Finding Hope

  I know I never finished Lyla's story. And I do mean to someday, but the trouble was that I got to the point in the story that was really hard. It was hard for me to relive those times and feelings. They were ugly. I was much happier staying in the present with my beautiful babe, so I avoided it. I pushed back all the hurt and painful memories of that time. I reveled in being a mom and basked in the joy of her sweet spirit. She was something I had worked long and hard for and now that she was finally here you better believe I was going to enjoy her. And I did. And I don't regret or apologize for one minute of it.

  But she's two now. She's two, and she loves babies. She's two and she talks to her stroller. She's two and even though she doesn't understand the concept well enough to express it, she desperately wants a sibling. And I desperately want to give her one. So we started the journey again. I was a little hesitant at first. I wondered if it would be as emotionally difficult as it was the first time, and how I would manage that and motherhood at the same time. I didn't want my struggles to dampen my relationship with my sweet girl.

  After my first appointment with my new doctor however, I threw caution to the wind.  Not only was she knowledgable in infertility and PCOS specifically, but she listened to me too. Because of my past experiences, I knew what worked with my body and what did not. I didn't want to mess around with anything that was just going to be a waste of time and she was totally on board. I told her that I knew it was a long shot, but ideally I would like to be pregnant within the next three months and she was in my corner ready to "get aggressive". I left that day walking on air. I just *knew* things were going to be so much easier this time and I would be pregnant in a few short months, certainly by fall. That was in March of last year.

  We've had mixed results with the treatments. Sometimes they get my body to do what it's supposed to do, sometimes they don't. Then, one time, success! It was a very happy time; unfortunately it was also a very brief time. It ended in July. I didn't deal with it very well, in fact I didn't really deal with it at all. Except for Allen and my mom, I told no one. I don't like pity and didn't want any sympathetic "how ARE you?"'s. I also tried to pretend it didn't happen by just keeping my nose to the grindstone and soldiering on. If I stayed busy enough I wouldn't have to acknowledge that it happened.

  Which made it convenient that just a couple of weeks later Lyla and I would take a long car ride and two airplanes to a week and a half in South Carolina for a family reunion. It was wonderful and horrible all at the same time. The stress of that kind of a vacation, essentially on my own with a toddler, was enough to make me a little crazy. Getting away was nice and spending time with family we rarely get to see was fun of course. It was the first time for most of them to meet miss L which was so fun, even if she did spend the majority of the time with her face buried in my neck. But I could never really relax because even if I wasn't getting Lyla bathed, or dressed, or just not crying, or trying desperately to get her to eat ANYTHING other than fruit snacks, it was there. Even if she was happily playing with her Papa, and I was fed and dressed and managing, barely, to keep up with my large extended family (none of which had had babies in over a decade) I could feel the grief right on my heels. Even when I had nothing to do but sit on the beach and relax, I was exhausted with desperately attempting escape.

  Now that I think about, I don't think I ever stopped running, I just got better at hiding.

  In October we took a break from treatment. I didn't want to, and it was only after many tears and a couple of fights that I agreed to it. My reasoning was that I could deal with disappointment as long as we continued to be proactive. I've never been good at sitting on my hands when there was a problem to be solved. Looking back I think I was afraid that if I stopped running full speed toward my next baby, the grief of the lost one would finally catch me. And boy did it. But my poor husband. He had been so strong for so long. Through the two years of trying to conceive Lyla he had been so stoic. Every time I fell to pieces he patiently helped put me together again and not once during that time did he fall apart himself. Even after our loss in July, he was nothing but support without ever asking or requiring anything of me. But infertility is hard and it takes its toll in so many ways. It's one of those things that I don't think anyone fully understands until they've been through the trenches of it themselves. It sucks. And this second time around was getting to him much more than the first time did.

  The doctor said it was fine as long as we didn't wait more than three months to start treatments again. It did turn out to be nice timing to take a break for the holidays. If you don't have any experience with fertility treatments, even the most basic approaches require a lot of time, energy, and mental space. In my case I take one pill for 5 days, urine tests for 7 days, another pill for the remainder of the cycle, go in for a blood test a week later, and back for an exam a week after that. Every month. Not to mention trying to precisely time things that, let's face it, are much better left to spontenaiety. 

