On Brokenness and Healing--Without and Within

I have been thinking a lot about the new RFRA laws, or "licenses to discriminate" as they are being called.  Here's the thing.  Religious beliefs, no matter how sincere or firmly held, no matter how ingrained in one's life, cannot justify actions that violate someone else's Constitutional rights.  If they could, religious human sacrifice would be a protected action even though it violates the victim's Constitutional right to live.

I realize that's sort of a worst-case scenario, but how about the pharmacist who could refuse to fill a Viagra prescription because the patient is unmarried, and the pharmacist adheres to the belief that there should be no sex without marriage?  Could that pharmacist refuse to fill my daughter's heart medication because it's the exact same drug?  Or perhaps the pharmacist could refuse to dispense any drug created using stem cell research.  Are you willing to accept that risk?

What if I, a married heterosexual, ordered a wedding cake for my friends' wedding without disclosing whether the parties are a same-sex couple.  Should the business be able to refuse my order?  Even if it turns out it was a straight couple?  Should the bakery be able to demand to know that information?  If I don't disclose it, or lie about it, can they sue me?

I hear people throwing around the idea that these types of laws reduce government involvement, but they don't.  Instead, our courts become bogged down in litigation as every nuance and boundary of the law is tested, resulting in numerous new rules/laws.  

I am saddened and ashamed that so much progress has been lost; that so much animosity and fear exists in the hearts of many who label themselves Christians; that so many people have fled the church community because all they see is hypocrisy.

I cannot be silent.  I stand for the equal treatment of, and equal rights and opportunities for, all people, regardless of race, gender, religion, sexual preference, gender identity, age, citizenship, political party, marital status, affluence, manner of dress, employment, or physical limitation.  We are all human.  We should all be in this together, having each other's backs.   Each of us is a child of God; an expression of God's self here on earth.  Any mistreatment of you by me is a mistreatment of God by me.  I do not have to like your behavior.  I do not have to like you, or agree with you, or engage in the same behaviors as you.  But I am called to love you and forgive you; to do no harm. 

Please, stop worrying about labels.  Stop worrying about what consenting adults are doing in their bedrooms.  Stop inserting yourself between patients and their doctors.  Instead, worry about what we are doing to ourselves, to our world.  Worry about all of the hate and venom we are spewing at each other from every side.  Worry that we are all so anxious, we have become isolated and stopped caring about the least of us.  We have become so focused on the small goal of winning at all costs that we can't see that we are all losing.  Compromise is not a dirty word.  It is not losing.  It is about flexibility, survival.  It is the flexible tree that withstands the hurricane winds, while the inflexible tree is broken.  Compassion and empathy are not horrible traits to be excised.  The Golden Rule is NOT do unto others as was done to me.  It's do unto others as I would have them do to me.  Regardless of whether I have been cheated, if I do not want to be cheated, I will not cheat.

I am sad; anxious; broken from the loss of my son.  But I am heartened; lifted; loved by the acts of friends and strangers who have given of themselves in my time of need.  None of them has asked whether we have the same political party, religion, beliefs, what have you.  They simply saw that I was in need and gave of themselves to help me.  As I heal, I am called to do likewise.  Please, join me.  I promise you, it will be worth it.

Making Space

Today, I would have been 20 weeks pregnant.  I would have been half done.  We would have been having an ultrasound and finding out if it was a boy or girl.  Instead, I am working to lose weight and get myself ready for our one last try.  One last try, the results of which we will receive around what would have been Oliver's due date.  Is it serendipity, coincidence, irony, or just twisted?  To me, it seems somehow crazy and right at the same time.  Like that day was always going to be important for us.  I am curious to know what the day will hold for us now.  Finality, certainly, regardless of outcome.  But will it be an affirmation of life, more disappointment, some of both?  All I can do is wait.  Wait and feel.  Scared.  Hopeful.  Excited.  Anxious.  Impatient.  Frustrated.  Sad.  And I'm giving myself some space.  Space to remember the joy I felt when we found out I was pregnant.  Space to remember the loss.  Space to think about what might have been.  Space to hope about what still might be.  Space to send love to my angel baby.  Space to be gentle with myself while I continue to heal.  Space for feelings.  Space for memories.  Space for growth.  Space for me.  And maybe, hopefully, space for someone new in the coming months.

A Grief Divided

There is an old saying that has come in many forms, but boils down to:  A joy shared is a joy multiplied; a grief shared is a grief divided.  I have come to understand this "proverb" a little better this week in two ways.

First, I found out that my blog has helped several people dealing with similar issues.  I was so pleased to hear this because that was one of the purposes of my blog.  Although the main purpose was to have a place to get my feelings out so that I could deal with them, opening the dialogue so that other women did not have to feel alone has always been part of this process.  So, even though my blog posts don't usually generate a hundred hits, the fact that it is helping someone is wonderful news to me.

On the flip side, I have been blessed and humbled to read blog posts by other women who experienced loss that, in retrospect, seems so much more difficult than what I faced.  I am amazed at their strength and grateful that they took the time to share their grief with the world because, just as my stories have helped others, their stories have helped me.  They are both women who had the courage and hope to try pregnancy again after having stillborn children.

Here are their stories:

Erica Crum - Remembering Kinley

Lucy - What I Never Knew I Wanted

One of the things I have struggled with as I consider whether I am willing to try again is, how do I not be anxious?  How do I experience joy when I know it can be gone in an instant?  At what point will it be "safe" to prepare for the child?

