2200 Miles of Change

Lately I've felt a transformation taking hold of me, and I've been fighting it, but taking our vacation really locked it in.  You see, for many of my years of prayers and yearning for a child, I've been too stubborn and afraid to pray for anything other than what I so desperately desire: "Please God, hear my prayer; bless us with a child."  Isn't that how Hannah prayed afterall?  And she just kept on prayin' until God granted her request.  I once fancied myself a modern-day Hannah and thought I'd just keep praying until God granted my request, too.  And I've poured my energy into doing everything I felt was within my power to help make that happen: medications, surgeries, diets, supplements, shots, exercise, physical therapy, castor oil, massaging, acupuncture.  But years of negative test after negative test have made me wonder if I am nothing more than like a fish who longs to fly.  "Please God, please hear my prayer: bless me with wings so I may fly."  But can a fish ever take flight?  Can a fish do anything to make itself fly?  Is God ignoring its prayer- surely if God can raise Lazarus from the dead, He can make a fish fly.  And yet doesn't.  Because a fish is a fish and was created to swim, not to fly.  The anxiety of wondering, "Am I just a silly fish who thinks if she prays hard enough God will let her fly?" has burdened me to the point of despair, though in waves that ebb and flow (probably with the fluctuations in my hormones if I had to put money on it...)  Slowly my prayers turned into, "God, if motherhood is what you want for me, give me an affirmation and I will continue to work for it."  Adoption and otherwise.  It wasn't easy to open myself up to the possibility that God might say "NO," but I prayed it anyway.  And do you know what happened when I prayed this prayer?  Cycle day one coincided with a pregnancy announcement from a houseguest who had arrived that very day.  OUCH.  I couldn't get my Femara, so had to take a cycle off of tracking and triggering ovulation.  OH THE FRUSTRATION.  And at the moment I felt lower than I can remember ever feeling, having spent the morning in tears, another miracle pregnancy announcement came.  CRUSHING.  All within three days.  I try not to read too much into circumstances and interpret them as signs from God, but the timing of these events on the heels of my prayer felt like a message was being sent, "These blessings are NOT for you.  This life is for OTHER people.  NOT FOR YOU."

So... what if that is the message?   Do I have the strength to sincerely pray, "God not my will but yours," if His will be that I am never a mother?  Well, until our vacation, I don't think I did.  But I might be ready to pray that prayer now.  Just maybe.

Last Sunday M and I returned from a mega road trip that took us down south through Memphis to New Orleans, and back through Chattanooga, Nashville, and Mammoth Caves in Kentucky.  That's roughly 2200 miles, more than 30 hours of driving, and I think the times we had exploring new streets, sights, sounds, and foods combined with countless hours of reflection while driving transformed me.  We toured the birthplace of rock 'n' roll, visited Graceland, sampled beignets and gumbo, heard incredible music, and packed more into seven days than we'd gotten in since we'd last taken a vacation.  It had been SIX YEARS since we'd taken a proper vacation.  Granted, we're lucky to be only a few hours from some of the most beautiful beaches in the world, so we do get away on occasion each summer for a weekend here and there.  But a weekend isn't long enough to forget your troubles, and we've had our share the past few years.  The opportunity to leave them behind for a WHOLE WEEK and see a new part of the world acted as a medicine to my increasingly bitter, worn-out heart.  One of the benefits of feeling like you're getting nowhere with your diets and medicines and tests and shots is: that's the perfect excuse to say, "FORGET THEM" for the dedicated time you have for fun.  So I did!  I ate whatever I wanted, I mostly took my medicine but didn't stress about that or my cycle, what day it was, etc.  And I enjoyed every minute of our trip.  

And I learned an important lesson.  There can be life without kids.  It's not my first choice.  But before vacation the thought seemed like the end of the world to me.  And after vacation?  The thought stings a little less.  Having a spontaneous adventure (we hardly planned a thing- finding hotels wherever we felt like staying, and finding different points on the map along the way) showed me what an alternative life could be like.  Not that we'd all of the sudden become gypsy travelers if we never were able to have children, but we'd certainly have freedom to realize some of the bigger adventures we've talked and dreamed about.  I liberated myself from the constraints of diets, charting, scheduled med intake and the like.  And yes, I secretly hoped I'd be one of the girls that magically became pregnant because she didn't give a crap one cycle.  But no.  Of course I'm going to continue my treatment regimen, for now.  I've gone through too much to stop outright- yet- But I'm starting to be more comfortable with entertaining the thought that maybe I won't have kids.  Maybe I won't work so hard to try to MAKE it happen.  Maybe I'll sit back for a while and see how life naturally unfolds.  Maybe the doors will never open for us to pursue adoption.  Maybe I'll never conceive.  Maybe my dogs will be the only 'babies' I'll ever have.  And maybe, just maybe, that will actually be okay.  Have you entertained the 'what if' thought?  If so, I'd love to hear how you handle it.  