  The last three months have been difficult, to say the least. Aside from the stress and usual blues that accompany this time of year, I've struggled. I don't really want to go into much more detail about that. I only mention it because it relates to the title of this post and my request. Through both of my infertility journeys I have struggled, especially in my darkest times, with finding hope. Before Lyla, I had reached a point of desperation. The struggle I had kept so close to my chest, I was now willing to tell to almost anyone who would listen. When I shared with family, friends, visiting teachers, etc. what we were going through I asked for the only thing anyone can really give in these kinds of situations. Hope. Prayers. Fasts. Good thoughts and wishes sent out into the universe. Whatever it is you do to find hope, would you do that for me? For us? The difference it made last time was tangible. I could literally feel the wave of hope swell within my heart. Now that same hope walks and talks and breathes. She loves butterfly kisses and tells me I'm her "bes fren". When I come home from somewhere, anywhere, she looks into my eyes, strokes my hair, and whispers "Mommy, you home".

  Today I started treatments again. The truth is I wrote this more for myself than anyone else. To process some pain, but also to remind myself. To remind myself to seek hope and to remember that miracles do happen. Have happened, to me, in my life! And will happen again. But if you have a moment, and you think of me, would you hope for me too?

Lyla's Story - Part 3

Read Part 1 and Part 2 of the story.

What I came away from that doctor thinking was that it would be a little more difficult for me to get pregnant, but with extra effort and diligence, it was not a long shot.  I did a little more internet research where I found that it is not considered infertility unless the couple is facing no health problems and has been trying for at least a year.  We were nowhere near a year yet, and the doctor did say the medication would be harsh, so we decided we would wait until it had been a year and take it from there.

I was not going to mess around though.  I went to the library and checked out every fertility related book I could get my hands on.  I read anecdotal stories of women who had been through the entire arsenal of fertility treatments.  I found a cookbook with recipes using foods to boost fertility.  I did fertility yoga, and considered acupuncture.  I learned the mechanics of how my body worked (or was supposed to work) in more detail than I ever thought I would.  I honestly think I could teach a class.  I even started the all-consuming process of "charting".

Charting is a fun little practice in which one goes to the store and finds a special little thermometer called a basal body thermometer.  One then uses this thermometer to take ones temperature at the same time every morning, before getting out of bed.  Before moving if at all possible.  One then marks this temperature on a chart along with a multitude of other things including, cramps, moods, headaches, bloating, cravings, fatigue, irritability, nausea, etc.  You really have to learn to "listen" to your body.  The point of all this is to try to pinpoint when you will ovulate so that you can time things appropriately.  The catch is that you usually don't really know for sure when you will ovulate until after it happens.  The biggest indicator being a spike in your temperature.  By the time you see that spike, it's too late.  You're either pregnant, or you have to wait another month.  I was a little  completely crazy during this time.

Poor Allen.  He really bore the brunt of my insanity.  I would agonize over paying attention to every possible symptom of impending ovulation, afraid we would miss it.  If you're looking for a way to suck the romance out of your marriage, that's an effective way to do it.  To add to the stress, weeks turned to months without any sort of temperature spike.  I worried that I was doing something wrong.  I would test over and over and over again, thinking maybe I had just missed it, but had gotten lucky anyway.  Each test just brought more heartache.  Then, from nowhere, that huge message from my body that I was still not pregnant.
All this is classic PCOS.  Of course I had no temp spikes, when you have PCOS you don't ovulate.  Hence, no spike.  Somehow in all my frenzied reading, I managed to always skip over the stuff about PCOS.  I didn't think it applied to me.  Looking back, I wish I had just read it anyway.  I might have saved myself a lot of trouble.

