Stop the Clock

In April 2011, I completed my final pack of birth control pills. I was ready and Sam had halfheartedly agreed that we could start trying for a baby (because his other option was likely that I'd start flushing the pills and stabbing holes in condoms...God bless the old me). He had just completed his first year of his three year doctoral program and we had celebrated our first anniversary. May 2011 would be our first month of possibility. You know how the story goes.

It's October 2018 now, a full seven and a half years later. The clock is stopping now. Have mercy, but there are a lot of weird, hard, mixed up feelings in this decision, but I'm sharing it because every other part of this journey has been open, honest, and vulnerable. It feels like this part probably should be too. I'm starting birth control again.

If you would have asked me even two years ago about birth control, I would have chuckled and offered some quip like "no need. I am my own birth control." And when you look at my track record, it seems all but certain. Even with IVF, I was given chances below 10%. So what are my chances of a regular, non-medicated cycle without timed intercourse? 1%? Less than 1%? The odds have always seemed so low. So very, very low.

I told myself years ago that I was done dictating my cycles. They could come or go as they wanted and I would just live life. If I had a 24 day cycle, so be it. If I had a 48 day cycle, I'd save some money on tampons. That was about my level of interest. And so with time, my dedication to even track my cycles fell to the wayside. I barely remember to even note when a cycle starts now.

I told God that I was done trying, asking, praying. I would just trust him. If he wanted a miracle, bring it. If he didn't, I was content with the miracles he has already allowed me to witness.

But things have changed. I no longer feel the same open arms feeling of surrender. Instead I feel an itchy, anxious fear that keeps me up at night and makes me second guess intimacy with my husband. And I don't want to live that way.

The reality is that our life is FULL with two kids...full in ways that are hard to explain. The boys are 16 months apart, basically as if I had gotten pregnant when Garrison was 6 months old. I know that as they grow up, the close proximity of their ages will likely be a blessing, but right now, we're in the thick of it. Two kids in full time daycare, medical bills out the wazoo, therapy appointments... it's just a lot.

And the truth is that I no longer want a biological child. That is CRAZY hard to admit as we have four embryos on ice in Florida right this very moment, but hiding behind my feelings won't change a thing. My kids have some hard, complex days ahead as they will begin to grasp and grapple with their adoption, their permanence in our family, their first families, and their relationship and role within our family. While I know a lot of blended families of biological and adopted children, it just doesn't feel like the right thing for our family at this moment. We will finish out our infertility treatments by seeing it through with the final four embryos from my IVF cycle in 2014, but after that, we're done. I have zero wish to ever crawl back on that crazy roller coaster. See you, bye.

Additionally, I think there's a solid chance that there is another kiddo for our family, but when I think about it, when I allow my heart to unwind and my mind to imagine, I feel deep within my soul that a future Greavu would join our family though international adoption, likely China. China changed some of their rules in the summer of 2017. One of the regulations now states that the youngest child in the home must be three years old (or older) before you can submit your dossier. We cross that line next June with Joel, and then the possibilities are wide open for us. But if I were to get pregnant, we'd be at least four years from bringing home another child from China. And I'll be honest, I'm not sure I could bribe Sam to go for four kids, and I'm not sure I'm the right mom for four. It feels like an either/or decision, and right now, my heart doesn't break for the possibility of a maybe baby with thick brown hair and green eyes, but it SHATTERS over the orphan on the other side of the world.

It felt reckless, even dangerous to have unprotected sex while we were in process with Joel. If we had gotten pregnant, we would have been obligated to report it to our agency, which would have very likely cost us our adoption of Joel. SCARY STUFF. My opinion might be different if the rules had never changed, if you could adopt while pregnant, or with infants in the home, but three years? Gosh, that's a long time. It feels like the nail in the coffin...and when those are the words that come to mind when I think about a surprise pregnancy, I know that my head and heart just aren't in it.

Am I 100% sure about this decision? Gosh no. Enneagram 6's rarely ever get the luxury of being 100% confident in any decision. We just learn to live and lean into the uncertainty. I turn 33 this month. The years are speeding by faster than ever. I'll receive the "advanced maternal age" tag in just two short years if I ever try to conceive again. I know that this decision may mean I'm eliminating my chances. And yes that's a little hard to wrap my mind around. Probably a little less hard knowing my chances are basically nill to start with though. It was going to take a miracle at 26. It'll still take a miracle at 35. I'm taking comfort in knowing that this isn't an irreversible procedure. It's a pill. I take it or I don't. If things change next month or six months from now, I can stop the pill and I'll be right back where I am...ridiculously infertile and unlikely to conceive.

But what about trusting God with our family? Didn't I say that? Gosh guys, I don't know. A lot of healing has happened over the last four years in my head and my heart and my relationship with God, but there's still a lot of doubt and fear when I think about God, particularly in relation to growing my family or fertility stuff. It's not good and it's not true and when the lies creep into my mind, I'm trying to push it back with the truth of who God is. But the reality is, sometimes I almost think it's more likely that God would heal my body, uterus, eggs, and whatever else is wrong in there now that I don't want a baby. Like I said, wonky, hard, messed up feelings still lurk at the bottom or it all. There's no magic wand to wave to unthink the lies you believe about yourself or God. I've been wrestling with a good bit of guilt about this decision, as if choosing to go on birth control means that I don't trust God. Maybe it does and maybe it doesn't, but I've finally come to place of semi-peace about the decision. If I was a normal, fertile woman with working ovaries and junk, and we didn't want to get pregnant, we'd pursue this option. Just because it is so much less likely for us doesn't seem like a valid reason to role the dice over and over again if it's not the outcome we're hoping for.

It was a good run. 7.5 years of not hearing the ding of my phone to remind me to stop and swallow a pill. I'll miss that. And I'm not looking forward to regular cycles. Ughhhh. Far too often. But I am looking forward to a little peace and the opportunity it brings for the future.

We're the Lucky Ones

It's over. The wait is over. I have a son. He's mine just as if I'd birthed him from my own body. In the eyes of the law, he has the same rights and privileges (whatever those may be) just the same as any future children of ours, be they biological or not. Our adoption is official and final as of today. He is my son. I am his mom. The finalization hearing took place this morning, and now the four year process to start our family, and the five month process to finalize our adoption our both complete. With one signature on a piece of paper, it was over. Hallelujah.

It was a shockingly brief hearing this morning. I knew it would be. Everyone said it was incredibly anticlimactic. Our lawyer sent us documentation that the room had been reserved for a whopping ten minutes. We only had to answer seven questions, six of which were answered with a "yes." It was over so quickly, I barely had a chance to be emotional. The judge was an older gentleman and obviously ready to be on with his day. As I was planning my answer to "why are you petitioning the courts to finalize your adoption?" and the tears were starting to form, he signed the document and said, "well let's get this finalized for you." I sucked my answer back in and just held my sleeping baby. Yes sir, just sign that piece of paper. That's all I need. And just like that, in the eyes of the law, we're a family. It's what we've known and felt in our hearts for months. I can't explain exactly why it mattered for it to be "official." It's not like a thought of myself as his guardian, but there's something about someone recognizing us as a legitimate family, just the same as any other that brings tears to my eyes. It is good to be a family (officially).

When I think about this little boy, tears swim in my eyes. I love him so much I can hardly breathe. He's changing me, shaping me, molding me into a different person. He's refining my heart. Infertility chiseled big ugly sections of my heart free; Garrison is polishing it. He's softening my heart, showing me a new kind of love, stretching my faith, bringing clarity to my understanding of the Father's love. I've only known this little boy for 138 days, but they have been life altering of epic proportions. My heart is changing because of my love for Garrison. My dreams for my family, my perspective on infertility, my purpose in life…he's changing it all.

I know the comments are coming regarding our adoption. People will say, "Garrison is so lucky to have you." And I know what they mean when they say that. Everyone means well. They think Sam and I can give or offer more (financially, spiritually, emotionally, physically) than Garrison's birth family. He's lucky to have us rather than what could have been... that's what people mean when they say these types of things. I'm sure I've said similar things in the past to others. I'm not here to comment on the circumstances surrounding Garrison's birth or placement into our family. That's his story to learn first and tell if he so chooses. But I am here to say this, it's not him, but us that are the lucky ones. Sam and I, we're the lucky ones.

I don't understand the way God works. Why infertility had to be a part of my very young family. Why Garrison's birth family had the difficulties and circumstances that they did. I can't explain why one couple gets pregnant and another doesn't…all of these are questions that I just don't have answers to. I can't explain why Sam and I lived through the years of pain that we did, nor why Garrison has already experienced the greatest loss. But I can tell you this, I can't imagine my life without him. He is without a doubt the greatest thing that has ever happened to us. I can also tell you this: it didn't have to end this way. We could still be waiting. Trying IVF. Hoping for a lucky cycle. Waiting for a match. Picking up the pieces from a failed adoption. Instead we're lying in bed with our sleeping son knowing that we are so fortunate to have him. And not just any son, but this son. Our son. So yes, Garrison is fortunate. Things could have gone differently. We're thankful his birth family loved him and chose life and a future for him. But I can guarantee that Garrison will change far more about Sam and I than we will ever change about him. It's not him, but us, Sam and I, that are the lucky ones.

Welcome to the family, Garrison Greavu, forever our firstborn. We're so thankful for you and can't imagine one day of life without you in it. We love you to the moon and back (and back again).

