'Tis the Season for Hope and Healing

It's been awhile since I've had a chance to blog, and honestly I feel kind of guilty of that because I promised myself when I started this thing that I wanted it to be a place that I regularly wrote down my thoughts about this whole journey. My hope is that if we succeed that this entire blog can be something for said child to look back on, to learn their birth story, and their journey into being.

That all said, it's that magical time of year when there seems to be 50 hours of things to get done in a 24 hour period and frankly, this ball just got dropped. I absolutely adore the holidays and everything that goes with it. One of the things that bonded me to the hubby was that we were both holiday geeks. We love the imagery, the sentimentality, and all the traditions. Yet, we always tend to be way more busy this time of year than we ever intend, most of our own doing because of all the things we like to do to celebrate.

My parents moved to live closer to us at the end of October so it was a wonderful thing to get to host Thanksgiving this year and spend time creating new holiday members in our home with baby girl. It was also really nice to have a day of calm - cooking duties were split among those coming for dinner, and we had a good, stress-free morning watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade and playing with baby girl's new Fisher-Price Little People Nativity set. It was relaxing, it was rejuvenating, and it was spirit-fulfilling. I wish all of our holidays could be exactly like that.

The farther we get into this journey, the more grateful I am to have come out of everything last year in one piece and with baby girl healthy and happy. In the early days, I had a harder time coming up with a gratitude list but did it anyway so as to remain focused on what was really important. We have so much to be grateful for, and I feel like in this season, wounds and grief can be magnified, as the sentimentality of this time of year weighs bittersweet on us all. One of the people I always think of this time of year is my Grandma. Christmas just wasn't Christmas without Grandma making her bourbon balls and she would make them alongside my sister and I when we were working on other Christmas cookies. Grandma was a Kentucky girl through and through, and we were never allowed to eat the bourbon balls as children and now that I have the recipe I know why - they are soaked in bourbon, a good cupful, and never cooked!

Grandma would have been 100 on November 6, 2015. She died shortly after Thanksgiving in 2009, three weeks after her 90th birthday. The last time I spoke to her, on her birthday that year, I was so pleased that she knew who I was as she had been suffering from Alzheimer's and had not been super clear on everybody anymore. But she remembered me that day when I wished her a Happy 90th. She asked me how college was and told me she loved me. I'm so glad I called and that we had that moment together. (Another example of those many "carpe diem" opportunities I seem to have these days.)

November 6, 2015 would have been Grandma's 100th and also it was the day of my hysterectomy. As silly and superstitious as it may seem, when they took me back for surgery, I had hoped that Grandma might somehow intervene from Heaven and make sure that everything would be ok. When I awoke the next morning and learned what happened, I was devastated and honestly, a little disappointed - I felt like Grandma had let me down. A year later though, I feel like Grandma may have intervened after all. I made it out of the surgery with the left ovary completely healthy and untouched. That fact alone has kept me out of menopause and also gave us the opportunity for the successful egg retrieval. The hope for surrogacy is there because of that. But more than that, I made it out alive- period. That infection was so bad, I think if we had let it go much longer, it would have probably taken me with it and that fact is hauntingly humbling.

I can't imagine baby girl growing up without really ever getting to know her mom. I physically hurt over the thought of not being here to see her grow up. I am so grateful every day that I get to make memories with my husband and our sweet daughter, memories that are now making new holiday traditions, and ones I hope that baby girl will remember and cherish. It's cliche to say, but after a near-death experience, everything seems to be more precious. I cried seeing Santa Claus arrive in Harold Square this year, I cried setting up the Christmas Tree, I've cried each Sunday seeing the Advent candles lit, and I've cried thinking about the excitement and anticipation the season brings and seeing it in baby girl's awestruck eyes. I don't think in my life that I've ever cried as many tears of joy as I have in the past year, over so many milestones and so many memories that I am so grateful to have. So many tears that have expressed a gratitude that I couldn't have comprehended.