I was a woman possessed.  I wanted a baby so bad I probably would have done just about anything to get one.  But there was nothing I could do.  Nothing but keep trying.  I got angry.  I felt betrayed by my own body.  I had taken pretty good care of it and didn't understand why it just wouldn't work the way it was supposed to.  I was angry at people who did have children and didn't meet my standards of what kind of parents they should be or how grateful they should be.  I would get angry at those who didn't have the experience of infertility and said the wrong things, even though they were only trying to help.  I even found myself angry with God.  He had prompted me that now was the time to start a family, and now I felt like he was denying me.  Much of this anger was taken out on Allen.  This was not a time in my life that I am proud of.  It's ugly.  My thoughts were ugly, my actions were ugly.  As I reflect back, I am baffled at how I could think some of those things and am ashamed even now to admit them.

I find some comfort in another woman's story.  She is someone I feel a special kinship to since we share the same name.  When my parents tell the story of how they chose my name it always seems like it was just meant to be.  I think now that this was a journey I was pre-destined to take.  I was given her name so I would know where to look for strength, for faith, and for hope.  Hannah is all these things.  

She too struggled with an adversary who "provoked her sore, for to make her fret, because the Lord had shut up her womb."  And although she wept and was "in bitterness of soul".  She did not lose faith.  She asked the Lord to bless her with a son.  She also promised that she in turn, would give that son to the Lord, so that he could then be an instrument for blessing others.

Even in my darkest, most angry times, I had some faith.  I knew she was there, and that she belonged to our family.  I also knew that I would do whatever it took to get her.

Lyla's Story - Part 2

Read Part 1 of the story here

The next few months were difficult and confusing as I had unnaturally long cycles, or no cycles at all, and continued to get what is known in the infertility world as a BFN (Big Fat Negative).  Any infertility survivor can tell you just how devastating those are.  Month after month, you can't help but hope.  Month after month your heart is broken a little more.  

They seemed to catch me almost off guard.  I would go into it telling myself to be realistic, at times even expecting a negative.  Most times I wouldn't even tell Allen I was testing.  I figured if it was just going to be another disappointing result there was no sense in both of us feeling the disappointment.  I could even look at the test, see the result, throw it away and go on with my day convincing myself I handled it well.  But it bothered me.  It would sit in the back of my mind and poison my mood.  Eventually I would snap one too many times and Allen would ask in exasperation what was wrong with me.  That's when I would burst into tears and through my sobs he would decipher exactly what had happened.

I had a very strong emotional response to everything.  Looking back I'm surprised by just how devastated I was so soon.  It had been less than 6 months and we didn't even have any kind of diagnosis yet.  I remember one night we made a late night trip to the grocery store.  We only needed a few things and as we made our way through the store we started to goof off.  I don't remember the game, but I remember laughing and joking as we went up and down the aisles.  Then we got to the baby aisle.  Suddenly, we were surrounded by diapers, formula, bottles, and baby food.  I felt like I had been punched in the gut.  My laughter stopped abruptly and I speed walked down the aisle as fast as I could with tears burning my eyes.

After about 4 or 5 months of these mixed signals from my body, I decided to go see the doctor.  I was a little nervous, but also excited to have an answer.  Once I knew what was going on, we could create a game plan.  We could be proactive and DO something.  This was what I needed.  As I explained to the doctor what was going on, a look of concern spread across her face.  I took this as a good sign because it meant she was taking me seriously and we could really get down to business.  She decided to do an ultrasound.  It made me a little sad that my first ultrasound didn't include a tiny heartbeat, but I went along.

Soon the doctor was inspecting a fuzzy black and white screen intently.  "Ok," she said, "these are your ovaries, see how they are all spotted?"  
"Yes," I responed.
"Those are small cysts.  They aren't harmful to you, it just means that your ovaries are poly-cystic.  A normal ovary would be smooth, but can you see how yours look like chocolate-chip cookies?"
"Uh-huh . . ."
"So there you go, now we know.  It's not a big deal, I know so many women who have gotten pregnant with poly-cystic ovaries.  Go ahead and get dressed and we'll talk about what we can do."

When I went into her office she nonchalantly repeated that it wasn't a big deal, she knew lots of women who were poly-cystic, and that she could put me on a medication called clomid, but that maybe I wanted to think about it because it could be pretty rough on my body.  I told her I would think about it, discuss it with my husband, and get back to her.  She told me she would just go ahead and write the prescription and I could fill it if I wanted or not.  If I did fill it, I should call to let her know, but if not just throw it out.  I left not really sure what to think.

