Today was a difficult day. This past weekend, we lost a very dear friend and today was her funeral. She was such a wonderful, generous, loving person. My life is truly better for having known her and I am saddened that Lil' Bit will only ever hear stories about her. Her funeral was beautiful, but it was difficult. Difficult in a way most people don't have to experience. Difficult because my spouse was the officiant. Difficult because I had to grieve by myself. This is not to say I was alone. I was surrounded by friends and one of them placed a loving hand on my back during the most emotional parts. But even she had her spouse with her, whose hand she could hold, and who could comfort her in a way no one else could.
Looking around, I saw most of my married friends being comforted by their spouses and, in that moment, I felt envy. Envy the depths of which I had not felt since I had to watch friends become pregnant while I struggled with infertility. I did not begrudge them their comfort. I just wished that I could have a spouse with a "regular" job, so he could sit there with me. But as I sat in my grief for my friend, it occurred to me that if I had a spouse with a "regular" job, we would have never ended up here. And I would never have met her. It also dawned on me that there was at least one other person in that room missing the presence of their spouse, only their spouse would not be there to comfort them at the end of the service, or the end of the day, or ever again.
And I cried. I cried in thanks for the blessings I had. I cried at the injustice of the world losing such an amazing person. I cried because I realized that I had things other people would envy. And I cried at the humanness of my envy, of my self-centeredness at a time when I should have been thinking of my friends, of my guilt over having felt envy and self-centeredness, and of my joy at recognizing my blessings. To quote Doctor Who, "Crying when you're happy-that is so human." Today, of all days, my friend gave me another gift; she helped me see my humanity.
Thanks for everything, Connie. You are loved and missed. Someday, we'll understand.
5.30.2012
5.26.2012
One Last Ride
Well, it's official. We've signed up to take one last ride on the IVF rollercoaster. We've decided not to try until September because otherwise, either the shots, the procedure, or the due date would interfere with something else already on the calendar. And, since we get to pick, why the heck not make it most convenient for us, right?
So, you probably have some questions. Like, what made us decide we wanted to try again? Or perhaps, how do you know it will be the last time? Fortunately, we have some answers we're willing to share. So, here goes.
When we did the FET (frozen embryo transfer) last time, we pretty much agreed that we would get what we get and be done. So, if I didn't get pregnant, we would stop, but if we did, then we'd have however many kids we got and call it a day. We hadn't planned on there being another alternative. But, there was. I can't speak for Phil, but for me, getting pregnant and then losing Oliver only made me really want to try again. As heavy as the loss hit me, I knew that I wanted another child. I reached my decision long before Phil did. But, since this really isn't a solo endeavor, he had to be on board. Otherwise, we weren't doing it again. I was smart enough not to try to get a decision out of him during Lent/Easter or the few weeks thereafter. But after that, we started to talk about where we were. One problem both of us had was that we were so exhausted by Lil' Bit and the rest of our lives, we couldn't imagine having any energy for another child. Then, as you may recall, I discovered anti-depressants. Oh, brother! I suddenly had energy for me, for Lil' Bit, for work, and some left over. It was a freaking miracle as far as I was concerned. Suddenly, I felt like I could handle another one. At some point, Phil reached the same conclusion, and we moved forward and got our names on the calendar.
Another factor that played in to this decision for me was Lil' Bit's condition. I finally broke down and asked her doctors what they thought her life expectancy was. Obviously, because of her conditions, there is no real group of people to compare her with, but they both said the same thing. Given how great she's doing and the fact that she has never showed any symptoms, they don't see any reason at this point why she won't grow to adulthood. This was very important to me. I didn't want to be having a potential "replacement" child, and I didn't want a child that would feel second-banana to a sick older sibling. I also didn't think I could bring a child into the world knowing that they were going to have to experience the loss of their sibling. Certainly, there is no guarantee. There are many ways to lose a child, even a healthy one, long before they reach adulthood. But that risk is inherent with all children and not unique to Lil' Bit. So, it's one I was willing to accept.
And now we reach the million dollar question--how do we know this will be our last round. Well, several reasons. First, I am not willing to undergo another "fresh" cycle. The cost monetarily, physically, and emotionally are more than I am willing to endure. So what, you say. You have seven frozen embryos left and you're only going to use two. True. But, given Lil' Bit's congenital defect and the high likelihood that Oliver miscarried because of a genetic abnormality, and given that the clinic always uses the best and strongest embryos each time, chances of a viable pregnancy with the remaining five would be slimmer each time. Don't get me wrong. There are people who utilize each and every one and get healthy pregnancies with "lower" grade embryos. It's not a given. But it's a percentages game and it's one I'm not willing to play. So, this would be the last round I would want to use the frozens and I'm not willing to do another fresh. (And, in case you're wondering, provided that the clinic is willing to accept them, our plan is to donate the remaining ones for others to use.)