Jesus came to the world as a baby. In my opinion, there is no other way to have come as something more innocent, more humbling, and more vulnerable. There is nothing that more represents divine and unconditional love. The preparation that happens during Advent for me this year has taken on a new meaning, because I am opening myself to what "the baby Jesus" now represents for me: the barriers that knocks down, the challenges that presents, and the risks that His birth invites me to take. I feel called to be vulnerable now in a way I never felt before. I feel called to love now in a way that I don't know I ever knew I could love. 'Tis the Season for Hope and Healing. And love. Glorious, unconditional, soul-fulfilling love. I am finding that I am experiencing all of them simultaneously this year and I pray that each and everyone of you finds them in whatever your own journey may be.

On to the Next Step

My husband and I traveled to West Tennessee this past Monday to meet with the psychologist for our psychological evaluation. Before we can move onto the clinic for the medical evaluation, the psychological evaluation must be completed by both parties. Our potential surrogate and her husband met with the doctor the prior week, so it was perfect timing.  

The entire appointment lasted 2.5 hours long and was the most emotionally draining experience I have had in a long time as we sat discussing all aspects of surrogacy (the good, the bad, and the terrifyingly ugly) and dissecting my medical crisis last year and all the stress that has resulted from that on our marriage. The doctor asked many pointed questions of both of us, evaluated our entire medical and family histories, and took what seemed to be an entire legal pad's worth of notes. She seemed particularly focused on making sure that we understood the importance of boundaries in the whole process and seemed relieved that my husband and I were in constant contact with our attorney. This process can be so beautiful and then apparently can become quite complicated if it is not revered and pursued with caution and intention. I left feeling emboldened that we have not been lax in our approach to this entire process and that we are definitely following God's will for us in our life. As luck would have it, 3 times that day we encountered the boy's name I talked about in a prior post again. Continuing to think that might be a sign we're headed in the right direction. The fact that it was the day after my 30th birthday didn't hurt either for that extra bit of hope. 

After the appointment we had a chance to meet our potential surrogate in person! She was really lovely and was just like all the times we have spoken prior. I was so grateful it wasn't awkward and we continue to be in awe that she is willing to do this for us. The psychologist said we'd have her report within two weeks so barring unforseen issues (I hope and believe we all passed!),  we're looking to set up the medical evaluation for right after the first of the year and keeping our fingers crossed for a hopeful transfer sometime early next spring. Bring on the next step. 

The tension between resiliency and tragedy

This past Sunday, November 6, marked one year since the hysterectomy.  I'm proud to say that the physical wound has healed and I am back in my pre-pregnancy jeans, not as easy of a feat as I had anticipated having a higher than normal scar (zippers are seriously overrated; why did we ever move from elastic?!)

I have been doing my best to give myself time to grieve and time to process and hadn't really known what to expect my emotions to be like. I experienced muscle memory and my scar hurt for the first time in a long time. I'll also be honest and say I've been more irritable than normal lately. I recognize that the grief and devastation of this past year are not going away overnight, emotional and spiritual healing has its own timetable separate from physical recovery. I just hope that as the years come and go, the sting will be less and less and the grief will be balanced by ever growing gratitude and healing. I have learned that grieving is messy, it's not a straight line, and more than anything it seems to come and go, sometimes hitting you when you least expect it and sometimes surprising you that it's not as intense when you think it will be. 

I heard a phrase on the radio a few months ago that I thought exhibited this awkward place I currently exist in perfectly: the tension between resiliency and tragedy. The resiliency of the last year has been sometimes joyous and sometimes discouraging. My beautiful daughter has gone from the a tiny, swaddled newborn into the running toddler in front of my eyes in this one year and the willingness I have every day to continue to get up and go forward is deeply inspired by her and all the love and dreams we have for her. 

I believe the resiliency has shown itself in our pursuit of surrogacy. In the midst of the immense grief last year, I would be amazed to know that one year forward not only do I have embryos banked from a successful egg harvest, but our potential surrogate goes this coming Friday for her psychological evaluation and we meet with the psychologist early next week to do ours. If all goes well we are hopeful for a medical evaluation after Thanksgiving and hopefully an embryo transfer in just a few short months. 