What this doctor did not explain to me, and what I would not realize for another year and a half, was that I had just been diagnosed with PCOS (Poly-cystic Ovarian Syndrome).  A nasty little condition which can cause a myriad of troublesome symptoms including weight gain, acne, and, oh yeah, infertility.  Excuse me doctor, but that is a big deal.  That is a big effing deal.

Lyla's Story - Part 1

I've been thinking about this post for a long time now, trying to decide exactly how I wanted to do it. I wanted to tell Lyla's birth story, but I don't think I can start there. I need to go back further. To tell Lyla's story, I have to start by telling my story - our story. The thing is, it means I'll have to open up about some things that continue to be a source of personal pain for me. I have been extremely hesitant about doing so and have shared just the most basic of facts about this situation with very, very few.

So, why would I open up about this on the internet? Well, for one, I want to record it for the future. I want Lyla to be able to read and know just exactly how much she was wanted. The reason for the open nature though, is that I hope to help others. As I was going through my darkest times, I would read about the experiences of others that were similar to mine and it was a great source of comfort. To know that others were and had felt what I was feeling was such validation. It also helped to read the expressions of feelings that I was still wrestling with on such an intense level that I had no idea how to express them myself. If I can do that for someone else, or even if I only help someone understand the struggles of another, it will be worth it.

Here goes nothing.

To tell Lyla's story I need to go back about three and half years. Allen and I had been married maybe a month or two when I started to feel little nudges here and there that we needed to start having kids. This was not the plan. The plan was to wait a year, then we would evaluate our situation and possibly start trying. Yet there it was again and again; the nagging thought in the back of my mind that the time was now. I tried ignoring it. It was a crazy thought. We had been married such a short time and had lived in separate states the entire time we dated and all through our engagement. Waiting was not being selfish, we NEEDED this time to adjust to each other before we threw someone else into the mix. Every time I had convinced myself of all of this though, I would get another little nudge.

The next part of the story is very special to me.  So special, and so wonderful that I just don't feel comfortable sharing it.  I won't risk doubt or derision from anyone.  It's mine.  Just mine.

So, suffice it to say that we were persuaded and decided that we would start down the path toward parenthood.  I threw out the birth control with giddy anticipation and fully expected to be pregnant within a month.  Two at most.  After all, that's how it always was with my mom so why should I expect any different?

As time passed and I got no clear signs from Mother Nature that I was NOT pregnant, I took it as confirmation that this was really happening.  So I ran out to the store, grabbed a pregnancy test, and rushed home to give myself the good news.  As I was driving to the store and back I couldn't stop my hopes from flying high.  "This is it," I thought to myself "the day I find out that I am going to be a mother!"  I wondered how I would tell Allen.  Would I do something big, or subtly leak the info?  Surely I wouldn't be able to keep it to myself for more than a day.  What would his reaction be?  I think every woman has the fantasy of telling the man she loves that she is carrying his child and sharing with him in the joy, wonder, and excitement of the moment.  This was going to be a day I would remember.  I just KNEW it.

I went into the bathroom, took care of business, and set the test on the side of the tub.  I didn't allow myself to even peek at it until the requisite 3 minutes were up.  S-L-O-W-L-Y I watched the minutes tick by on my phone.  Finally!  It was time!  Negative.  "What?"  I thought, "That can't be right."  I looked at the box, turned it over in my hands, scanned the little pamphlet of instructions looking for some kind of explanation.  I looked back at the test.  Still negative.  I was completely floored.  How could I not be pregnant AND not have that obvious indicator from my body?

I jumped on the computer and began searching for some kind of answer.  Turns out there are all sorts of ways to get a false negative.  Testing too soon, testing at the wrong time of day, a bad test.  Surely one of these things were the culprit.  I would wait a week and try again first thing in the morning.  Then I was sure to get my positive.  Nothing to worry about.  But somewhere, in the back of my mind, I did worry, and when Allen came home and asked what was wrong, I cried.  I believe some part of my spirit knew that this was the beginning of a long and difficult journey.  So even though it had barely begun, I let Allen hold me and kiss the top of my head, and I cried.