  

2200 Miles of Change

Lately I've felt a transformation taking hold of me, and I've been fighting it, but taking our vacation really locked it in.  You see, for many of my years of prayers and yearning for a child, I've been too stubborn and afraid to pray for anything other than what I so desperately desire: "Please God, hear my prayer; bless us with a child."  Isn't that how Hannah prayed afterall?  And she just kept on prayin' until God granted her request.  I once fancied myself a modern-day Hannah and thought I'd just keep praying until God granted my request, too.  And I've poured my energy into doing everything I felt was within my power to help make that happen: medications, surgeries, diets, supplements, shots, exercise, physical therapy, castor oil, massaging, acupuncture.  But years of negative test after negative test have made me wonder if I am nothing more than like a fish who longs to fly.  "Please God, please hear my prayer: bless me with wings so I may fly."  But can a fish ever take flight?  Can a fish do anything to make itself fly?  Is God ignoring its prayer- surely if God can raise Lazarus from the dead, He can make a fish fly.  And yet doesn't.  Because a fish is a fish and was created to swim, not to fly.  The anxiety of wondering, "Am I just a silly fish who thinks if she prays hard enough God will let her fly?" has burdened me to the point of despair, though in waves that ebb and flow (probably with the fluctuations in my hormones if I had to put money on it...)  Slowly my prayers turned into, "God, if motherhood is what you want for me, give me an affirmation and I will continue to work for it."  Adoption and otherwise.  It wasn't easy to open myself up to the possibility that God might say "NO," but I prayed it anyway.  And do you know what happened when I prayed this prayer?  Cycle day one coincided with a pregnancy announcement from a houseguest who had arrived that very day.  OUCH.  I couldn't get my Femara, so had to take a cycle off of tracking and triggering ovulation.  OH THE FRUSTRATION.  And at the moment I felt lower than I can remember ever feeling, having spent the morning in tears, another miracle pregnancy announcement came.  CRUSHING.  All within three days.  I try not to read too much into circumstances and interpret them as signs from God, but the timing of these events on the heels of my prayer felt like a message was being sent, "These blessings are NOT for you.  This life is for OTHER people.  NOT FOR YOU."

So... what if that is the message?   Do I have the strength to sincerely pray, "God not my will but yours," if His will be that I am never a mother?  Well, until our vacation, I don't think I did.  But I might be ready to pray that prayer now.  Just maybe.

Last Sunday M and I returned from a mega road trip that took us down south through Memphis to New Orleans, and back through Chattanooga, Nashville, and Mammoth Caves in Kentucky.  That's roughly 2200 miles, more than 30 hours of driving, and I think the times we had exploring new streets, sights, sounds, and foods combined with countless hours of reflection while driving transformed me.  We toured the birthplace of rock 'n' roll, visited Graceland, sampled beignets and gumbo, heard incredible music, and packed more into seven days than we'd gotten in since we'd last taken a vacation.  It had been SIX YEARS since we'd taken a proper vacation.  Granted, we're lucky to be only a few hours from some of the most beautiful beaches in the world, so we do get away on occasion each summer for a weekend here and there.  But a weekend isn't long enough to forget your troubles, and we've had our share the past few years.  The opportunity to leave them behind for a WHOLE WEEK and see a new part of the world acted as a medicine to my increasingly bitter, worn-out heart.  One of the benefits of feeling like you're getting nowhere with your diets and medicines and tests and shots is: that's the perfect excuse to say, "FORGET THEM" for the dedicated time you have for fun.  So I did!  I ate whatever I wanted, I mostly took my medicine but didn't stress about that or my cycle, what day it was, etc.  And I enjoyed every minute of our trip.  