And If Not

I'd approached Him all these years on this one issue like the beggar I thought He'd made me to be, inconsequential and insignificant before Him. Please God, please God. I repeated words like rote religious petitions, stumbling over myself to get close to an answer, when the One giving the answer wasn't even in my picture. The One on the other end of my requests was behind guarded doors, doling out responses like Santa Claus. And I, apparently, had not been "nice." I prayed as one who believes she is cursed might pray.
Every Bitter Thing is Sweet

Oh man you guys, my world is getting rocked right now by a tiny little book... just 8 inches tall, and 208 pages from cover to cover. But oh man, it's good. I mentioned earlier that I was reading Every Bitter Thing is Sweet by Sara Hagerty. Many of you might have read it. I had wanted to read it for a few months, but didn't want to shovel out the ten bucks (because I say no). I put it on my Christmas list and my mother-in-law got it for me. Every few pages had a line or two that caused my world to shift. It was so good that about half way through it I literally just started over. I didn't want to miss a thing.

Her question from the beginning is one that I've been asking myself for years, but I didn't have the words to articulate it. Her question, "Is He [God] good to me?" becomes the central focus of her story as she deals with infertility, adoption, marriage, and financial struggles. It becomes the lens through which she views each circumstance.

The author says that due to infertility, she began to see herself as cursed. It's not the way I would describe myself, probably because it conjures up the idea of witches or karma or something. But if I think about the word simply as the opposite of blessed, I begin to understand her use of the word. The lives of others, hundreds, thousands of others, are blessed. But this one thing, this one prayer, has gone unanswered... I have not been blessed, so I must be cursed. She writes the following in response to her father's diagnosis of brain cancer, "Of course. This is just how my life goes. Why should I expect it to be different? If I want something, it will always elude me." And I have to admit, that some days, that's exactly how I feel. It's as if infertility has become this Thing upon which my life is measured. The presence of it in my life means that I am not yet blessed, I am not yet chosen. 

I could write ten posts just about the mess, the ugly that this book is stirring up and causing me to confront. I want to focus in on one idea though. Tucked away in the midst of chapter eight is this line that absolutely rocked my world.: "I struggled, instead, with knowing that God could heal me, but he didn't." She writes that part after adopting two children. She was a mom, yet she still felt that way. I don't know why, but that line hit me like a ton of bricks. It sums up my whole experience, this whole wrestling match with God. It's what I've been trying to say for almost four years, but haven't had the words. I'm desperate for infertility to end, not simply because I want a baby, not simply because I want to give birth, not simply because making babies in the bed is a lot less expensive than any other method, but because I'm terrified of who I will be if my "fertile years" run out and He never chooses to heal me. Will I still love Him? Will I be able to stare Him in the face, crawl up in His lap, cry out 'Abba Father' knowing He could have created life with just a breath, but He never did?

It brings out this idea that's becoming more and more popular. She Reads Truth readers have made it their banner cry... they even have a t-shirt (I want!). The idea is this: And if not... He is still good.  This idea of "and if not" is not new. The idea is scriptural, going back all the way to the book of Daniel when Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego were threatened with death by fire if they would not kneel before the king's idols. Daniel 3:17-18 says, "If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to deliver us from it, and he will deliver us from Your Majesty’s hand. But even if he does not, we want you to know, Your Majesty, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up." It's a hard place to come to. A place where we say even if You NEVER answer my greatest, hardest, most earnest prayer, You are still good. This is one of those "I want to be like that" moments, but I'm not sure I'm there, or at least not consistently. I'm still struggling to process. I'm still arguing with myself that I'd be more blessed, that He'd be a better God if He gave me this one thing. It's hard to wrestle with the thought that your God is all powerful, that He can make something out of nothing, and yet, what if He doesn't?

The author eventually comes to see that her life was blessed, in ways she wasn't looking for, in ways she didn't expect, in ways she didn't request. And part of that blessing was infertility… it's not even a silver lining kind of thing. Infertility changed her. As myself and many others have experienced, infertility is like a glacier, slowly carving out the terrain of your life. Infertility made her more open, more vulnerable with her husband. It made her more empathetic towards others. It made her desperate enough to take crazy big risks to go after four orphans in Africa. But I believe she'd say most importantly, it made her long to see her Father more clearly. She writes, "I had a lot of ideas about God that weren't actually God's ideas about God… I saw more clearly the disconnection between who I said God is and who I believed Him to be." Eventually she sees that the presence of infertility is what reconciled her, brought her to her knees at the feet of the One who could change it all, and not the lap of Santa. But it was a process. A whole decade in the making. She ultimately decides that "God allowed [infertility]. Maybe even invited it" and that He did so because He could see the finished product that she'd become.

I've wrestled with some of these thoughts before. I wrote a post awhile ago where I struggled to find the reason for the presence of infertility in my life. Later, I wrote a post where I tired to wrestle with the idea of giving thanks for infertility, even if it is the ultimate weed in my life. I feel like I'm on the cusp of coming full circle. The reason for infertility isn't what is important because the answer won't change much of anything. And offering thanks is well and good, but there is more.

I've allowed infertility, my barrenness to become the lens by which I view the world. Or more accurately, to color the lens I use to view the world. When I view my life, and the lives of those around me I see evidence of being overlooked by God. You can see where Sara's question comes in. The question isn't "is God good?" but rather the question is "is God good to me?" Is God good? Absolutely. Is God good to me? Maybe. I hope so. Let's wait and see. If asked, I wouldn't have said any of that, but that's what would have rolled through the dusty, darkness of my mind where tumbleweeds blow from one corner to the next. But now, as I continue to wrestle, as I continue to stretch I'm coming to a slightly different idea. Maybe God's goodness isn't measured simply in giving good gifts, which He does, but rather in allowing us to come to a place where we desire Him more than His gifts. Maybe He allows it, even invites it so that I'll eventually come to a place where I can write, "I wanted Him. Whether He came and lifted my circumstances, or He just came."

___________________________________

I'm assuming you were hoping for an update out of all of that. I don't know much. We had our interview last night. It was awkward, and touching, and stressful, and hard. And it made me admire and like this woman 10,000 times more than before. This situation feels so right to me for so many reasons, but I have no inkling if the expectant mom is feeling the same. We know now that we went second; the other couple had their interview yesterday morning. I also know that my consultant really wanted us to go first because, in her words, "the first couple almost always gets chosen." I also know that the two women from the agency that were on both phone calls are split in their opinion as to who she will choose. This could go either way. We don't feel settled, or secure, or confident in anyway. I also know that everything you wanted to say apparently comes to mind and mouth about 4:30am after the phone call. We are hopeful that we will have an answer within the next few days… as always, the waiting is the hardest part.

We are desperately hoping that this little boy is our bring home baby… but if not He is still good. 

Infertility Defines Me

A lot of people are quick to say that infertility doesn't define them. Other people say similar things about cancer or disabilities or any assortment of things. It comes from a place of empowerment... a desire not to be seen as weak due to a weakness or sick due to a sickness. A desire to be seen as an entire person, rather than the sum total of our parts. We often debate within the infertility community if we should call ourselves "infertile" or not. We discuss whether the inability to get pregnant within a year should become a noun we use to describe ourselves.

I get all of that, but I've always viewed infertility a little differently. I try not to offend anyone, but I use the term "infertile" with abandon. For one, it just simplifies life. The infertility community is rampant with acronyms. You don't have to hang out long to see that we have a love affair with the short and sweet. Message boards and blogs are filled with the likes of: BFN, BFP, IVF, FET, PIO, IUI, HSG, hCG, p4, E2, etc. It's like alphabet soup around here. So summarizing us as a group with a one word term rather than a description as "women who are dealing with infertility" or "couples who have been unable to conceive within a year/six months" just seems to make logical sense to me.

I often use the term for brevity, but I also regularly use the word to describe myself. If you ask me to describe myself, I'll probably tell you that I'm a witty, book reading, Jesus loving, infertile introvert or something along those lines. Sure infertility has only been a part of my life for a season, but it has really changed who I am. I view the world differently than I did four years ago. I view myself differently. I view hardship, marriage, loss, sickness, God, faith, finances... I view it all differently than I did before infertility. I would say other than my salvation, infertility has been the single most defining thing within my life. It has literally affected everything. So when I say infertile, I say it not as a component of my life, but as a descriptor of my life. I am infertile and infertility defines me.

Several months ago, I watched a message online that I really liked. It is in no way related to infertility, but rather a broader discussion of allowing your weakness to be seen… even boasting of it. I really enjoyed the viewpoint, so I thought I'd share. I know this can be a really controversial topic, so know that I'm not trying to step on toes or in anyway define anyone else. If you don't feel like infertility defines you, or if you have found a way for infertility not to encroach and creep into all aspects of your life, you may really disagree. That's fine. This is simply how I choose to view this thing that has infiltrated and colored my life.

Okay, so this message… you should really just go listen to the whole thing. I listened to the first five messages again last night… they are that good. The entire talk deals with the concept of "in the meantime" and asks the question "What do you do when there's nothing you can do?" I don't know about you, but that pretty much sums up infertility for me… nothing I can do. I mean, yes, absolutely, we have options to try: fertility treatments, diet, acupuncture, adoption, prayer, etc, but ultimately there's really nothing we can do to "solve" the problem. Doing all of the above may or may not bring the solutions we're hoping for (can I get an amen?). All six parts of the series are fantastic, but the second part focuses on the idea that God is most glorified in our weakness.

If asked to come up with some adjectives to describe my state of being right now, I would use words such as broken, discouraged, confused, inadequate… those are of course, separate from my identity in Christ, but that's kind of the point. I myself, do not portray nor boast a position of power. I feel completely helpless to remedy my circumstances. If you listen to part 2, you'll find that the Apostle Paul found himself in similar circumstances. He was imprisoned and dealing with a medical ailment that was debilitating, humiliating, and painful. He was completely unable to change his circumstances and he prayed over and over for the Lord to heal him, to remove the condition, to change his circumstances (sound familiar?). The Lord never removed the medical condition for Paul… He never healed him. That right there is encouraging to me. Paul was an integral part in the creation of the first century church; he is responsible for a large portion of the new testament text… if God was going to change the circumstances for someone, it should certainly have been Paul, and yet, He didn't.