Worth the Wait

Lyla Kate

September 27, 2011

3:13 am

And it was a significant wait. But that's another story for another day. Right now I'm surrounded by old burp cloths, dirty dishes, and laundry waiting to be folded, but my baby is clean and fed and smiling in her sleep and all I want to do is drink her in. I know that this newborn time is special and it won't last long, so for now I refuse to waste much of it with the unnecessary. Instead, I'll record some of my favorite things about Lyla.

She smells like heaven. Of course after her evening bath she smells especially good, but I mean I love the way she smells all the time. Sometimes I bury my face in her tiny little neck folds and just try to inhale her. I even love the smell of her breath. That sweet milky scent just melts my heart. I get especially sentimental when I take her after she's been snuggling with Daddy and smells faintly of him.

Her hands. Every detail all the way down to her teeny tiny little fingernails is absolute perfection. When she gets a hold of my shirt and clings to me, oh heavens! It's like she has a fist full of my heart! I tried clipping her nails the other day. Something I had avoided all along because a) I sort of loved her pretty long nails and b) I was terrified of cutting too close or hurting her in any way. I tried to do it while she was nursing and ended up clipping her, making her bleed. She screamed for a few minutes and it broke. my. heart. I really think it was much more traumatic for me than it was for her.

Confession: I love sleeping with her. I know I'm supposed to put her down and she should only sleep flat on her back. But there are times when she is having none of that and, honestly, I don't really mind. Obviously I can't do it all the time, but for a few hours a day I can think of no better way to spend my time. Cuddling up with her on my chest and feeling each sweet breath on my neck, or my cheek . . . Love.

So very, very, worth the wait.

Waiting

Here's to waiting in faith for the good things to come. Sometimes it seems as if we spend our lives waiting. It can be so frustrating, and at times feels so hopeless. In times such as these we must keep an eternal perspective and trust that everything that happens and every trial we face is for our betterment. We must "be still" and know that He is God.

I'll try to remember that.

Happy Easter!!!

We've had such a fantastic Easter this year! I loved that General Conference was on the same weekend, what better way to Celebrate the Resurrection than by listening to the inspired words of our modern-day prophet and apostles? I always love conference weekend, it's always just what I need to lift my spirits. I am just so grateful for this church.
Earlier this week I did a little basket make-over using this tutorial. I wish I had taken a "before" photo, because I think the transformation was awesome. You'll just have to take my word for it. In any case, this is what I ended up with:

That was before the Easter Bunny came. Afterward it looked more like this:

Allen and I both went to the store the night before Easter and we both bought candy to put in the basket and surprise the other. We were definitely surprised to find double the candy! It worked out though because we went to different stores and between the two of us we were able to get all our favorites. Allen really went the extra mile though. He got up early Sunday morning to hide these around the house.

The best surprise came when I opened them to reveal little love notes in each one. What a sweet husband!


For breakfast I made these little lovies:

They're called Easter rolls because while they're baking the marshmallow in the middle melts. When you bite into them they are empty just like the tomb was on Easter morning. A little cheesy I know, but I kinda liked it and Allen is the marshmallow king so I figured he would like them. If you would like to try them, I found the recipe here


Later we had a lovely Easter dinner of ham, scalloped potatoes, rolls, fruit salad, and asparagus with homemade hollandaise sauce. Yummy!

Allen being such a man and carving the ham.

For dessert I made this little piece of heaven:

It's called Pavlova and is to-die-for. Apparently it is a dish from New Zealand and is named after the ballerina Anna Pavlova because it is so light and graceful. It has a meringue base, filled with hand-whipped cream, and topped with berries (raspberries in this case). I had never even heard of it before but let me tell you, I WILL be making this again. I'd like to experiment with different fruit or berries on top. Maybe even use a chocolate mousse instead of cream . . . ooh, I should definitely try that. Anyway, if you would like to try this exquisite dessert, this is the recipe I used. I highly recommend it.
Oh, and P.S.- Yes, Allen did write that last entry but I decided to leave it because hey, who am I to argue with a statement so true? And humble to boot!