And I learned an important lesson.  There can be life without kids.  It's not my first choice.  But before vacation the thought seemed like the end of the world to me.  And after vacation?  The thought stings a little less.  Having a spontaneous adventure (we hardly planned a thing- finding hotels wherever we felt like staying, and finding different points on the map along the way) showed me what an alternative life could be like.  Not that we'd all of the sudden become gypsy travelers if we never were able to have children, but we'd certainly have freedom to realize some of the bigger adventures we've talked and dreamed about.  I liberated myself from the constraints of diets, charting, scheduled med intake and the like.  And yes, I secretly hoped I'd be one of the girls that magically became pregnant because she didn't give a crap one cycle.  But no.  Of course I'm going to continue my treatment regimen, for now.  I've gone through too much to stop outright- yet- But I'm starting to be more comfortable with entertaining the thought that maybe I won't have kids.  Maybe I won't work so hard to try to MAKE it happen.  Maybe I'll sit back for a while and see how life naturally unfolds.  Maybe the doors will never open for us to pursue adoption.  Maybe I'll never conceive.  Maybe my dogs will be the only 'babies' I'll ever have.  And maybe, just maybe, that will actually be okay.  Have you entertained the 'what if' thought?  If so, I'd love to hear how you handle it.  

  

Reflections on Hope

It's been a while since I've committed the time to put my thoughts to words in this designated space, but not for lack of things to share.  On the contrary, like my thoughts life has been a progressively more intense torrent of work, moving, settling in to a new home, figuring out our new life here, fixing things in the house, preparing for Christmas, recovering from Christmas.... Oh and all of the treatment I've been doing in my seemingly more and more futile attempts at conceiving- driving 1.5 hrs to see the doctor, monthly ultrasounds, blood draws, injections.  So many, many things to think about.  So much to reflect upon, but more often than not no grounding in that reflection.  My thoughts  shoot around like the flares of a sparkler on the 4th of July- propelled by a flurry of emotion.  I reflect on myself, my relationship with God, the hopes and dreams I had that seem so out of reach, whether I have any hopes and dreams for the future, whether investing energy in future hopes and dreams is worth it.  I've come to recognize that HOPE. IS. EVERYTHING.  Anything is tolerable with even the smallest bit of hope.  But without it, disappointments and failures are magnified into disasters that paralyze me and trigger days of unshakable melancholy.

Of course, the majority of my disappointments stem from being infertile.  You'd think the sting of not being pregnant month after month would have softened by now.  But as hope dwindles, disappointment fills the void it leaves behind until disappointment is the lens through which every experience in your life, I mean EVERY experience, is filtered.  With each passing month, hope's ability to drive my purpose has faded until I now persist in treatments because I feel I owe it to myself and what I've gone through to keep going.  [two surgeries, two long recoveries and still recovering, countless appointments of poking and prodding so that I have no dignity or modesty left, uprooting my life and moving home in an attempt to reduce stress, keeping a crazy vegan-kosher-lactose intolerant-celiac-diabetic diet, thousands of dollars spent, and the elimination of every beauty product I've ever loved from my life:] It would be an insult to just stop my journey now.  What would all that have been for?  That is why I continue.  Not because I maintain a strong sense of hope.  My hope has become like a fragile flower struggling to survive against a merciless terrain.  

I often feel isolated from all my TTC sisters.  As someone for whom IVF is not an option, I can't find complete solidarity with women going through that treatment; I can bond with them over our shared frustration, and rejoice when the desire of their hearts is fulfilled.  Yet I can't find hope in reading their testimonials, knowing I cannot walk down that path.  Many of the Catholic women I know appear to be handling their infertility with more grace than I could ever dream to find.  I don't relate well with women whose perpetual mantra is, "God's will, not mine."  I'm just not there in my relationship with God right now.  It is fractured and something I am cogniscient of constantly working on, but as someone who, worse than feeling forgotten by God, feels completely ignored, I don't find myself bearing this burden with grace and gratitude like my admirable Catholic sisters.   In that sense I feel like an even deeper failure than what my physical state has imposed on me.

When you feel alone, it is very difficult to hope.  And let me iterate it is entirely unproductive and pointless to say to someone in despair, "Don't lose hope!"  I've heard this countless times.  And I think, "Why not?  What has hope done for me so far?  It has made some aspects of daily life more tolerable, but so would the relief of finally giving up."  Telling me, "Don't lose hope!" is as effective as saying, "Stop breathing!"  Since I'm not ready to give up yet, however, hope seems the only thing with the potential to lift the dark cloud that's surrounded my heart and soul.  But I don't see hope as a voluntary action, like patience or temperance would be.  For me hope is a reflexive, visceral emotion that either exists or does not.  Certain things stir hope within me despite the voice in my head which says, "There's no point."  I can feel it when it's there and suffer terribly in its absence.  How to find that hope though?