I don't know about you, but I've found that trials in life often put our faith on trail. Infertility, for me, has proven to be both the greatest trial in my life and the greatest testing of my faith. I'm currently reading a new book, Every Bitter Thing is Sweet. I'm only one chapter in, but I can already tell that this is going to be good. The author Sara Hagerty struggled with infertility for years and within the first few pages, she writes "My question was not, Is God good? But instead, Is He good to me?" Mmm hmm, yes and yes. I've wrestled with that over and over again. But the story of Paul (and so many other new testament characters like John the Baptist and Lazarus) help to remind me that God is good. Period. Paul's story provides encouragement as Paul was surely important and dearly loved by God, yet God did not answer his countless prayers for healing. So we can draw a connection to our own circumstances. If God loved and valued Paul, but chose not to answer his prayers, then the lack of answers to my own prayers does not mean that God is absent, apathetic, or angry. I can still be dearly loved and valued. Paul ultimately came to this conclusion:

But he [the Lord] said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.

2 Corinthians 12:9-10

So yes, I fully recognize that I am not solely an infertile woman. I am many, many more things: a wife, a daughter, a friend, a sister, a Daughter of the King. I am a book loving, chronic writing, [almost] crazy cat lady. However, infertility is most certainly my weakness. It is the circumstance that I have pleaded for God to change. And infertility defines me in so many ways. Infertility has changed me so much; I feel like my high school classmates wouldn't even recognize me. It's a wonder to me that I don't have a giant flashing billboard over my head with an arrow and the word infertile. I am infertile and infertility is me. And I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing, for it is when I am weak that His strength has the potential to be seen through me. So I will boast of my weakness, and use the term "infertile" to define myself. Not only because I find it simpler, nor because I find it to be inclusive and a term of endearment and camaraderie, but ultimately the Lord is most glorified when I am weak. Whether He chooses to say yes to my requests, or respond no, or offer no response at all, He is still good. And my weakness, my inability to provide and do for myself is the greatest platform I can offer for His goodness and grace to shine.

A Season of Waiting

And so this is Christmas... or at least Christmas Eve. Another year over. Another year of waiting. This year, I can't help but connect Christmas and this entire season with IVF and Jacksonville, Florida. This time last year, we were preparing to travel the day after Christmas. My mind was almost entirely swallowed up with preparation for the trip: checking medications, then checking them again. Packing and repacking the suitcase. Honestly, Christmas was basically just a day standing between me and IVF. This year feels incredibly different. Instead of the rush and stress of preparing for IVF, I've got plenty of time to think and contemplate. Absolutely nothing is happening in the adoption world. In fact, just about everyone we're working with has said that typically birth mothers don't contact them during the holidays, so don't expect anything before the new year other than a rare "stork drop." So yeah, lots and lots of time to muse.

All of this free time as we approach Christmas has led me to see so many connections between Advent and my own season of waiting. I think many of us do that. We find some sort of comfort in the season of Advent because it feels good to know you're not alone, that others have waited (and waited, and waited) too.  I love the way Louie Giglio explains it in his new devotional specifically for this season, Waiting Here for You:

"But Jesus didn't arrive without a wait. While you and I simply turn the page, moving effortlessly from the end of the Old Testament promises to the opening of Matthew's Gospel, it wasn't quite that easy. Four hundred years of silence spanned the gap between the final prophecies spoken in Malachi (the last Old Testament book) and the birth of Christ."

I love that. And gosh, what a good reminder that we're so used to just flipping the page to reach the end of the story, but the truth is there was a lot of waiting in the middle. I can really resonate with the idea of waiting and sitting in silence. I can only imagine what the Israelites must have felt... waiting on all of these promises. All of their prophets dead and gone. This God was the God of their grandfathers... was He still their God? All too often, I can identify with the Israelites, particularly with their weaknesses. I'll be the first to admit that I would have been one of those quietly, internally asking, begging God to show up, to prove himself, to not allow another generation to die while waiting. Because that's the truth of the story... God's people died while waiting for Him to fulfill his promises. It's kind of a theme in the Old Testament... Moses, the guy who led the Lord's people out of slavery died before reaching the promised land. It was Joshua who completed the task and brought God's promise to fulfillment. Waiting is most certainly a continuous theme throughout the Bible. And this season of Advent is all about waiting, often in silence.

I think the interesting thing to note, is that there was no lead up to the birth of Christ. I mean other than a star and some angels it just happened. The whole nation wasn't awaiting a specific date and time. It was just another day, a day with a promise that might not come to pass for another 400 years. It was a day like any other. The fulfillment of the promise didn't come with lights and sirens and announcements that IT WILL HAPPEN ON THIS DAY. The month before everything changed, the people just thought it was any ol' month. Just another day, you know? Somehow that's encouraging. Last year there was just so much hope for me. IVF was supposed to be the answer to two years of infertility treatments, to months and months of saving. It was supposed to be the key to my October Baby. There was just so much hope and anticipation at this time last year. But this year, we're not matched, we're not funded we're just waiting. We certainly hope that 2015 will be the year we meet Baby Greavu, but there is less hope and certainly less urgency now than this time last year. So it's nice to remember that Bethlehem wasn't ablaze in light. There were no parties. No fanfare. The song is called "Silent Night" not, "Tumultuous, Exuberant, Expected Night." No one was waiting for the arrival of Mary and Joseph. And yet they came. Despite the lack of attention, despite the lack of rising action leading to the climax of the story, the promise was fulfilled. There is comfort in recognizing that though it feels like nothing is happening right now, we could be a few months or even weeks away from the climax of our own story. Just because we can't see it, just because we're not aware of it, the moment we're all waiting for could be just around the corner.

I know that Christmas, and really just the holidays in general, can be hard for so many. I'm certainly one who can identify with melancholy feelings each Christmas... we just want the day to be SO BIG and perfect with the family in matching PJs, and perpetually hot cups of cocoa, and snow falling, and crackling fires, and carolers strolling the neighborhood, and peace and rest and happiness... the day can often never live up to our expectations. The holidays are also hard for so many who are missing a loved one, mourning the passing of a mom or husband or child... days and seasons like this often bring the hard stuff to the surface. For me, this is the fourth Christmas of wishing for a bump or a baby. It's hard. Any infertile couple will tell you that the holidays just make it that much harder. So much of every holiday centers around children, and often our most favorite holiday memories are from when we were a child. The holidays just have a way of bringing forth the sadness and longing that we all feel. But I hope we can all extend ourselves and one another a little bit of grace. The season can be hard, but take heart. We are not the first to wait and long for tomorrow. And your day may be just around the corner and you'll look back thinking "if only I'd known what was coming."

Peace and Blessings, friends. Merry Christmas to all of my sweet friends who find their homes filled for the first time with their heart's greatest desire this year. And for those of you longing, hurting, hoping, I'm abiding with you as always. May the conclusion to your season of waiting be just around the corner. Merry Christmas, sweet friends.

The Next Right Thing

The truth is I'm nervous. Nervous because life is pretty good right now. I'm still dealing with some lingering depression, but it's not situational. We've been home owners for about three months now and it really feels awesome. It feels good to invest in us, in our future. It feels good to put down roots. It feels good to do hard work because it's OURS (yeah, yeah technically it's the bank's, but you know what I mean). Buying our first home was definitely the next right thing for us. But I'll admit that there were a few days weeks in the home buying process where I was wondering if we were making a GIANT mistake.

People always tell you to trust your gut. I don't know, maybe that works for some people, but my gut is untrustworthy. Anxiety brings on a very fussy gut. Seriously guys, the fear of the fire drill sent me home sick so many times in Kindergarten I ended up at a specialist for chronic stomach pain… just ask my mom. I have never been able to trust my gut... if the situation for any reason causes me to be nervous, my gut will tell me to run the other way. For example, my gut would have never allowed me to get married. I've mentioned before that I was anxious when I got engaged. I was nervous about getting married. I was not calm. My stomach was uneasy. I was anxious... it took time for me to breathe and for the anxiety to slip away. Time for my stomach to chill out. The morning after the wedding, I woke up with so much peace. And I've gained more and more and more since then. Sam was the right man. Marriage was the right decision. It was the next right thing.

I've got another one of those BIG type of decisions looming. Some times I think about it and I feel really good. It feels like a good plan. I feel happy and optimistic about the possibilities. Other times, particularly when I think about committing to that step, announcing the decision, signing paperwork, etc; I feel nervous. When I think about what could go wrong in five, ten, twenty years because of this decision, I feel nauseous. I can't trust my gut here.

I think my greatest fear is loss and pain and heartache. Really, just more of the same. For a while the whole concept of doing nothing, of not cycling, of not trying, seemed absurd. I thought I'd send myself into a panic attack at the mere idea of leaving the embryos frozen in Florida and taking a break from all of that. But the longer I've sat in this place, the longer I've enjoyed it. My life is good. Seriously, it is. Sure, it's partly because I'm prohibiting my mind from wandering down the deep, dark, twisty roads of infertility misery. I'm not allowing myself to really even think about infertility let alone dwell on it. But the feel good feeling is also because not trying means I can't fail. I am not plagued by worry. I'm not spending countless hours researching the benefits of eletroacupuncture or the potential effects of eating a roast beef sandwich or skipping a prenatal vitamin. I'm just living, maybe for the first time in three years, and it feels really nice. I'm not a hundred percent sure I'm ready to open myself back up to the potential for more heartache, more loss, more regret, more rejection.

However, I also know that doing nothing will most likely yield more nothing. Sure, the Lord could bless my womb and we could get pregnant next month, but He hasn't promised me that. And I believe that the Lord asks us to do life: to make choices, to work hard, to try, to grow, to fail. If we want to grow our family, we are going to have to take some risks. Risks can feel really scary though, especially when past experience says that risks don't bring rewards, but ruin. When your expectations are crushed, your hope can be lost amidst the rubble.