On the other hand, the tragedy for me is that it took me a lot longer to have the incision heal than anyone had originally expected, even though I was using a wound vac. My hormones have only recently seemed to completely settle down to more of a normal pattern and November 6 was also the first time in a year that I could comfortably sleep under our duvet without feeling overheated, whereas prior to this whole ordeal I was constantly and irrevocably cold all the time. I'm also learning that it takes at least a year to recover from pregnancy in general without the complications I endured on top of it. 

I still feel a lot of guilt and some fear and shame - feelings of failure to my family and even some thoughts that make me question my identity as a woman. My womanhood has been bruised and battered and something that I used to take for granted, my womb, I have had to admit I mourn and placed value and worth within, even unconsciously and unintentionally. 

On a string instrument, the strings must be tightened to a specific degree to be able to play in key and in harmony with the other strings. If the tension is not right, they will not vibrate and resound properly and as such do not play beautiful music, but often play flat or sharp or even snap into pieces. My hope on this anniversary is that my journey in healing can be like that string - stretched, but not too tightly to break, and given enough room to move so I can make beautiful music of my own. The music I make is that tension between resiliency and tragedy. 

Happy First Birthday, Baby Girl!

Dearest Baby Girl,

Today you are 1 year old. This past year has gone by faster than we could have ever imagined and we want to tell you how much we love you and how honored we are every day that we get to be your parents. You are the best of both of us and we are so proud to call you our beloved daughter.

We know that you don't know any different, because you don't have anything to compare it to, but we're sorry that the first few months of your precious life on Earth were so stressful and chaotic. We rotated between being over the moon in love and filled with joy over you and in deep stages of grief. Mommy did especially and she is sorry the she was unable to care for you in the ways she had anticipated and expected to in those first few weeks. Thank you for being the amazing, flexible little person you are and just rolling with the punches. We are so grateful for your laid back attitude and especially appreciated how much you let mommy rest and heal. Thank you for just being you. Thank you for the smiles on days when skies were gray and thank you for the cries that kept us grounded.

In the past year, you have learned to roll over, sit up, crawl, pull up, stand up, and now walk and run. You are saying your first words and expressing more and more of your unique personality. You are so kindhearted and intelligent, and just the happiest and most precocious child. Your smiles are truly like sunshine. We adore watching you engage with the world around you, the inquisitiveness of every action you take, and love getting to see the world through your eyes for it becomes new again for us too. Life is so much fun with you and we can't imagine it now any other way.

We both cannot wait to continue to see you grow into the wonderful person you are becoming. We love you so much, sweetheart.

XOXO,
Mommy and Daddy

I Saw The Sign

At critical times in my life, my faith has led me to believe that I have been given signs of what path I was to take, particularly when it came to making fork in the road decisions. The most recent example of this was when I chose to leave my last desk job in 2013 to focus full time on my side business. After feeling like it was time for a career change for awhile, I asked friends to help me pray for discernment. Not 24 hours after this request, I had an offer of contract work on the table that allowed me to maintain the financial security that I had with my desk job, but work full time from my other office. Needless to say I put in my notice and have been gratefully and joyfully self-employed ever since. That one step led the way for us starting our family. I say this because lately I have been experiencing something that has given me some pause and occasionally goose bumps.  For the past month or so, my husband and I keep having instances where we see everywhere the boy's name (which per the Social Security Index is not a very common one) we had picked out if baby girl had been a boy and would love to use for a male sibling for baby girl. 

It started on the morning of our anniversary. More than once that day we ended up on "Boy's Name Street", even when the address of whatever we were looking for was not supposed to intersect that street based on our maps. Since then I have learned there is a boy in baby girl's upcoming day school class with the name, it is the new hometown of a dear friend who recently moved, and my father during a recent conversation mentioned an acquaintance that he hadn't thought about in years with the same name, randomly and out of the blue.