Hope is the answer, I know it is! So rather than attempting to convince someone to hope when that flame has turned to ash, let us say to each other, "Don't give up, friend.  Find things that may renew your hope.  They are somewhere, don't give up.  When your hope is renewed you will feel joy again.  Don't give up."  Telling someone to not give up validates the difficulty of the journey and encourages fortitude.  So I am focusing on things that will renew my hope.  Talking to women who were told they'd never conceive who are now expecting or are now mothers (without IVF!) is a great source of hope for me.  And when I hear them, I feel the spark of hope igniting deep within me, and then life suddenly becomes more tolerable.  And I feel more strength in continuing my treatments.  And so I continue sharing my thoughts and HOPE that someday I will have a success story that will be that light through the dark cloud of someone else's journey.  <3

Reflections on Hope

It's been a while since I've committed the time to put my thoughts to words in this designated space, but not for lack of things to share.  On the contrary, like my thoughts life has been a progressively more intense torrent of work, moving, settling in to a new home, figuring out our new life here, fixing things in the house, preparing for Christmas, recovering from Christmas.... Oh and all of the treatment I've been doing in my seemingly more and more futile attempts at conceiving- driving 1.5 hrs to see the doctor, monthly ultrasounds, blood draws, injections.  So many, many things to think about.  So much to reflect upon, but more often than not no grounding in that reflection.  My thoughts  shoot around like the flares of a sparkler on the 4th of July- propelled by a flurry of emotion.  I reflect on myself, my relationship with God, the hopes and dreams I had that seem so out of reach, whether I have any hopes and dreams for the future, whether investing energy in future hopes and dreams is worth it.  I've come to recognize that HOPE. IS. EVERYTHING.  Anything is tolerable with even the smallest bit of hope.  But without it, disappointments and failures are magnified into disasters that paralyze me and trigger days of unshakable melancholy.

Of course, the majority of my disappointments stem from being infertile.  You'd think the sting of not being pregnant month after month would have softened by now.  But as hope dwindles, disappointment fills the void it leaves behind until disappointment is the lens through which every experience in your life, I mean EVERY experience, is filtered.  With each passing month, hope's ability to drive my purpose has faded until I now persist in treatments because I feel I owe it to myself and what I've gone through to keep going.  [two surgeries, two long recoveries and still recovering, countless appointments of poking and prodding so that I have no dignity or modesty left, uprooting my life and moving home in an attempt to reduce stress, keeping a crazy vegan-kosher-lactose intolerant-celiac-diabetic diet, thousands of dollars spent, and the elimination of every beauty product I've ever loved from my life:] It would be an insult to just stop my journey now.  What would all that have been for?  That is why I continue.  Not because I maintain a strong sense of hope.  My hope has become like a fragile flower struggling to survive against a merciless terrain.  

I often feel isolated from all my TTC sisters.  As someone for whom IVF is not an option, I can't find complete solidarity with women going through that treatment; I can bond with them over our shared frustration, and rejoice when the desire of their hearts is fulfilled.  Yet I can't find hope in reading their testimonials, knowing I cannot walk down that path.  Many of the Catholic women I know appear to be handling their infertility with more grace than I could ever dream to find.  I don't relate well with women whose perpetual mantra is, "God's will, not mine."  I'm just not there in my relationship with God right now.  It is fractured and something I am cogniscient of constantly working on, but as someone who, worse than feeling forgotten by God, feels completely ignored, I don't find myself bearing this burden with grace and gratitude like my admirable Catholic sisters.   In that sense I feel like an even deeper failure than what my physical state has imposed on me.

When you feel alone, it is very difficult to hope.  And let me iterate it is entirely unproductive and pointless to say to someone in despair, "Don't lose hope!"  I've heard this countless times.  And I think, "Why not?  What has hope done for me so far?  It has made some aspects of daily life more tolerable, but so would the relief of finally giving up."  Telling me, "Don't lose hope!" is as effective as saying, "Stop breathing!"  Since I'm not ready to give up yet, however, hope seems the only thing with the potential to lift the dark cloud that's surrounded my heart and soul.  But I don't see hope as a voluntary action, like patience or temperance would be.  For me hope is a reflexive, visceral emotion that either exists or does not.  Certain things stir hope within me despite the voice in my head which says, "There's no point."  I can feel it when it's there and suffer terribly in its absence.  How to find that hope though?