I've written about this series before, but it's come back to my mind recently. I keep hearing this phrase in my head over and over again. Jeff Henderson shared in the series Climate Change that God is in the business of building hope in our lives, but we have to trust him... especially when life doesn’t make a lot of sense. That trust looks like simply choosing to do the next right thing and letting God take care of the big picture. At first that really seems like a dumb idea to me. I like to be in the know. I like to see how everything will work out. I do not like to react to unforeseen circumstances, I like to be proactive. I like to know how the story ends. But lately, I've been thinking more and more that maybe knowing the whole story isn't for the best. If you told me three years ago that I'd be here (still infertile, still childless) I'm not sure that I would have had the courage to go on. Because really, my worst nightmares wouldn't have included all of this. So I've been thinking maybe I don't see the whole picture, maybe I don't know the whole story because the truth would freeze my feet. All I have to do is trust and take a step... do the next right thing.

I don't know if the next right thing will be THE thing that brings home Baby Greavu, but I'm hoping that it will at least bring us one step closer. And I guess that's the leap of faith… trusting that the next right thing, will lead us to the next, next right thing, and so on. We just focus on the step right in front of us and trust that He sees the whole journey.

"It's positive, but..."

I'm pretty sure I'm good if I NEVER hear those words again. I think I officially have PTSD surrounding that simple phrase... my heart stops, my stomach twists, my eyes tear. Essentially, I received a positive BETA today... positive as in 6. The nurse followed up her "It's positive, but" with "it's really low and it's unlikely that it's viable." Yea, I know. I've heard those words before. Twenty-eight months ago a nurse called to tell me "It's positive, but you're likely miscarrying." Yea, I remember exactly how that feels.

My infertile sisters all see the writing on the wall so to speak, but there are a lot of other people who were waiting for news today, so let me explain. The test assigns a number based on how much hCG is in your blood. Anything over 5 is considered pregnant, so yes, "technically" I'm pregnant. However, I'm essentially at the "missed period" stage meaning I should be able to take a home pregnancy test. HPTs vary in their sensitivity, but a First Response Early Result home pregnancy test (the gold standard) has a sensitivity level of 25... I would not get a positive. Other tests like the Error Proof Test or ClearBlue Easy Digital have a sensitivity level of 40 and 50 respectively... definitely not getting a positive. The "positive" result most likely means that one or both of the embryos attempted to implant, hCG was created and began to circulate, but soon after the embryo deteriorated and so the hCG level is now falling.

Basically, I'm miscarrying, it's just extremely early. The doctor won't even refer to it as a miscarriage; he'll call it a chemical pregnancy... but we won't use that hateful term around here. It makes what's happening sound like a figment of my imagination or a pregnancy in numbers only. Well, it wasn't in numbers only, the numbers wouldn't be there if it didn't happen. The strange thing is, I'm pretty sure I'd feel the exact same way if it the numbers had come back as a 3 or a 0. To me, my babies were alive, and now they're not. Sure they weren't breathing or looking anything like a baby, just a clump of less than perfect cells, but they were growing. I would have mourned the loss of our two embryos just as intensely if the BETA had been negative. The only additional bitter part about this is that it really hurts to come so close... to know they tried to implant, to know they survived at least a few days beyond the transfer. Sure, a positive BETA would have still meant we were ages away from a bring home baby, but we were closer than we've been in the last twenty-eight months.

I really can't process what this means going forward yet. Does this mean my eggs suck more than we knew? Are all of our embryos destined to die from early chromosomal issues? Is there more at play here like hostile uterine environment or killer cells? These are questions for another day. Right now, I'm just sad. In my heart, it feels like two of my babies have died, and well that just hurts... a lot.

I do of course have to stay on the medications and retest on Monday... it's standard procedure anytime there is a positive BETA. Many of you will want to know if there is any hope. I'll say this, it's incredibly unlikely. There are a wide range of potential results from a BETA at 4 weeks... anything from a 5 to 426. But keep in mind, those levels don't all become take home babies, meaning those aren't the numbers from only successful pregnancies, those are numbers from all pregnancies, ones that end in a day, a week, a month, the first trimester... they are all included. The American Pregnancy Association suggests that there are a few possible reasons for low hCG: a miscalculation of pregnancy date (not possible for me; we know exactly how far along I should be), an ectopic pregnancy (very unlikely with IVF), a blighted ovum or miscarriage. So yes, technically, I'm pregnant, and yes, things could turn around, but in this situation, knowing what we do and with our history, it's unlikely. The test Monday will most likely confirm a hCG level below 5 and I'll come off of all medications. However, I will say that I believe in a God of miracles, so I'm not discounting that He could show up in a mighty, mighty way... we're abundantly ready if He chooses to do so.

Until then, we wait. Thank you all for your well wishes and prayers today. Test day is incredibly stressful and I can't tell you how much your texts and messages warmed my heart during the wait. It feels wonderful to know that so many people are hopeful for us. Your encouragement means the world to us.

"Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength"- Isaiah 40:31

Lord, give me strength.

Some Answers

For those of you who are not eagerly counting down the days until Pregnancy Test Day, I'll clue you in on the countdown: four more days. So the question everyone wants to know is: "how are you doing?" I'm doing okay. Better than expected, really. I mean, I'm still sane, I'm still functioning, I haven't chosen a two week sleep as a means of coping, and really that's about all you can ask of yourself during the two week wait. But in all seriousness, I'm doing okay. There are certainly moments that sneak up on me... moments of complete despair, moments of potential bliss, but for the most part, I'm just living each day, trying not to let all that Friday represents take over.

The next question that everyone wants to know is: "how do you feel?" Normal. I know, what an answer. On one hand, normal is a HUGE improvement to how I was feeling. There were a few days where I just wasn't sure which terrible drug had caused it, but I knew that at least one medication was wreaking havoc in my body. Thankfully we're past that. But in some ways, normal is also terrifying. It seemed more plausible that a pregnancy might exist when I felt like crap (even though I knew I didn't feel like crap because of a pregnancy). Feeling normal seems to be the antithesis of feeling pregnant, so I'll admit that I wish there was something to complain about. But sadly, all symptoms/side effects have cleared out.

Another thing everyone is asking is: "are you optimistic/excited/anxious?" It depends on when you ask... the answer could be different 20 minutes from now. I guess I could summarize by saying I'm realistic, yet hopeful. Realistic means that statistically, we are not pregnant. We were once given odds as high as 70%... yea, um, that was before we found out my eggs officially suck. I read somewhere (I know, get off google) that transferring two day 3 embryos gives about a 35% chance of success. It's really heartbreaking and frustrating to hear that after all we went through, after three weeks of work, 14 months of saving, and $14,000 that we only have a 10-15% increase in odds over a normal fertile couple my age... that's just plain crazy! It seems like after all of that, we should at least be over 50%... it should at least be likely that we succeeded. So I'm realistic when I say that the odds are not in our favor. I'm not a betting woman, so I'm unwilling to say I feel confident or optimistic. However, I'll add that I believe in a God that is in no way bound by numbers. I'm hopeful that He has heard out cries and will mercifully answer our prayers. So yeah, realistic, yet hopeful kind of sums it up.

The last question my friends want to know is this: "how's your heart?" This one's tough. I want to say fragile. Because it is. I've experienced the disappointment before. I know that a whole slew of things can quickly follow on the heels of a failure like this... anger, sadness, regret, depression. And yes, I fear those things. I fear what fighting infertility can make me become. I fear the shell of a woman, of a friend, of a wife I could turn into for weeks, months, years... I've seen it in my own friends. It's a terrible thing to crawl out of your own empty husk. However, despite the fact that the human heart is fragile, I'm feeling optimistic about surviving Friday intact, no matter the results. Yes, I will be sad... super sad. Yes, I will be frustrated... immensely so. Yes, I will feel despair... how much longer will we have to walk this road? I will feel all of these things and more if it is a negative result. And obviously if it's a positive result, I will be elated, terrified, shocked, thankful... too many emotions to describe. Essentially, I guess I'm as close to at peace with the outcome as I think I'll ever get. It will be what it will be... we just have to be ready to move forward with either result. So I guess the answer is fragile, my heart is certainly fragile, but I feel comforted that the Lord's got this. He's in control, He sees the bigger picture, and He's not going to let us go. Friday could change everything or change nothing, but either way, we're going to be okay... eventually.

So four more days of waiting... four more days and then we'll know.

Thoughts on being PUPO

For those of you not in the know, PUPO is a term infertile women use to describe the unique time frame post IVF transfer and pre pregnancy test. It stands for: Pregnant Until Proven Otherwise. I'm not sure if I really buy into it for myself, I mean, I was always happy to celebrate other ladies who were PUPO, but me? Am I pregnant? I mean they're in there, but are they still alive? Are they going to implant? Those two things seem kind of critical to the idea of being pregnant. But whatever... my community likes to call it PUPO, so PUPO it is!

Before we get into the more emotional and spiritual thoughts on being pregnant until proven otherwise, let's cover the physical aspects, shall we?

First of all, recuperating from IVF (retrieval and transfer) has been significantly worse than my laparoscopy. I know. It makes no sense. I don't have Ovarian Hyperstimulation Syndrome, so there's really no excuse. All I know is, I've felt pretty terrible since Friday afternoon of last week. My stomach is soooo sore, like someone beat me with a crowbar kind of sore. And food, all food, sounds marginal at best, and vomit worthy at worst. Which leads me to my favorite thing about the two week wait: discovering you have every early pregnancy symptom known to mankind. I currently have:

• food aversion- triple check
• increased urination- yep, we're coming back to this one
• fatigue- I fell asleep at 8:30 last night... for good
• tender breasts- have mercy
• nausea/vomiting- the only thing I'm currently missing... it's a miracle

And just in case there is anyone out there thinking that this is good news and is about to offer congratulations, today is day 6 of our little embryos' lives, better known as implantation day. Which means today is really the first chance that the embryos could implant, meaning all of the above "symptoms" are not from the embryo or any hCG. They are just the fun side effects of all the drugs I'm on and having hormone levels that are all over the place. I know, I have absolutely no idea why fertile people don't choose to procreate this way... it's so much more fun playing these guessing games.

