This blog is small glimpses into my heart and soul - attempts to be transparent with friends, and sometimes, to myself. This is my safe place, where I can come and be purely Ness.

Family: If you found your way here, please do me a favor and don't poke through my closets, ok?

Tuesday, February 26, 2013

Unexpectedly Hard

I didn't expect this. I was all prepared to deal with another light pink line indicating another miscarriage, potentially even a few of them before we would be successful or decided to stop all together. I wasn't looking forward to it, but I knew what it would be like, and in a way, how to handle it. I knew I would survive and keep on, because I'd done it before. I was as ready as I could be to go through the loss.
I wasn't ready for two months of negative tests. Ha! I know how ridiculous that sounds. Even in the world of fertile people, two months is nothing. Nothing. In the infertile world, it's entirely laughable. So I understand if my words get under your skin, but bear with me please - I know that you do understand what it's like to stare at the empty space that would radiate pink if wishes, hopes, and dreams could force our bodies to bend to our will, and feel utterly disappointed. "Disappointed." It's not nearly a strong enough word to describe that feeling really. That moment when your soul seems to cave into yourself and the grief adds another layer to your already burdened heart.
So I know many of you have been through months and months of negative tests, and then following that months of painful procedures and meds that screwed with your body and mind - and then stared for the zillionth time at that empty space while your heart broke again. I know this doesn't compare, but I know at the same time that many of you have learned compassion for those going through different journeys experiencing pain in different ways, maybe even if it sounds ridiculous to you, so I'm bringing my courage and sharing with you still.

In some ways, I feel like we've experienced a strange mix of hyper-fertility and infertility. Remember that article that was going around a few months ago about recurrent loss possibly being caused by hyper-fertility - a woman's body accepting any fertilized egg, even if it wasn't a healthy one? Yeah. That made so much sense to me, because honestly, we've never had trouble getting pregnant before. I remember one time that it took us two months. That's it. But of course, six out of seven didn't stick around, and most of them were gone before the five week mark was reached.
So ridiculous as it sounds, this is new territory for me, and I really wasn't prepared for it. This has all hit me harder than I ever would have expected. I mean, shouldn't not being pregnant be better than going through another miscarriage? You'd think, right?
They do say that we seek the comfort of the familiar, even if that familiar is not really comforting. So I guess that's what I'm going through. As painful as the miscarriages are, they're familiar now. Two months of negative tests in a row - not familiar. Unfamiliar is scary to me. This is weird, new territory, and I'm not sure what to do about it. The very first time we decided to ttc, I knew that it could take a few months, or even several months before we were pregnant - I actually expected that. But then it only took one and has been that way ever since. I've dealt with the occasional negative during times we were trying to avoid pregnancy, but thought we might have slipped up; I've dealt with strong pink lines that led to weeks of utter fear, and for one, high hope brought crashing down to "no heartbeat;" I've dealt with staring at lightly positive tests knowing that I was staring another miscarriage in the face. I've never dealt with repeated negatives.

Seeing each negative test is bringing all this grief that I didn't expect and I find myself struggling to move past this cycle. Why is this so hard?! It's only two months of trying. Why am I still so incredibly sad about this? Three days ago, I knew that I really, really wasn't pregnant (although it took me another day to completely 100% believe it), and today I still woke up dragging through a deep sadness that doesn't want to let go. I need to get my life back into balance, to get a flow of normal, productive, giving-my-son-the-time-he-deserves kind of days, before we head back into going through all of this again in a few weeks. I need to be ok for just a little while.
I knew this year of ttc was going to have its difficulty and its hard times. I apparently just had no idea what it would actually be like.

Sunday, February 17, 2013

Wait, Pray, Hope

I finally did it. I stood in front of my entire church and told them (very briefly) my story. (Our story really - I'm not alone in this.) I totally freaked out the day before, trying to figure out what I would say and realizing that I was about to share intimate details with not just friends, but strangers and acquaintances. The verse "bear one another's burdens" came to mind, and I knew it was confirmation that I really needed to do this. No one can bear my burden with me if I don't share it.
The anxiety followed me Sunday morning as the church service got closer, but sitting in the worship and listening to the songs brought my focus back to Him and with it enough peace to steady me. I know that my voice wavered as I told them about losing JJ before we had Dune, the year we lost Anastasios, Sayuri, Tacey, Aliento, and then finally, Nima last summer.  I heard it crack as I asked them to pray that we would be granted just one more baby to keep. I felt the hope and the sadness that flowed as I spoke of my desire to come to the end of this story with heart whole, faith strong, and spirit resting in Him whether we were granted a baby or not.
They surrounded us and covered us in prayer. I felt blessed, loved, and tiny part of me healed.

Since I ovulated the night before this, it kind of felt like the perfect timing, and certainly my hopes have raised considerably. But, you know what happens with higher hopes - the harder the fall is when it happens. So with my hopes, my fears are high. I'm struggling to find a continuing measure of peace each and every day. The anxiety attacks aren't frequent, but there is a consistent background anxiety that I recognize through feeling often on edge and somewhat testy with my family. I briefly found myself frustrated with going from a place where I was ready to accept a short time with my next baby and going through another miscarriage, to a place where I was thinking about/hoping for a full term pregnancy and healthy baby and the idea of loss was shooting a bolt of terror through me. I don't need or want that terror.
Now, I'm working on seeking peace for today. One day at a time trusting in God's love, reminding myself to that I can trust that love through each day, whatever that day ends up holding. I really haven't got this down. Several times a day I have to take a deep breath and focus on his love, to bring myself back to today, to let "tomorrow worry about itself." I don't know how I will hold up through this week. I'm hoping this gets easier instead of harder, but it doesn't usually work that way. So pray for me that I won't fall apart by the end of this wait.

Physically, I feel like this cycle is different, that I'm likely pregnant, and while my husband will tell you that I've said that several times when I wasn't pregnant, the getting pregnant part has not been difficult for us historically, so there is indeed a decent chance. Of course, I'm also having the low backache that seems to have become a regular part of pms and was always a sign of an impending miscarriage when I was pregnant. But then that has also recently started coming before I've even ovulated, so maybe it's become something that I will experience no matter what the state of my uterus happens to be. There are no answers! I'm trying (and trying and trying) to not think about it all very much until the end of the week when I will actually have some idea of what's happening.

Wait with me, pray with me, hope with me, won't you?