I know that a lot of things can be coincidence and I know not many people believe in these sorts of things or just consider them seeing what we want to see. Yet, for me, I can't shake that "twilight zone" theme feeling about this. I have heard friends for example talk about butterflies or a type of bird being a sign for them that a loved one that has died is there with them, or a specific time of day being of significance to them. I have never personally experienced something of this nature that I can remember. My belief in signs was more in the "answer to a question" form where I have felt spiritually guided to a decision. In fact, we have felt that way about pursuing surrogacy. So far, it has felt like that is the path we are to take as God's will for us. This experience with the boy's name has been different and has a made my heart skip a little.

Husband and I chose not to PGS/PGD test our embryos. This decision was made for multiple reasons but because of that, we do not know the genders of the 4 embryos the we have at the clinic. I like that if we succeed in this surrogacy journey, we will find out the gender just like we did with baby girl and that it will be a surprise. Further, we have no preference of gender either. We just want a healthy baby. This last month or so though, as this has continued to just keep randomly happening, I can't help but wonder...what if? God, you have my attention. 

Have Patience, Have Patience

We recently got our playroom/office fully organized for baby girl to use as well as to have a desk for husband and I to do work or crafts. It was such a relief to finally get that room in order as it had been a mess for awhile. Our downstairs flooded in 2013 after a pipe burst at the front of the house and we ended up having to remodel our entire first floor. In the hasty aftermath, things ended up all over the house as we tried to get our things out of the way of the water and a bunch of small stuff was misplaced in the chaos. In the process of getting this room back together, I located my choir binder from that year. Inside was a copy of the music to the musical, "Music Machine". We had the children's choirs perform it in the spring of 2012 and it was way overdue to take back to our church's music library. 

The "Music Machine" is a children's musical about the Fruits of the Spirit, and as a child, I had learned the song "Patience" in Sunday School even though I hadn't heard any of the other songs. "Patience" is a song about the wise Herbert the Snail and the chorus is quite catchy and goes:

Have patience, have patience

Don't be in such a hurry

When you get impatient, you only start to worry

Remember, remember that God is patient, too

And think of all the times when others have to wait for you

This is where I feel like we are in our surrogacy journey. We are still working on screenings with our potential GC. I located a therapist today for the psychological evaluation near where she lives, and we're making the appointments for the in-person medical screening at our clinic. The months leading up to my egg retrieval seemed to both simultaneously fly by as baby girl got bigger and dragged on as I was anxious to get the embryos made. Now that they are done, we are ready to hopefully have a transfer soon, soon being within the next 6 months or so. Before all this happened, I never would have thought we'd want another child so quickly and we'd plan to start trying again when baby girl was 18 months. In fact, after my c-section and before the hysterectomy, they told me we would need to wait at least 3 years for another so my J-incision could heal fully and I was totally on board with that at the time.  Baby girl is exactly 11 months today, and we're ready for her to have a sibling. Perhaps its because we have now invested so much in researching all of this or perhaps it's because we actually have embryos stored, or like I read somewhere "totsicles" waiting for us. So much of this seems like hurry up and wait, and I am just ready to get this show on the road. I know it has to be done in a certain order, and on a certain timeline, but frankly, I'm doing my best to remember the words of Herbert the Wise, even if it's a reminder I need daily. 

*The chorus is likely to be stuck in your head for the rest of the day 😉* 

Black Sheep

The other day someone mentioned that she had a dream that she was pregnant with twins. We were at dinner with friends and a bunch of the other ladies at the table (all that have multiple children) apparently collectively expressed that the thought was not a happy one to them. I was feeding baby girl and didn't overhear the conversation at the time and my friend ended up apologizing later for bringing it up at all, concerned that she had hurt my feelings. I assured her that I wasn't hurt or offended, and said I hadn't even overheard, but it did get me thinking about how I handle and respond to these sorts of things now.