So let's go back to that frequent urination bit... I know, infertility blogs are full of TMI. Feel free to skip ahead. So Sunday night, better known as dose number four of Crinone (progesterone), I started exhibiting the signs of a UTI. I couldn't sleep so I stayed up researching all the side effects of each medication I was taking... Crinone matched everything. Less than 5% of people get any of those side effects, but they were all listed. I decided to tough it out until yesterday when I caved and called the clinic to see if there was anything to be done. They said they had to rule out an actual UTI first. I rolled my eyes but agreed to go get one since they said I could take those AZO pills to ease the discomfort. Well, don't you know, the OB's office thinks I actually do have a UTI... lovely.

And last but not least, I look pregnant. I'd say a good 12 weeks, maybe even 14. I swear I cringe every time I pass a stranger... if someone asks if I'm pregnant I may completely lose it. I'm assuming this is all bloat, but it looks legit. I'm thinking about making a t-shirt that says "just had IVF... don't even think about asking" just so everyone is really, really clear. The good news is that the bump is adorable if I do say so myself. I mean for a bump that is bloat and not baby, it's pretty cute. So just in case there is any future opportunity for a bump that is baby, I have high hopes that it will be a really cute bump.

Okay moving on. My thoughts are as usual, kind of all over the place. One moment I'm really hopeful and jazzed thinking things like "I'm closer than I've been in 2.5 years" and "we've got 4 chances at this" and the next second I'm sure that I will not be one of the lucky ones, that IVF is simply a cruel temptation to prolong my misery. I'm trying really hard not to let my mind go there, but sometimes it sneaks up on me. In fact yesterday I found myself researching next steps in case this fails. Suddenly I realized what I was doing and felt so guilty. I can't give up on these babies yet. There is a lot of fear tied in with this whole mess and my crazy mind thinks it will hurt less as long as there is a backup plan. But that's a lie; it's going to hurt like crazy if that first beta comes back negative. It doesn't even matter that statistically it will be negative. It's still going to hurt. So I'm refusing to allow myself to look into CCRM, or adoption, or donor eggs, or donor embryos... none of it. There will be time when and if we have to cross those bridges.

In the mean time, I'm trying not to focus every minute of every day on "am I pregnant?" and "was that an implantation twinge?". I'm really, really, really trying to trust that the Lord's got us, that He's in control, and that He is big enough to handle whatever comes next. I've begged and pleaded for these little lives, but ultimately it is 100% out of my hands. He'll either breathe life, or He won't. And although it's going to hurt like crazy if we fail, and I'm going to want to crawl in the darkest hole and cry my eyes out, I'm constantly reminding myself that He is faithful. He will not call me out on the waters and abandon me; He will see me through. 

You call me out upon the waters
The great unknown, where feet may fail
And there I find You in the mystery
In oceans deep, my faith will stand

And I will call upon Your name
And keep my eyes above the waves
When oceans rise
My soul will rest in Your embrace
For I am Yours, and You are mine

- Hillsong United "Oceans (Where Feet May Fail)"

Transferring Life

Thank you all so much for your prayers! No really, thank you! Saturday was one of the darkest days of my life. It was actually worse than you may imagine initially because the phone call from my doctor was confusing. I don't blame him as I was sobbing and may have been hard to understand, but he said that the embryos should have been 8 cells on day 2... which is incorrect, but for the next three hours I was certain that they would all die. Sam eventually looked it up online and showed me that no, they should be 4 cells which meant that most of ours were behind, but not that behind. I called and confirmed it with a nurse, but still felt really unsure about their ability to even survive the night. The doctor had called them fragile, and there was no arguing that most were a half to a whole day behind in there expected growth. It was such a long day and long night!

But someone somewhere has a special seat up front in the Throne Room, or maybe it was the collective cry of so many. I can't explain it, but those embryos "perked right up" overnight, as my doctor said. I'm still confused on the numbers and how this happened, but we have eight embryos. He said there were seven on Saturday and eight on Sunday. In addition to that, half of them were on pace or ahead. We had two 8 cell, one 9 cell, and one 12 cell on day three when they should be 8 cells. Now nothing had a perfect grade, but most had a grade of 2 meaning a little fragmentation but all the cells are equal. I'm not sure I can adequately describe the change in their outlook from day 2 to day 3... even our doctor was really impressed!

Despite the change, he still recommended that we go ahead with a day 3 transfer. And after chatting with Dr. Duffy, I'm much more okay with this. He admitted that he is probably the only doctor in the clinic who would recommend this... everyone else in the practice likes to push for day 5 blastocysts. And I was suddenly reminded why I chose him, why I like him. He is for giving each of my embryos the best chance at life, not pushing them to survive in a lab with manmade medium so that only the fittest survive. He said pushing for day 5 may only leave me with one or two blasts, or none, and there's absolutely no proof that an embryo that perishes in the lab between day 3 and day 5 wouldn't have survived and grown into a beautiful baby if transferred earlier. I know a lot of people disagree with this, but that's okay. We just want to give them all a chance. It probably means that future FETs (frozen embryo transfers) will fail at a higher rate, but our embryos fought really hard to get to day 3... we're not giving up on them just because they had a rocky start.

We ended up transferring two embryos, an 8 cell grade 2 and the 12 cell grade 2. He did still offer to transfer three and explained that this would be against ASRM's Transfer Guidelines, but that if our absolute goal is a pregnancy from this cycle, that's what he'd recommend. Essentially, day 3 embryos are just harder to judge.... the ones that would have died in between day 3 and day 5 in the lab might very well die in the uterus... there's no good way to know, which is why a day 5 transfer is typically preferred. I will say that FIRM is a little flippant with the embryo transfer guidelines... Nazis about OHSS, but not so much on how many should be transferred. They of course have a slightly higher twin rate because of that. We decided to stick with two. These are my reasons:

1. My goal is not to get pregnant no matter what out of this cycle. My goal is to get pregnant. If it's not this cycle than hopefully next.
2. I'm still not super comfortable with the Lupron trigger, I feel better about it, but not great. Therefore, putting all of me eggs embryos in one basket uterus, doesn't make me very comfortable.
3. We want a safe pregnancy for me and the baby (or babies). There is undeniably an increased risk for each additional baby.
4. We don't want triplets. Twins is one thing, but triplets? Not really in our plans. The odds of all three implanting as day 3 embryos was crazy small, but I don't gamble. And I also would feel super weird hoping that one or two dies during the next two weeks... super weird.

The transfer went really smoothly. Dr. Duffy said I was the best transfer of the day. The one thing I've got going for me in the reproductive department is a normal uterus and an easily accessible cervix. It really felt no different than an IUI in terms of procedure (other than the painfully full bladder)... there was the HUGE difference though in the fact that they weren't injecting several million sperm but rather transferring 2 precious embryos. There are a couple of things that I really hated about the transfer though, most notably was that Sam couldn't be in the room. I had never heard of a clinic that didn't allow the spouse to be in the transfer room. It's a really special moment and I hate that Sam missed it. The second thing I hate is that they didn't give me a picture of my embryos... I thought that was standard. I did however get an ultrasound image of them at the moment of transfer. 

The embryo in in the little glowing blob. I'm not sure why it glows, but I
assure you, the embryos are not radioactive. : )

It was so weird. I went into the transfer a sad, depressed, mopey mess... even with the news about the improved quality I was feeling bummed that our IVF journey did not turn out as we had hoped. And then they transferred those embryos inside, the tears started to flow and my whole mindset changed. I'm not giving up on these embryos. I was reminded that these are the exact embryos that I was fighting for with all of those doctors... I said I didn't want just grade A and grade 1. I wanted them all because they all have a chance at growing into a take home baby. Well, I've got them. They're not perfect, but they're ours. They are genetically ours and now, more importantly, physically ours and we so desperately want them!

And that was it. My clinic strongly discourages bed rest. In fact, they don't even allow you to rest after the transfer. They get you up immediately and send you to empty your bladder. They said that they used to require bed rest, but recent studies have shown that bed rest is not only not helpful, but can be hurtful. I'm on the fence about it, but my desire to come home won out. Sam couldn't get off of work for an extra day and I was kind of an emotional mess after the roller coaster of Saturday and Sunday... I just wanted to be home with my husband and my sweet Sterling and Everest. As it was a day 3 transfer and nothing can implant for several days, I decided to come home yesterday after the transfer. It was a long drive and the entire time I was second guessing the wisdom, particularly with every bump in the road, but I'm trying to trust that they are snuggled in my uterus and hopefully were uninterrupted in their task of cell division by the bumpy roads. I decided to take today though and stay home as I'm still exhausted and sadly still recovering from the retrieval. We won't call it bed rest as I'm fixing my own food and beverage and doing some laundry, we will just call it being lazy and recuperating from a very long three weeks! 

So thank you again for all of your words of encouragement: your text messages, comments, and emails meant the world to us during one of our darkest days. And thank you for your prayers! The Lord decided to breathe life and we are so, so thankful!

Now settle in... eleven days and counting until the pregnancy test!

The Thrill of Hope

The holidays are hard for so many people. They remind you of a difficult childhood, of a broken marriage, or a child gone astray. Christmas somehow so poignantly reminds us of what we don't have, or what we've lost, of what we're missing. It's strange, isn't it? That's certainly not the purpose of Christmas, and yet it happens every year.