More than that, though, is that whatever result we get, we'll be emotionally and physically done. There are three possible results: no pregnancy; miscarriage; baby. If I don't get pregnant, we'd be looking at another procedure. Even if we did another FET, there is a high physical and emotional cost and I'm not getting any younger. As I creep closer to 40 and with Phil being five years older than I, it doesn't seem right to spend more assets on attempts for children that, if successful, would result in their reaching college age around the time we want to retire and, if not successful, simply depletes our assets when we have a child who requires ongoing medical care. If we miscarry again, I will be done. There is no way I could put myself through that again. And any new attempt would invariably have that risk. I am willing to take that risk once more, but that's all I can take. Finally, if we get pregnant and have a baby (or babies), we'll be done. We will have achieved our goal. No reason to do it again. Finally, attendant with each of these decisions is also the fact that, once we're done, I can finally have my hysterectomy and stop having all these problems.
So there you have it. Why we decided to try again, but why this will be our last try. Welcome to our one last ride. Come along and join the fun.
So, you probably have some questions. Like, what made us decide we wanted to try again? Or perhaps, how do you know it will be the last time? Fortunately, we have some answers we're willing to share. So, here goes.
When we did the FET (frozen embryo transfer) last time, we pretty much agreed that we would get what we get and be done. So, if I didn't get pregnant, we would stop, but if we did, then we'd have however many kids we got and call it a day. We hadn't planned on there being another alternative. But, there was. I can't speak for Phil, but for me, getting pregnant and then losing Oliver only made me really want to try again. As heavy as the loss hit me, I knew that I wanted another child. I reached my decision long before Phil did. But, since this really isn't a solo endeavor, he had to be on board. Otherwise, we weren't doing it again. I was smart enough not to try to get a decision out of him during Lent/Easter or the few weeks thereafter. But after that, we started to talk about where we were. One problem both of us had was that we were so exhausted by Lil' Bit and the rest of our lives, we couldn't imagine having any energy for another child. Then, as you may recall, I discovered anti-depressants. Oh, brother! I suddenly had energy for me, for Lil' Bit, for work, and some left over. It was a freaking miracle as far as I was concerned. Suddenly, I felt like I could handle another one. At some point, Phil reached the same conclusion, and we moved forward and got our names on the calendar.
Another factor that played in to this decision for me was Lil' Bit's condition. I finally broke down and asked her doctors what they thought her life expectancy was. Obviously, because of her conditions, there is no real group of people to compare her with, but they both said the same thing. Given how great she's doing and the fact that she has never showed any symptoms, they don't see any reason at this point why she won't grow to adulthood. This was very important to me. I didn't want to be having a potential "replacement" child, and I didn't want a child that would feel second-banana to a sick older sibling. I also didn't think I could bring a child into the world knowing that they were going to have to experience the loss of their sibling. Certainly, there is no guarantee. There are many ways to lose a child, even a healthy one, long before they reach adulthood. But that risk is inherent with all children and not unique to Lil' Bit. So, it's one I was willing to accept.
And now we reach the million dollar question--how do we know this will be our last round. Well, several reasons. First, I am not willing to undergo another "fresh" cycle. The cost monetarily, physically, and emotionally are more than I am willing to endure. So what, you say. You have seven frozen embryos left and you're only going to use two. True. But, given Lil' Bit's congenital defect and the high likelihood that Oliver miscarried because of a genetic abnormality, and given that the clinic always uses the best and strongest embryos each time, chances of a viable pregnancy with the remaining five would be slimmer each time. Don't get me wrong. There are people who utilize each and every one and get healthy pregnancies with "lower" grade embryos. It's not a given. But it's a percentages game and it's one I'm not willing to play. So, this would be the last round I would want to use the frozens and I'm not willing to do another fresh. (And, in case you're wondering, provided that the clinic is willing to accept them, our plan is to donate the remaining ones for others to use.)
More than that, though, is that whatever result we get, we'll be emotionally and physically done. There are three possible results: no pregnancy; miscarriage; baby. If I don't get pregnant, we'd be looking at another procedure. Even if we did another FET, there is a high physical and emotional cost and I'm not getting any younger. As I creep closer to 40 and with Phil being five years older than I, it doesn't seem right to spend more assets on attempts for children that, if successful, would result in their reaching college age around the time we want to retire and, if not successful, simply depletes our assets when we have a child who requires ongoing medical care. If we miscarry again, I will be done. There is no way I could put myself through that again. And any new attempt would invariably have that risk. I am willing to take that risk once more, but that's all I can take. Finally, if we get pregnant and have a baby (or babies), we'll be done. We will have achieved our goal. No reason to do it again. Finally, attendant with each of these decisions is also the fact that, once we're done, I can finally have my hysterectomy and stop having all these problems.