There is no way for me to pretend if I am completely honest with myself that I am not envious of friends who can still bear children.  I stare at any woman who is pregnant in awe as it seems to truly be a miraculous event to me now, even more so than it was when I was pregnant with baby girl. That said, I am genuinely happy for all of my friends who are pregnant, who are trying to get pregnant, and who have recently had their children. The issue if I am totally honest that I struggle emotionally with the most is people who are having their second child or adding another sibling to their family. Most of my friends that are around the same age are currently trying for, pregnant with, or delivering their first child. I only have a few friends who are expanding their families at the moment. My friends who are delivering their first children don't quite hit that spot in my gut as much because I have been in their shoes before. My friends pregnant with siblings though - it is definitely bittersweet for me emotionally, and I grieve that I won't get to experience that or that we didn't have the choice to decide if we were going to be a one-child family, as another friend recently told me. This is something that I hope will heal with time, especially if we are able to give baby girl a sibling through surrogacy, but I honestly don't know if the wound will ever be fully closed.

Definitionally, we are dealing with secondary infertility. While our diagnosis is not a mystery as to why we are in this box, all the reproductive doctors have that phrase on my charts. Infertility is a horrible and painful experience, no matter when it happens, but I do think secondary infertility is sort of the black sheep of the infertility world. I have had a lot of people who have told us that we need to "just be grateful for the one that we have," or "so many women never get to have any children," or "God doesn't make mistakes and there is a plan." My personal favorite is "Why don't you just adopt?" as if there is some shelter with lots of kids we could just go bring one home from like a puppy.  I cannot put into words how grateful we are every day to be parents to baby girl, yet every time I am told something along those lines it's like being sucker-punched in the stomach. I can't help but feel guilty on one hand and at the same time, frustrated that people don't understand the grieving and trauma that comes from being in this place, especially not by choice.

When I was still in the hospital, after the DVT, I had to have a PIC line placed for the antibiotics they were going to send me home on. After the doctor placed the PIC line, I had to have an x-ray, to make sure that it was in the correct vein. The lady who came in to perform the x-ray asked me if there was any chance I could be pregnant. I burst into tears and explained that I had just had an emergency hysterectomy a week prior. I will never forget her telling me that "Well, you should be grateful you have the one. I could never have any children." I was immediately rocked with guilt and felt like I was being selfish for being upset that I had been through my own trauma and for wanting more children for my family.

This has been really hard. I have been hesitant to reach out to friends who had been through IVF to conceive their first child for fear of offending them since we didn't need help to get pregnant with baby girl. I have feared that even those in the surrogacy world would see us as selfish since we were already parents. I have been shocked at some of the conversations I have had to have even with some good friends who I know mean well but just don't know what to say. When I'm in a joking mood, I have shared with family and friends that hubby and I are getting the "full tour" of the reproductive world, as we have done everything from the old-fashioned way to the super-scientific breakthrough way. I think one reason we have chosen to be open about our story is so I can avoid the "When are you giving baby girl a sibling?" question. Through it all, I have known the Lamb was with us as we celebrated the joy of baby girl's birth, grieved the personal loss of my fertility, and gained hope through pursuing the journey of surrogacy, but it hasn't made the process any less painful or scary or even overwhelming.

For everyone reading this who has struggled with infertility, I grieve and stand with you. I know that even if you achieve your very much wanted children, whether by pregnancy or surrogacy or adoption, it never fully heals or erases the pain and struggle it took to get there. I stand with those of you who are childless, whether by choice or by circumstance. To those who have the family the size and way they desire, whatever that looks like, I stand and celebrate with you. For those pregnant or trying to be pregnant, I pray daily that you will have healthy and easy pregnancies and deliveries with healthy babies and a healthy momma. And for those dealing with secondary infertility specifically, I stand with you as another black sheep. Know that you're not alone and it is completely valid to not feel that your family is complete, no matter what anyone else says.

National "Sometimes it Really Stinks to be a Woman" Month

September is National Gynecologic Cancer Awareness month. It's also specifically National Ovarian Cancer Awareness month. I think it should be called National "Sometimes it Really Stinks to be a Woman" month. I am deeply grateful that I have not had cancer, but with the radical hysterectomy after my delivery, I got a big taste of what it is like to be one of the approximately 100,000 women annually diagnosed in the United States with gynecologic cancers and the treatment that usually is afforded for these diseases.