For infertile women, Christmas can be incredibly difficult. Christmas seems to be wrapped and twisted and tied up around children, which is wonderful, and beautiful, and so special if you have them. It's when you don't have children, and yet it is your greatest desire to do so, that Christmas morphs into this great big mirror reflecting back to you what you don't have. It's kind of like in Harry Potter with that mirror, the Mirror of Erised... Harry, who has never seen his mother and father together, who has never felt their warm embrace, who has never seen them smile at him, sees his family together again. The Mirror shows him the single, deepest desire of his heart. For an infertile woman, Christmas acts as that mirror. All around us, the families are making memories and starting traditions. Children anticipate Santa, they make reindeer food, bake Santa cookies, read Twas the Night before Christmas; they decorate a birthday cake for Jesus, count down the days, and awake each morning to see where a (creepy) little elf has gone. These are all things that we have wanted to do with our own children for so long, and yet we simply watch other families enjoy these times together. For some, the image is more real for they came so close to the dream. Christmas becomes a marker of "my baby would have been 9 months, or my baby would have been 3 years".

For me, this could have been our second Christmas with our son or daughter... we could have had a nineteen month old child to celebrate with this year. I look at Christmas and I clearly see what could have been. My loss was years ago, and yet at Christmas it is somehow more new, more raw, more apparent than at other times of the year. I can't help but think of my friends who will experience their first Christmas after a loss, be that a miscarriage, a still birth, or a failed adoption. In every situation there was hope that THIS Christmas would be different, but instead it is more of the same with a lot more pain.

And yet despite all the sadness and the pain, for some reason, Christmas also gives us renewed hope. I'm not sure if that has to do with the closing of another year and the hope of the next... kind of a "2013 wasn't what we hoped, but 2014 might be" kind of thing. Or maybe it has more to do with the Christmas story. The birth of Jesus was the fulfillment of a promise made hundreds of years before... maybe it is the idea of fulfilled promises that renews our hope. But hope is hard, oh so hard. It's dangerous. It leaves us vulnerable. It opens us up to new wounds and lays bear our old scars. It is so very difficult to keep hoping year after year. In fact, we often look foolish for hoping for so long. "The thrill of hope"... ironic really. I don't think the Hebrew people would have described waiting as a "thrill". No, it wasn't until the promise was fulfilled that it became a thrill, not until "the weary world" rejoiced that this hope became something to sing about.

For those of you who have been blessed with the gift of a child, snuggle them extra close tonight. I know they're driving you bonkers with the Santa tracker and the carrots for Rudolph. I know that you'll be up at an unholy hour in the morning after putting together some crazy toy with 8,000 parts into the wee hours of the night. But these are the days that memories are made, so make them good.

And for those of you still waiting, still hurting, still praying, I am hoping for you. I am so incredibly hopeful for so many of you that your time is coming. May there be babies and bumps galore this time next year! Abiding with you, my friends!

Merry Christmas to you all!

The Weeds

I've been going through Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts Devotional for the last several weeks. It's not the meatiest devotional ever, but it's a good one for me... seeing gifts, finding grace, giving thanks... these are not the things that I excel at. It is good for me to be reminded to give thanks for what I do have rather than focusing on what I don't. One entry has particularly jumped out at me; maybe it is in light of Thanksgiving tomorrow, but I keep coming back to it. Essentially, the story she tells is about her daughter who picks a bouquet of burdock simply because of the purple color, not understanding that it is a weed not a flower. Ann is the master at extrapolating deep, insightful meaning from simple, everyday moments like this. She writes:

A plant isn't a flower but a weed only by function of its place. Transplant the weed to the heart and it blooms a flower...

Pretty interesting, right? Weeds and flowers... not that much difference between them, it is simply how I view them that makes me love one and disdain the other. Ann's prayer for the day was this:

Lord, all that I've deemed weeds in my life are only weeds by function of whether I want them in this place or not. Cause me today, to transplant all my weeds into wild wonder simply by thanking You for the grace of them in this place. 

This entry has left me thinking for several days now about giving thanks, particularly for the "weeds" in my life. There are lots of things that I am less than satisfied with in my life. For example: I don't love our home... it's small, dark, ugly, and in a less than desirable neighborhood. I could focus on that, or I could give thanks for the roof over my head to keep us dry in this miserable, icy drizzle. I could give thanks for the ridiculously low rent that has allowed us to get our finances in order. The house is a weed or a flower simply based on the way I choose to view it.

Obviously for me, the ultimate weed that comes to mind is infertility. I've said it before, but I have really struggled with seeing good, with finding value, with thinking there is a reason to give thanks for infertility. And I still feel that way to a certain extent. If given the choice between the way life has gone and the way I thought life would go, I'm pretty sure I'd go back and have that baby that slipped through my fingers at 25 years old. What could have been still seems better than what is. However, I've spent the last few days trying to view infertility in the same way I view our home. Yes, there are definitely things I'd change. Yes, there are definitely things I'd rather not have to deal with. But there are also things that I can honestly say that I am truly thankful for.

For one, I'm thankful for the motivation to get our finances in order. There is certainly a dichotomous aspect to this thanks as part of the reason our finances were in dismal despair was due to infertility, but I can admit that the real motivation for me to live on a budget, to save, to forgo gifts is the dream of a child. So I'm thankful that despite costing us a fortune, infertility has taught us a lot of lessons about living well below our means.

Secondly, I'm thankful for the testing of our marriage. Not a lot of couples can say that they've experienced a miscarriage and a life changing diagnosis within their fist two years of marriage. Even less can say that they've spent the last year and a half fighting together to beat the diagnosis, that they've worked hard for their dreams, and that they've fought for each other. There's no doubt that some days, I'd rather our biggest fight be about dishes and dirty clothes, but I feel like we've been tested by fire pretty early in our marriage. We're still here, and for that, I'm really, really thankful. I've seen what our marriage is worth to each of us. Infertility has given me confidence and a reason to believe in us.

Another thing I hope to one day be extra thankful for is the realization that children are a mighty, mighty blessing. This of course doesn't mean that I relinquish my right to whine about morning sickness, or 3am feedings, or bratty teenagers; no, I will definitely throw my hands up like any woman and utter a long, exasperated sigh. But my hope is that infertility will allow me to see the gift of relieved nerves that a little nausea can offer, or the extra snuggles with a baby at 3am because the baby will be a toddler in the blink of an eye, or that bratty teens are often just strong-willed children stretching and growing into adults. Essentially, I hope my struggles with infertility will make me a better mom. I hope I will see the not so great moments as a gift that might not have been.

And lastly, I'm abundantly thankful for the friendships I've made both in real life and through the blog. I can't imagine who I would be if I had not opened the door and shared my story. I'm so thankful that I am not alone, that I have been embraced by women who understand me, love me, and care for me. I am so thankful for the opportunity to cheer on my fellow infertile friends as they receive good news and bring home babies. I am thankful for a community that rises to the occasion when terrible things happen. I am so thankful to know that if and when my time comes, that there will be women who care, who will cheer me on, who will celebrate the life I've fought for. It's a beautiful thing to be amongst friends.

Infertility has been the ultimate weed in my life for the last two and half years. I've tried ripping it out of the ground, spraying it with weed killer... I've tried everything I can think of, and yet it persists. So I'm thinking it might be time to admit that this plant is a part of my life, and though I would not by any means ask for a bouquet of infertility, I'm beginning to see that some weeds flower, and for that, I can give thanks. Infertility, along with many things like houses, jobs, illness, etc, may be weeds only by the function of whether we want them in our lives. Maybe it is the act of offering thanks that changes the weeds into flowers.

My Anchor Holds

I am pretty much over the sadness, guys. I am OVER broken hearts and crushed dreams. I am over death, decay, destruction...

I know most of you heard the news about Erika, Matt, and Ellison. I don't have a lot of news for you guys other than Erika is obviously devastated. I'm sure Erika will update soon, but for now, please join me in praying for her and Matt. Erika has waited a very long time to be a mom. She tried incredibly hard to stay realistic about the adoption, but to get to the hospital, to have the lawyers come, for the papers to be signed, to be a few hours away from discharge... and then to have it all ripped out from under her so unexpectedly. My heart is broken; I can't imagine how Erika and Matt feel.

That seems to be the general theme lately: my heart is broken. I know that it's not really true... a few of us are getting good news... maybe I'm just bad at focusing on the good, but wow, the terrible news seems to be overwhelming these days. Sometimes it seems like this little corner of the world receives well more than its fair share of sadness... loss on the heels of infertility is just too much some days.

Holly shared a beautiful post on prayer and how she's struggling, learning, trusting, trying something new. I obviously haven't experienced what Holly has been through, but I felt myself nodding along as I read it. "Yes, exactly," I thought multiple times. The analogy she uses is a fish on land, gasping for breath, waiting for the Lord to throw her back in the water, waiting for Him to save her. I can't tell you how many times I've felt like that in the last two and a half years. My prayers have been bold, they've been meek, they've been pathetic, they've been angry, they've been urgent... I feel like lately there are no words to fully express what I need, what I desire, what I'm asking for. It just comes out in a strangled "DO SOMETHING!" as I recognize my helplessness to do anything for my friends.

I know many of you would agree that infertility, at one time or another, has tested your faith with fire. My ongoing prayer throughout all of this has been that my faith would withstand. I can fully understand how infertility could destroy someone's faith. There are so many urgent prayers that get lifted up: "let it be positive," "let it double,", "save my baby"... and yet, time and time again, we see only one pink line, our betas drop, and our babies die. It's easy to wonder, "Where is God in all of that?"