So there you have it. Why we decided to try again, but why this will be our last try. Welcome to our one last ride. Come along and join the fun.
5.25.2012
Free Will
As I watch Lil' Bit grow and learn, I have come to understand why God would want to give us free will. I have also come to understand the metaphor of God as father and us as children.
Infancy is wonderful. It is full of snuggles and coos and cute faces and learning your child's personality. But the real fun and joy, at least for me, has come as Lil' Bit got older. The way her face lights up when she sees me. The feeling of her little arms hugging me back. Her crawling into my lap to read her a book. I love that she is choosing to share time with me, choosing to give me love. As an infant, she didn't really have a choice. If I wanted to snuggle, we snuggled. And there's something amazing about snuggling a little, warm lump. But I wouldn't trade my sassy toddler who can show me affection, for anything. I imagine that for God, it's much the same way. The relationship is so much bigger, so much more meaningful, when it's by choice. Both He and I get more out of a relationship where I choose to be part of it, in the same way that Lil' Bit and I have a much more intimate relationship because she can choose whether she wants me in her personal space.
I imagine that the first time she tells me she hates me, I will have a small glimpse of what God must feel like when we yell and rage at Him because we don't understand why things happen. Getting upset is normal. But, ultimately, we have to trust that, in the same way that we are trying to do what we think is best for our children, knowing that they will get upset because they don't understand, God does the same. God has more knowledge and a bigger picture to look at than we do. But we still have free will. We can tell a child 100 times not to touch a hot stove, but ultimately, if they are persistent and choose to ignore the warnings, they will find a way to touch one. In the same way, God attempts to guide and nudge us in the right direction, gently at first, then in less subtle ways. But He will allow us to burn ourselves if we are persistent enough and ignore the warnings. So, the next time I feel like God is telling me "no," I will take time to rethink my position and see if it's because God is trying to gently guide me down another path.
This new-found understanding will not prevent me from getting angry at God in the future over things I feel are wrong or unjust. Just as it helps our children to get the anger out, it helps us to get it out, too. But, in the end, I hope to be able to say: "I'm sorry I got angry. I just don't understand. But it doesn't mean that I don't love you. And it doesn't mean that I don't want you in my life." And God will tell me, "Someday, you'll understand."
Infancy is wonderful. It is full of snuggles and coos and cute faces and learning your child's personality. But the real fun and joy, at least for me, has come as Lil' Bit got older. The way her face lights up when she sees me. The feeling of her little arms hugging me back. Her crawling into my lap to read her a book. I love that she is choosing to share time with me, choosing to give me love. As an infant, she didn't really have a choice. If I wanted to snuggle, we snuggled. And there's something amazing about snuggling a little, warm lump. But I wouldn't trade my sassy toddler who can show me affection, for anything. I imagine that for God, it's much the same way. The relationship is so much bigger, so much more meaningful, when it's by choice. Both He and I get more out of a relationship where I choose to be part of it, in the same way that Lil' Bit and I have a much more intimate relationship because she can choose whether she wants me in her personal space.
I imagine that the first time she tells me she hates me, I will have a small glimpse of what God must feel like when we yell and rage at Him because we don't understand why things happen. Getting upset is normal. But, ultimately, we have to trust that, in the same way that we are trying to do what we think is best for our children, knowing that they will get upset because they don't understand, God does the same. God has more knowledge and a bigger picture to look at than we do. But we still have free will. We can tell a child 100 times not to touch a hot stove, but ultimately, if they are persistent and choose to ignore the warnings, they will find a way to touch one. In the same way, God attempts to guide and nudge us in the right direction, gently at first, then in less subtle ways. But He will allow us to burn ourselves if we are persistent enough and ignore the warnings. So, the next time I feel like God is telling me "no," I will take time to rethink my position and see if it's because God is trying to gently guide me down another path.
This new-found understanding will not prevent me from getting angry at God in the future over things I feel are wrong or unjust. Just as it helps our children to get the anger out, it helps us to get it out, too. But, in the end, I hope to be able to say: "I'm sorry I got angry. I just don't understand. But it doesn't mean that I don't love you. And it doesn't mean that I don't want you in my life." And God will tell me, "Someday, you'll understand."
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