Hope is the answer, I know it is! So rather than attempting to convince someone to hope when that flame has turned to ash, let us say to each other, "Don't give up, friend.  Find things that may renew your hope.  They are somewhere, don't give up.  When your hope is renewed you will feel joy again.  Don't give up."  Telling someone to not give up validates the difficulty of the journey and encourages fortitude.  So I am focusing on things that will renew my hope.  Talking to women who were told they'd never conceive who are now expecting or are now mothers (without IVF!) is a great source of hope for me.  And when I hear them, I feel the spark of hope igniting deep within me, and then life suddenly becomes more tolerable.  And I feel more strength in continuing my treatments.  And so I continue sharing my thoughts and HOPE that someday I will have a success story that will be that light through the dark cloud of someone else's journey.  <3

la vie en rose

Today I listened to “La vie en rose” on repeat for about 35 minutes.  Yep.  That’s where I am these days.  Something about the music, the way it sounds both melancholy and happy at the same time, appeals to me on the deepest level. That’s what I feel all the time.  Melancholy.  AND happy.  How is that possible?  Can hope and despair coexist?  For me I think they do.  Of course they can.  If we can feel both terrified and excited at the same time, then hope and despair can occupy the same realm, right?  

Though I live in what feels like a constant state of disappointment and frustration, the compulsion to hope persists.  I have no control over it.  Even when my brain says, "hope is futile.  and it's exhausting.  and makes you die a little each month," it's there, lingering in the back of my consciousness.  Kind of like when you are in a SUPER awful mood, I mean the WORST mood and you have some dopey, happy song with a killer beat stuck in your head and that makes you even more mad because it kinda makes you feel a teensy bit happier when you REALLY don't want to.  I’m hard-wired to GO GO GO, keep trying, and I NEVER, EVER quit.  EVER.  I literally don’t know how.  So what that I got word from the doctor that I have a “large” cyst on my left ovary.  And not even a year after a most invasive and traumatizing surgery my body is just as broken as ever.  And the pain is back, the bloating, nausea, and all the other fun things that come along with cysts are back.  And that I expected the surgery to fix me.  I mean, it wasn’t even hope back then, it was certainty.  I was going to be a success story, a testament to the wonders of NaPro Technology- I knew it must be the reason we were called to suffer this.  

Slowly my brazen assuredness dissolved into hope- I hope… 

Now, after the years of tests, invasions of my personal space, medications, shots, waiting, hoping, frustration, tears, and disappointment I don’t feel hope anymore...  I don’t really feel anything...  

But the hope is still there somehow, I can sense it despite not feeling it- an undercurrent to the rocky waves propelling me somewhat aimlessly through this reality.  

Like the song it gives clarity to the melancholic gray in which I currently exist.

la vie en rose

Today I listened to “La vie en rose” on repeat for about 35 minutes.  Yep.  That’s where I am these days.  Something about the music, the way it sounds both melancholy and happy at the same time, appeals to me on the deepest level. That’s what I feel all the time.  Melancholy.  AND happy.  How is that possible?  Can hope and despair coexist?  For me I think they do.  Of course they can.  If we can feel both terrified and excited at the same time, then hope and despair can occupy the same realm, right?  

Though I live in what feels like a constant state of disappointment and frustration, the compulsion to hope persists.  I have no control over it.  Even when my brain says, "hope is futile.  and it's exhausting.  and makes you die a little each month," it's there, lingering in the back of my consciousness.  Kind of like when you are in a SUPER awful mood, I mean the WORST mood and you have some dopey, happy song with a killer beat stuck in your head and that makes you even more mad because it kinda makes you feel a teensy bit happier when you REALLY don't want to.  I’m hard-wired to GO GO GO, keep trying, and I NEVER, EVER quit.  EVER.  I literally don’t know how.  So what that I got word from the doctor that I have a “large” cyst on my left ovary.  And not even a year after a most invasive and traumatizing surgery my body is just as broken as ever.  And the pain is back, the bloating, nausea, and all the other fun things that come along with cysts are back.  And that I expected the surgery to fix me.  I mean, it wasn’t even hope back then, it was certainty.  I was going to be a success story, a testament to the wonders of NaPro Technology- I knew it must be the reason we were called to suffer this.  

Slowly my brazen assuredness dissolved into hope- I hope… 

Now, after the years of tests, invasions of my personal space, medications, shots, waiting, hoping, frustration, tears, and disappointment I don’t feel hope anymore...  I don’t really feel anything...  

But the hope is still there somehow, I can sense it despite not feeling it- an undercurrent to the rocky waves propelling me somewhat aimlessly through this reality.  

Like the song it gives clarity to the melancholic gray in which I currently exist.