I'm reminded of the post Erika wrote several months ago... I think it's one of my favorites. She discusses an Old Testament story from the book of Joel in which swarms of locusts destroy all of the crops. Why does the Lord even allow the locusts? I have no clue. They seem to be a purposeless waste. An unredeemable pest. Sure, I guess birds enjoy a feast, but is that worth it? Doesn't seem like it. In the midst of the swarm, I am fully sure that I would not be thinking of the amazing, beautiful, life-changing ways that the Lord would use the locusts for good. But Erika writes this:

But what I do feel confident in is this: the character of God. That His character and his heart and his intentions never change. That since the beginning of the world, He has been a God passionately in love with his people, a Creator that is for us. And while we live in the world that He created, we live in a world that is fallen and full of our own free will that doesn't always make the best choices, and it's definitely not always a pretty place. And terrible things happen-- illness, hurts, broken dreams, abandonment, infertility, betrayal. And we wander through years of wondering what happened, why our perfectly-laid plans have been eaten by the swarms of locusts, and we're scared to plant new hopes lest they fall victim to the locusts again.

But I will restore to you the years the locust has eaten.

It's a really beautiful promise. The idea that these years spent wanting are not a waste. The idea that the heartache upon heartache is for a purpose. The idea that the Lord is at work in redeeming what has been stolen. It's beautiful, but it's really hard to cling to promises in the midst of the swarm, in the midst of the heartache, in the midst of the death. How can my faith remain steadfast in the trials and pain?

I'm reminded of a new song, actually a remake of an old hymn. Hillsong's Cornerstone is hauntingly beautiful and the words are filled with meaning. Take these lines for example:

When Darkness seems to hide His face
I rest on His unchanging grace
In every high and stormy gale
My anchor holds within the veil

There have been an abundance of high and stormy gales lately. The waves have been crashing, the boats are sinking, the winds are ripping, and night is falling... but check out that last line: My anchor holds within the veil. The veil once hid the presence of God within the Tabernacle. It was the way God chose to dwell among His people... "within the veil" is another way of saying within God's presence. My faith is anchored within the very presence of God, and He is strong enough to make sure that my anchor will always hold.

Faith doesn't give me any additional answers. I have no idea why Holly's baby girl, Brinly, died. Why He didn't heal Caroline's precious son, Jackson Dean. I have no answers as to why Erika was given the opportunity to adopt Ellison if it was going to fall through. The lack of answers is frustrating, but I'm trusting that the Lord is at work. I may not know exactly what to pray for, but I'm just lifting up my friends asking for the Lord to protect their hearts, to bless their families, and to anchor their faith within the veil.

Fearful Heart

I swear you guys, I was all prepared to write a happy, optimistic post about blogger love, but I just can't. Not after this. I've sobbed for the last half hour. I'm sure my coworkers think my dog died. My makeup is gone... no signs that I even tried to get ready this morning. But ughhh, my heart is just so broken! I can't imagine living through what Holly and her husband experienced last night. Just reading about it tears my heart to shreds and scares me half to death.

Holly, even in her darkest hour, is concerned for her pregnant friends. She doesn't want them to be afraid. She keeps explaining just how rare the condition is, how unlikely it would be for any of her friends to experience the same condition. I'm not even pregnant and I'm scared. I think I've seen too much. I know too much. I've heard too many heartbreaking stories to believe that two pink lines means a baby. Hell, I'm not sure I believe the second trimester or even a positive anatomy scan means a bring home baby. Holly had all of those things, and now this.

And Holly isn't the only one. My sweet friend Caroline just passed the due date for her precious son, Jackson Dean. But of course Caroline doesn't have Jackson at home with her because he passed away just a few short hours after his birth over three months ago. She's now gearing up for a FET. There is so much strength there; it's really astounding.

I've never experienced a pregnancy... not really. For the last twenty years or so I've thought of pregnancy as this beautiful wonderland of fluffy clouds and wildflowers... what could be better? Pregnant women just glow, right? The experience of a pregnancy was actually part of the reason I wanted to pursue IVF rather than adoption... I wanted the experience. But after all I've seen, all I've read, all I've heard, pregnancy is starting to look and sound like the perfect cocktail for a mental breakdown. I've always been a fearful person. I'm not a risk taker... like, at all. I never learned to ride a bike because "what if I fall?" I'm not adventurous. I've never said "lets try it, just once". I typically stick to the safe, easy, tried and true method of things. IVF is not safe, easy, nor tried and true for me. It's adventurous, it's unknown, it's scary.

The days on the calendar are ticking by at some kind of crazy rate all of a sudden. For years, I have felt like the days were barely moving, like I couldn't wait one more minute to get there. But now that there is a date on the calendar, time is flying. And I'm scared. I'm scared of the medications. I don't do medication well... I have to be in a lot of pain to even take Tylenol (because what if it causes liver damage?). I'm the person who should not read the warning labels on medications because I will suddenly manifest all of the above. And IVF meds are no joke, so I'm scared. Scared of the risks I'm willing to take with my health both now and later to achieve this dream. I'm terrified of the needles. I know we already sort of conquered this with the last IUI... but lets get real. Follistim is the smallest needle available. And it isn't even a painful medication. It's not viscous. It doesn't burn. It's the easiest of all of the meds. The big boys are still to come. Risa just wrote a post about progesterone in oil... I'm pretty sure I swallowed bile. I'm terrified of the needles to come. I'm afraid of the pain from growing 20-30 eggs, afraid of the egg retrieval, the anesthesia, the risk of OHSS... it's all just really scary.

But the fear doesn't end there. Then there's the fear of failure. The fear of a broken heart, one that is far more severely broken than anything I've dealt with to date. I have assumed that even if it worked, I'd be afraid. I've seen two pink lines before... I know that fear well. But at some point, at some magical place I have assumed the fear would end. That the fluffy clouds would descend and the wildflowers would bloom and pregnancy would be this blissful wonderland of discomfort and nausea and pure AWESOMENESS. But now I'm not so sure. Will I ever be able to embrace a pregnancy and say "this, this is my bring home baby"? Today, it doesn't seem like it.

But the truth is, there is no easy way forward. IVF is fraught with danger and fear. There's no way around it... just got to go through it. Adoption isn't the fearless path either. I assure you, Erika is afraid of losing Ellison. The path from here to motherhood is going to be a scary thing. There doesn't seem to be any way around it. Even if I got pregnant on my own, without IVF, I would be afraid. I know too much.

The bible is filled with calls for faith, for trust... "Do not be afraid, for I am with you." (Isaiah 43:5) I am not Peter... I don't think I'd ever crawl out of that boat. But I'm asking the Lord to lead me through, to give me faith, to make me fearless. It's a long way from where I stand today to where I want to be. A long time to work on this fearful heart.

Please join me in continuing to pray for Holly, Darren, and baby Jude.

Sunshine and Roses

For several days now I've had every intention of responding to all of the lovely blog awards floating around the blogosphere these days. For some reason, people keep nominating me for the Sunshine Award... I imagine my mom gets a kick out of that. I think I was seven years old the first time I she told me I needed to be more positive. Sorry mom. It doesn't seem that I ever grew out of my pessimistic realistic ways.

But you guys, I just can't do it. I can't drum up a post of happiness and sunshine amidst all of the sadness that seems to have struck the infertility community. Some days it just seems so unfair. Why do the women who spend years trying to get pregnant, who take out loans and second mortgages just to pay for treatment, why, when it seems it is all finally coming together, are their dreams turned to nightmares, their hopes dashed? It just doesn't make any sense. I know that the world is full of the unfair; we live in a broken world. But some days, I just want kick my feet and scream because my friends don't deserve this.

My heart is broken for Holly right now, as I know many of yours are. She has fought so hard for this pregnancy. She has already suffered loss, both before this pregnancy and during. This is her second time going through a fresh IVF cycle and her third transfer. She transferred three embryos, saw THREE heartbeats, but sadly lost baby B at nine weeks. This pregnancy has already been filled with extreme highs and extreme lows. And now this. On the heels of her gender reveal her water broke at 17 weeks. Brinly, her precious daughter, is not expected to survive. There is no fluid surrounding her sweet girl. It is heartbreaking! Her son, Jude, is in a lot of danger too. Holly could go into labor at any time and obviously, at 17 weeks, there is nothing anyone can do to save either of her children. Holly is so strong. I know she'll get though this no matter what the outcome is, but it is just so, so sad that she even has to deal with this. I just want her to bring her babies home.

Sadly, Holly isn't the only mama to be struggling mightily with loss here lately. Conceptionally Challenged just lost her twins. Her membranes ruptured at just shy of 20 weeks and she ended up delivering both babies two days later. My heart broke reading about her labor and delivery story. I literally cannot fathom the kind of strength that it takes to unexpectedly deliver your first born in the bathroom at 20 weeks.... can. not. imagine.

These are just a couple of the late term crises that have come up in the month of October... I know there are several more out there dealing with PPROM or birth defects or other issues. It's really sad... really, really sad. At what point can a woman celebrate, and decorate, and feel confident in her pregnancy? I know for so many infertile women this is a huge issue they have to overcome... the fear of losing the pregnancy can be debilitating. I know for me, as I approach IVF for the first time in just a little over two months, I do so solemnly. I'm taking nothing for granted and recognizing that IVF is just the first step in a very long road towards a baby. Thoughts and questions have been swirling around in my head for the last few weeks... all the "what ifs?" and the "what do we do whens?". Some days the distance between point A (here, preIVF, no baby) and point B (there, bring home baby) seems so far... it's daunting. Who am I to think that my IVF will be successful when so many other beautiful women that I love and care so much for fail? Why do I think my pregnancy will be any different than Holly's or The Unexpected Trip's?

I'm so sorry to fill up the blog with sadness and despair. I know that my God is still God even when things look bleak. That He is a God of miracles, even if it's not the miracle we are looking for. I believe He is in control, but some days I'm still really, really mad. Today is one of those days. I promise I'll be back soon with a more balanced display of sunshine and clouds. Today, I'm somber as I envision the road before me and pray for my friends. Join me in sending lots of love to all of the ladies who have recently lost their precious babies and to Holly who is currently fighting for hers.