We spend a lot of time talking about breast cancer in this country. I have known breast cancer survivors and warriors who are still in the trenches and I am by no means trying to disqualify how bad breast cancer is and how important it is for us to fight it. Yet, I have also known people affected by gynecological cancers - specifically uterine, ovarian, and cervical cancer. These battles require just as an aggressive treatment plan, as well as almost always significantly invasive surgery, and unfortunately many have a higher mortality rate. The most common of all of these is uterine cancer and the most deadly is ovarian. And they are unfortunately known as "silent" cancers, both because of the symptoms they tend to present and because many women haven't heard about these types of cancer at all or the fact that one risk factor is just having a female reproductive system. Frankly we don't talk about them enough or the women and families affected by them.

If I have learned nothing else over the course of the last year, it is that we as women must speak up and talk to our doctors about what is happening in our bodies. And if they don't listen, keep talking and scream if you have to until they do. The scariest part of gynecologic cancers is so much of the time the symptoms can seem to be from normal and completely benign causes. I wouldn't have ever thought to call my doctor after a few days of pelvic soreness before all of this happened last year.  Yet, now with only having my one ovary, I monitor very closely if I am having any pain on the left side of my pelvis and report it immediately. Unfortunately because of how commonly symptoms seem benign, many women don't say anything until treatment options are less effective or unavailable. Women also tend to put our own health on the back burner to focus on everyone and everything else we are responsible for.

New diagnostic advances in ultrasound and genetic testing have made screening for gynecologic cancers more possible for earlier diagnoses and intervention, but early detection is key. Participating in regular annual exams with our OBs and gynos is incredibly important. Knowing and listening to our bodies, and trusting our gut if we have that "something is just not right" feeling, is essential.

September is also International Women's Friendship Month. I think we owe it to all of our female friends, and really all the women in our lives, to make ourselves aware of the risks, the ways of prevention, and warning signs of these devastating diseases. Knowledge is power, there is strength in numbers, and I hope that in my daughter's lifetime, these cancers will no longer be a cause for any concern!

For more information on gynecologic cancers, please visit http://www.cdc.gov/cancer/dcpc/resources/features/GynecologicCancers/

The 7 Year Itch

I have been thinking a lot lately about the movie The 7 Year Itch that features that famous Marilyn Monroe over the subway vent scene. Not to be a spoiler, but the basic premise is that a couple has been married for 7 years, and the wife and son leave the hot city to escape to the Hamptons for the summer. While they are away, the husband meets Marilyn and the comedy ensues. The big question becomes will he or won't he *wink wink* with Marilyn because he's dealing with "the 7 year itch".

This past weekend, my husband and I celebrated our 7th anniversary. It is hard for me to believe that 7 whole years have passed, with a decade officially being marked on the calendar this November since our first date. When we got married I had no idea of what our marriage together would look like other than I felt confident it would be filled with a lot of love, laughter, and the Pittsburgh Steelers. Together we have been blessed with the most beautiful 10 month old daughter. Last week she stood up by herself unassisted long enough for us to take some photos as well as took her first step. Every day I wake up and thank God that we get another day to spend with her and as her parents. She is truly our miracle and the greatest blessing we could have asked for.

I'm proud of our marriage even if it's not anywhere close to perfect. It's a marriage that has been built on a foundation of faith, grace and unconditional love through sometimes some very hard work. Marrying young, and at the time active duty military, it has faced fire and rain. The day we applied for our marriage certificate we had our will notarized too because he was deploying 6 weeks later for Iraq.  He is my best friend and one of the funniest people I have ever known, even though he is shy and introverted to almost everyone else but me. He also is completely devoted to his duty to serve. If there is ever someone in need of a helping hand, he is always the first to offer his time and energy. This was no better displayed than during my recovery from the delivery and hysterectomy. He was the epitome of tender, loving care to me and I am forever grateful to have such a supportive and compassionate partner. I also think I love him more this year then I ever have before because he is our daughter's Dada. That is a love I never anticipated to be so overwhelmingly beautiful. 