Recently, I heard another story about a baby born at 27 weeks to a couple who had undergone infertility treatments for several years.  The baby weighed less than 2 pounds and had severe medical issues.  All of these stories together made me realize something.  There's never a safe month.  Babies can miscarry, be stillborn, die shortly after birth, early in childhood, as teenagers, young adults, or adults.  They can die from medical problems, accidents, or other people's intentional bad acts.  There is nothing safe about trying to bring another life into the world and there is no point at which the loss does not hurt.  The trick is in finding the joy in each day, loving them as hard as you can, as much as you can, every moment you have them.  This truth was shown to me in the most recent post from Erica Crum in which she stated:

Today, I'm 29 weeks pregnant, the same day in pregnancy that Kinley was born. Every single day from now on is a day longer than I got to have with Kinley. Thank you Lord for the blessing of each and every day with her for years and years to come!!!!!

This, to me, is an amazing affirmation of living in the moment and taking joy in each day.  We never know how long we, or our children, will be in this world.  So let's all make sure we make the most of it.

Ordinary Time

Yesterday, we met with our fertility doctor.  He was sad on our behalf.  Apparently, he had not had any concerns.  His words were, "I really thought you had this one."  According to him, doubling rates over 48 hours in a healthy pregnancy run from roughly 65% to 130%, so my 80% was totally in the zone.  He advised that miscarriages that early are almost always from a chromosomal abnormality.  I asked whether we needed to test the other embryos and he said that testing actually damages them, so they don't do any testing.  He didn't think we needed to change anything and we still have plenty of "really good quality embryos left" if we want to try again.  I have to have an ultrasound next week to make sure there are no remaining "products of conception."  My bloodtest today showed an hCG level of 13.  I have to have another one next Friday, at which points they expect it will have finally returned to a number less than 5 (meaning negative for pregnancy).

In the event we decide to try again, the earliest we could do another procedure would be sometime in May, understanding that my body is setting the timetable.  We have to wait for my body to go through one complete cycle.  Assuming that happens in the next 28 days, we could then count forward 21 days into the subsequent cycle to begin taking shots to shut down my system.  After roughly two weeks of shots (I think it was 12 days last time), when another cycle starts, transfer would occur roughly 18 days thereafter.  So, assuming 28 days for the first cycle, then 21, then 12, then 18, we're talking mid-May.  If my body takes longer or shorter to get around to the first cycle, then early or late May.  But what all this calculating really means is that we have time.  Time to recover.  Time to think.  Time to reevaluate.  We have been given the opportunity to re-decide if this is what we really want--an opportunity people rarely receive.  I think it would be irresponsible if we didn't actually use it.

And so, after my ultrasound and blood test next week, I plan to enter ordinary time.  What is ordinary time?  In the liturgical calendar, there are seasons:  Lent, Easter, Pentecost, Advent, Christmas, Epiphany.  But between Pentecost and Advent, and between Epiphany and Ash Wednesday, the church has time to rest and relax.  It is not gearing up for any specific liturgical event.  These times are colloquially known as "ordinary" time.

So, as I try to figure out where I am, and Phil figures out where he is, and we figure out together where we are, I plan to enter ordinary time.  Time to recover from a big event.  Time when we are not planning for anything.  Time that I am not gearing up for the next thing.  Time to delight in Lil' Bit and all her new accomplishments.  Time to remember how much I love my job.  Time when I can just be and revel in my life as it is.  And, as I heal both physically and emotionally, we'll figure out what season of life comes next for us and being preparations for whatever that is.

Where Do We Go From Here

As is evident from my last post, the blood test on Saturday did not bring good news.  My hCG level had dropped to 200.  My doctor's office called me with the news and had me stop my medications.  Thus began the long process of waiting for nature to take its course.  It is extremely difficult to process the loss and attempt healing when the loss is still ongoing.  I also know that I will spend the next few weeks or so having to inform those people who, for whatever reason, don't yet know that we lost the baby.

As sad as I am about the loss, I also have some relief.  The truth is, ever since the numbers didn't double within 48 hours, I wondered about the viability of the pregnancy.  I know the doctor said it was fine, but given how easily Lil' Bit's numbers doubled, I'm not sure I ever believed it.  And, once the spotting started, I was pretty sure it was all over.  I know there are lots of reasons women bleed and that some do go on to carry babies to term.  Still, it was just another sign.  And, if I'm being honest, I would not have felt much relief if the number Saturday had come back doubled.  I would have spent the whole pregnancy worrying, and anxiety wouldn't have been good for either of us.  I'm not sure anything would have reassured me.  I'm also grateful that it happened at home.  I think it would have been much worse if we had gotten to the ultrasound this Thursday and discovered no heartbeat.  Not only would the news have been devastating, but I would have had to deal with all the emotions there in public at the doctor's office and then figure out how to explain why I wasn't coming back to work.  Experiencing it at home, before Lil' Bit ever woke up, when Phil and I had time together and alone to process everything was ideal--at least, as ideal as that situation ever can be.

Up next is figuring out where we are and what we want to do.  We meet with the doctor this Thursday, on what would have been our ultrasound appointment, to talk about what happens next.  One of the questions he'll answer is how long we have to wait if we do, in fact, decide to try again.  I'll have another blood test on Friday to make sure my hCG levels have dropped back under 5.  If not, I'll have to undergo medical intervention to complete the process.  In addition, Phil and I have to figure out if we have both the emotional and monetary capital available to spend on another attempt.  Even if we decided right here and now that we wanted to try again, we would still wait.  Not just to let my body heal, but to avoid trying during the Lenten/Easter season when our household is already taxed and stressed (Plus, with Phil's job, we really need to avoid a Christmas due date).

As we travel down this road, we will talk to each other; check in with where we are and how we feel; reach a decision together; and be gentle with one another as we heal.