Faith and Fertility Treatments (part 2)

So you're back for more, huh? Gray, deep, and murky waters haven't deterred you yet? Good for you. If you missed part 1, catch up here. I'd like to again preface this post by saying this: I am in no way an authority on this topic. Today's post will be almost entirely the decisions that we have made, that allow us to feel comfortable moving forward with IVF. The same may or may not be true for your family, and that's okay, because the deep end may be dark and murky, but there's a lot of grace out here too. I don't have to agree with you to love you. This is a chance to discuss these hard topics in a safe and open space. It is also an opportunity to explain how I've dealt with the unavoidable moments when pursuing treatments and my faith want to bump heads. Thanks for diving in with me.

Infertile friends, let me pause for one second and explain a little to the rest of the world. I was reminded recently that a huge portion of my readers are not "in the know," and terms like IVF still throw them for a loop. Bare with me. In vitro fertilization (IVF) is essentially the extraction of eggs (hopefully several) from a woman's body in the hopes that fertilization will take place outside of the woman's body. If fertilization takes place, embryos develop and they can, at some point, be returned to the woman's body. That's as bare bones, boiled down as I can make it. Now of course there are lots of variations. Sometimes the embryos go in after being frozen and thawed (frozen embryo transfer), sometimes the eggs are harvested from one woman, but returned to a different (donor egg and surrogacy), but essentially it all comes down to the attempt to fertilize an egg outside of a woman's body and then successfully return it to a woman's body.

For a lot of people, IVF seems too far. Like you're playing God. I get that, but hold on, let us explore the deep end a little more. Because the truth is that there are moral and ethical issues with other treatment methods as well. The initial hurdle most couples go through is oral medication. It seems innocent enough. The goal is to increase the chances of ovulation by providing an increase in hormone response. This also increases the chances for multiples though. I've heard many stories in which women become pregnant with three or four babies after one or two rounds of Clomid. Difficult decisions for sure.

If oral medication doesn't work, women are often encouraged to try intrauterine insemination (IUI). We've all heard of John and Kate Plus Eight. It's unlikely to happen, that's for sure, but there were supposedly only three or four follicles visible by ultrasound before their IUI, but low and behold, they became pregnant with seven babies, and eventually gave birth to six children. My point in all of this is simply that even the "lesser" procedures deserve a lot of thought. But even more important is an understanding that this is all gray. I don't think you can give a hard and fast rule on when to proceed and when to stop. Where one woman may be asked to cancel a cycle, another will be encouraged to continue. Take me for example: I was initially told my IUI cycles would be cancelled if I had more than three mature follicles because the chance of triplets was just too high. However, after three failed IUIs, we were encouraged to continue even when there were potentially five follicles. See what I mean? It's murky water.

However, it's not all that often that oral medications or IUIs cause serious ethical or moral dilemmas. The arguments and tough conversations really deal with IVF. Some would argue (like this author) that this is an incorrect way to think... IVF is safer and more ethical because the woman only becomes pregnant with one, maybe two children, 95% of the time. However, I agree that IVF is a big deal and it certainly deserves caution, wisdom, and a good deal of thought. The gun powder of the IVF dilemma is a part of a much broader debate: when does life begin?

Can we just pause for a moment and agree on one thing: the mystery of life it just that, a mystery. I don't think my reproductive endocrinologists all agree on this topic and they have witnessed embryos growing, multiplying, dwindling, failing. If they can't say beyond a shadow of a doubt, I'm not sure that any of us can say with 100% certainty. Even the  Christian Medical & Dental Association acknowledges a lot of confusion around the idea of conception. And for that reason, this is where we (my family) begin to use restraint. Since we don't know with 100% certainty, we have drawn the line as far back as possible. So we have decided that conception will be defined as the moment Sam's sperm enters into my eggs. From this moment on, I will consider these embryos my children.

We've never done IVF before. The assumption is that I will respond well and that we will be successful at creating embryos because I am young(ish) and I have good numbers. How successful? No one knows. If we fertilize ten eggs, we could get ten embryos or none. My immediate reaction to that news is both "fertilize them all, just in case" and "I don't want ten children" at the same time. So then the question becomes how many embryos should we attempt to make? Which brings us to my family's first non-negotiable: we will not discard living embryos. You see? I told you this was deep, dark, swirling water out here. Many people, fertile and infertile, disagree with that decision. But remember, I say all of this with grace. Here's why we've decided not to discard living embryos: I can't say which embryos will live or die, so I will give them all a chance. Therefore my options in terms of fertilizing eggs become: a- only fertilize as many eggs as I desire children (i.e. I want a max of 5 kids, fertilize 5 eggs), b- be willing to use every embryo, no matter how many children we have, or c- be willing to donate any left over embryos after our family is complete. Like I said, this is tough stuff. No matter the answer, the question deserves a lot of thought.

An added issue that will most likely arise due to our first non-negotiable is this: which embryos should we freeze? And should we freeze at all? I'd like to pause here and say that this is the territory in which I feel the least resolved. The next few months will be filled with a lot of research and a lot of prayer. That being said, questions arise like "at what point should we discard an embryo, if ever?" and "if freezing potentially damages the embryos, with a less than 100% thaw rate, should we freeze at all?" Tough questions. Lets tackle them one at a time.

At what point is an embryo essentially dead? I can't tell you how many hours I've spent thinking about this. Many of my doctors would encourage me to view it simply by numbers. If an embryo doesn't have the right number of cells on a certain day, it will surely stop growing they explain. My counter to that is this: as a believer, I recognize the existence of miracles. I believe Jesus called Lazarus from the dead after he had spent days in a reeking tomb, so I'm 100% confident he can give life where it seems that death reigns. So with that in mind, just because the embryo looks bad, I don't believe that the embryo is in fact a lost cause. Do I believe He will call my embryo back from its progression toward the grave? No, probably not, but that doesn't change the fact that He can. I won't put my mom in the ground until I'm 100% sure that she is gone (you're welcome, mom); in the same way, I don't want to throw my children in the trash until I'm 100% sure that they are gone. What does that mean? Like I said, I'm not sure yet, lots of prayer and research to come.

What about question number two: if freezing embryos potentially damages them, or lowers their chance at life, should I freeze? Have I mentioned before that these are sensitive topics? Yea, even my husband and I don't fully align on this one. He's a science guy. He has cut up people (dead people) and seen the inner workings of their bodies. I'm not a science girl, not at all. I've learned more science in the last two years dealing with infertility than I did in high school and college combined. The science world seems to take the stance that a good, vital, healthy embryo will survive the vitrification (freezing process) and the thaw. Embryos that don't survive wouldn't have gone on to be viable babies, or at least that's what I keep hearing. But I don't feel 100% confident in that right now. There's a lot of research left to do and a lot of soul left to search. My options are essentially, 1- freeze at day three or day five, hoping that the science world is right, 2- freeze at the pronuclear stage, because embryos at day one freeze and thaw better, or 3- freeze unfertilized eggs. Lots and lots left to decide.

Lastly, the question of how many to transfer will have to be answered. This is kind of a funny issue. I feel like everyone I talk to has an opinion on this. "You should transfer two," I hear that all the time. Some people feel very strongly about one, some people want us to insure success and encourage three. Let me go ahead and assure you, three is most certainly not on the table. Sam would die or heart failure if we saw three heart beats. My husband's fear of multiples makes this decision fairly easy for us, but it also leads me to my family's second non-negotiable: we will not use selective reduction. In case you aren't aware, selective reduction is the elimination of one or more babies while in utero. The goal, when done for non-medical reasons, is typically to give the remaining baby or babies a higher chance of success by lowering the risk for complications. We will not utilize this procedure. With that said, I can't imagine the fear associated with a pregnancy that could actually kill me... it would be an incredibly hard decision. Therefore, I want to limit the chance that I would ever have to make that decision. For our first embryo transfer, we will be putting back, at max, two embryos. If one or more of those decide to implant, and potentially split, heaven help us... literally.

I bring all of these tough topics up, not to stir up controversy or to make anyone feel defensive; that's not my intent at all. My soul purpose here is to say that these are lofty, weighty decisions. They deserve thought. All too often, doctors ask patients to make decisions in a split second. I, personally, want to have thought through as many possible scenarios so that I am prepared when unexpected circumstances arise. It is easy to allow fear of the unknown to sway our decisions. Add in the pressures from the financial costs and it is easy to get swept along in the current of the doctor's recommendations. Despite the fact that IVF is a huge financial undertaking for my family, I never want our finances to cause us to make decisions we will later regret. The temptation for us will be to get the most for our money, but there are ethical questions to be answered before we create twenty embryos. That's why my family is trying to answer the tough questions now. My faith guides many of these decisions, but regardless of faith, regardless of your beliefs, these are mighty large questions for all of us.

But the truth is this: the fact that there are ethical concerns surrounding fertility treatments doesn't automatically mean that we shouldn't pursue treatment. It simply means that we should do our research, move forward with our eyes wide open, and take the time to answer the hard questions. Whether you're aware of it or not, adoption has important ethical concerns too. Just because there is a potential to do more harm than good, doesn't mean we should stop adopting. The same is true for IVF and other fertility treatments.

Thanks for diving in with me. The water may be murky, but the shore is reachable: I pray those of us that feel lost at sea all find the shore with our faith and family intact... and a miracle to boot. My original intent for this series was to encourage other women of faith. I know that I have often wondered if my faith precludes me from treatment, and I'd like to offer my opinion that no, it doesn't. There is a path in which you can seek treatment for your miracle, bring-home baby and maintain your beliefs. Is it necessarily my path? Do you have to agree with me on each issue? No, not at all. Navigating the dark waters of faith and fertility treatments just takes time, thought, prayer, and a lot of soul searching. But if nothing else, I hope this series encourages thought and discussion amongst everyone. I encourage comments and dialogue, but let us all remember to offer grace and love before accusation and condemnation.