This year we are took our first overnight trip away from baby girl to celebrate, escaping to the Great Smokey Mountains. It was wonderful to spend quality alone time with each other to give thanks to God for all of the blessings (and even the trials) that we have walked through these past 7 years and for the beauty that is the life we've built together. The last day of the trip we took a very windy road home jokingly called "The Dragon's Tail" to indicate the level of driving difficulty. In 11 miles, there are 318 turns, some of them quite harrowing. When we got to the top of the mountain before we descended we got out to take a photo of the valley below. While the road might have been so twisted I felt like we were driving the Grand Prix, the picture perfect view gave me an idea: perhaps that is marriage. There are always twists and turns, sometimes your stomach jumps from it all, and there will be high points and low points, and even some stop signs. Some will be all uphill and sometimes you can take your foot off the pedal and just coast.  When you get a chance, pull off and savor the ride and the view. 

I definitely have a very different 7 year itch than the husband in that film.  It's started as the giant, flashing light to start our family right after our year 5 and it continues now to build the family we really hope for - to give baby girl a sibling or two. I'm ready to continue down the road and see where the pavement takes us next, sitting beside the best co-pilot I could have. No matter what it's going to be an adventure. Happy Anniversary, honey. I love you and baby girl more than you could ever know.

A whole new vocabulary

Recently, I have realized that both marrying an Army man and now our struggle through infertility have required a whole new set of vocabulary terms.

The military is famous for their acronyms. For example,

MRE: meal ready to eat

FOB: Forward Operating Base

ACU: Army Combat Uniform 

DFAC: Dining Facility

POV: Privately owned vehicle

MOS: Mode of service (job in the military)

PT: physical training

BAH: Basic Allowance for Housing 

I can remember driving around Ft. Campbell when husband and I were first dating and not having any idea where anything was located because everything is assigned an acronym and numbers. There is no map, and if I didn't learn the lingo, I wasn't going to understand half of the orders we were given through the FRG (Family Readiness Group) when he deployed such as "wheels up and down time" (expected time for the plane to take off/land) and what he was supposed to wear to a certain event which would affect my attire accordingly.

In our journey through IVF and surrogacy we have been learning these terms:

RE: Reproductive endocrinologist

GC: Gestational carrier

IPs: Intended Parents

IM: Intended Mother

IF: Intended Father

ICSI: Intracytoplasmic sperm injection 

PGS/PGD: Preimplantation genetic screening or diagnosis

AMH: Anti-mullerian hormone

FSH: follicle stimulating hormone

LH: Luteinizing hormone

E2: Estradiol 

CD: Cycle day

LMP: Last menstrual period 

DPO: Days past ovulation 

LP: Leutal Phase 

ER: Egg retrieval 

OHSS: Ovarian Hyperstimulation Syndrome 

ET: embryo transfer

FET: Frozen embryo transfer 

DPT: Days post transfer

PIO: Progesterone in Oil

Beta: HCG level pregnancy test

PG: Pregnant 

PBO: Pre-birth order

Apologies in advance if I have confused anyone when talking to you about all of this. Learning as we go along and praying that soon we will be IPs with a GC that has a successful FET by our RE and is PG. Currently we are just in acronym purgatory.  

Matchmaker, Matchmaker

Deciding to pursue surrogacy seems easy next to actually pursuing surrogacy. I don't just have baby envy now, I have uterine envy. I marvel at my pregnant friends and long for the organ that allows them to grow miracles inside of them. The ladies that are surrogates are no different. They're like women with the super power to grow not only their own babies, but a baby for a deserving person or couple, to actually feel a baby develop into a tiny human that they are loving and caring for for only a small period of time. Some describe it as extreme babysitting. I consider it a miracle.

Ideally, I have prayed for our gestational carrier (GC) to be done bearing their own children, as the risks of pregnancy are there, and I would never forgive myself if someone lost their own dreams while trying to fulfill mine. I have also wanted someone who was nearby if able so that I could participate as much in the pregnancy as possible - attend appointments, help out as the pregnancy progresses, and be able to be there on time for the hopeful full-term delivery. I have wanted someone who was open with communication and responsive, and is wanting a relationship with us and the baby even after our journey is through. I'd like this child to call this woman "Aunt" and for her kids to be like cousins to ours.

