over an abandoned railroad track. I wanted to be these women. I taught myself photography. I searched for, created and perfected recipes that I thought these people would like and approve of. I went out of my way to prioritize writing for them and what I believed they wanted. Then I realized, these people do not really exist.

We get snapshots of people's best in the online community. We see picture-perfect homes that put Better Homes & Gardens to shame. We see the epitome of their baking and culinary prowess presented on a perfectly-styled table. We see the best DIY projects they have ever completed in their adorable little lives. What we don't see are the many days spent in yoga pants, weighing the value of a shower against the value of a nap. We don't see the cake that fell flat at 11 PM before it ever made it out of the oven. We don't see the stress over bills, children and relationships. Everyone has their best, and that is great. Everyone has their "not best," and that is great too. So, in the spirit of embracing all the elements that make someone truly whole, I am going to put myself out there in as unedited and authentic a way as possible.

I want to share things that are good. Things that are joyful. Inspiring. Uplifting. But I want to share things that are real. Experiences that affirm what I know to be true-that the opposite of pain is not happiness, but joy. And joy is a complex emotion, tinged around the edges with discouragement, disappointment and heartache, and rooted at it's center in indescribable beauty and pure love. And that you can never have joy without pain.

This blog will be me-who I am, and who I am becoming. I love to cook and bake, so there will be some of that. I love my faith, so there will be some of that. I love my family and the support and delight they pour into my life, so there will be lots of that. There will be a documentation of my journey into healing self through natural and holistic means. There will be a whole mess of things about the struggles I have with my mind and body. And there will be a lot about my deepest desires to have a child, and the nearly two-year journey (thus far unsuccessful) my husband and I have been on to make that a reality. 

I hope that this is something that can help others who live in the same state of flux, growth and back-and-forth that I do. If you read it to gain an insight into a wonderfully imperfect life, then that is good. If you read it to find commonalities with someone who regularly wears sweatpants and binges on Netflix, then you have truly found a kindred spirit. I hope that my efforts to share and document my life authentically contribute something to those who take a few moments to read what I have crafted here. 

Welcome to Wit and Wishes.