Many people have asked if I would consider asking my sister or a family member to carry for us. My sister currently has no children, so that automatically means no as surrogates need to have been pregnant before so the doctor has an expectation of how it should progress. My mom and mother in law are not appropriate candidates either. Knowing this led hubby and I to start research on surrogacy agencies and independent matches and we are currently going through the screening and vetting process with a lady we met through an independent match. Fingers and toes crossed.

One step forward, two steps back

When we started the IVF process there were tons and tons of statistics thrown at us constantly to estimate response and success rates - age, AMH levels, FSH levels, antral follicle counts, estrogen, progesterone, clinical success, drop-offs through retrieval, fertilization, and ultimately blastocyst creation. So many numbers and so many statistical probabilities. I felt like my life and my body were being put into a calculator and out popped percentages for the likelihood of a happily ever after. It's a shame that all of this ultimately comes down to statistics and success rates, but I understand where they were coming from and why these are important particularly in the world of assisted reproduction and reproductive endocrinology.

One of my biggest traumas from the delivery disaster was feeling like I was asking for help and not receiving it. Through the IVF process, our RE was very careful to monitor everything to a T, for one because my percentage once computed through their statistical analysis showed a high probability of response to stimulation and also because she knew how terrified I was of having something overlooked again (and the potential disasters that can ensue.)

The entire process took approximately 4 weeks. We got insanely lucky that when my initial baseline bloodwork was done they seemed to catch my progesterone levels within 24 hours of an ovulation. Bloodwork a week later confirmed this for sure and I was able to proceed with the traditional long-lupron protocol. Two weeks of 20 mL lupron shots before adding stimulation medications of 75 mL Menopur and 225 mL Gonal-F and ultimately a trigger shot 36 hours before retrieval of Pregnyl. Not to mention daily Lovanox injections to prevent a blood clot.

I honestly didn't mind the shots. The needles were tiny, subcutaneous injections with the exception of the Pregnyl HCG trigger shot which was inter-muscular. On most days, I could hardly feel them other than the Lovanox ones that burned and always left bruises. Shots were to be taken 12 hours apart, with a Gonal-F in the morning along with Lovanox, and then the Menopur, another Gonal-F, and Lupron in the evening. We went down to a drive-in movie the day after I started my shots so I set my times as 5am in the morning and 5pm in the evening. My mother-in-law came down to help with our daughter so that I could make all the appointments and not have to do a lot of bending and lifting while on the stimulation meds.

My levels held steady throughout the entire process and I never had dosages adjusted. Daily instead of every other day ultrasounds and bloodwork monitored follicular growth and estrogen/progesterone levels and I responded the way we all hoped I would. I am so fortunate that a dear friend who is a nurse was willing to administer the HCG shot. The timing of the trigger shot is so critical (exactly 36 hours before the retrieval) and I was terrified I was going to mess it up. As it was, we had some difficulty mixing it and I'm eternally grateful for her expertise and calm in that moment as I panicked that I was going to screw up everything and god-forbid ovulate before they were able to do the procedure. For most people, if the IVF cycle is canceled and there aren't too many eggs to be released, people will be released to try to get pregnant the old fashioned way. In my case, I would lose all that hard work to the deep abdominal abyss and I was panicked at that thought of time and money literally evaporating.

We made it though to egg retrieval successfully. I was warned that I would need to take it easy that week so I had my parents come help with baby girl so that I could heal. I was given an information sheet on the symptoms of Overian Hyperstimulation Syndrome (OHSS) and what to look for in the event that the worst happened but two day after retrieval seemed to be feeling fine. We even walked through Costco. Fast forward to the end of that week though, and I started having a lot of pain in my abdomen above my belly button. Two trips to the ER over the course of the next week confirmed it - I had moderate OHSS. My ovary was 11 cm, basically the size of an orange, when normally they are to be the size of an almond. Fortunately my mother-in-law was able to come back down to help with baby girl because I was again not allowed to bend or pick up anything over 10 lbs and was put on modified bed rest for a week. I am grateful I never had the fluid in my abdomen and that I didn't need to be admitted to the hospital again.

I have been so defeated and frustrated with my body over all of this in regards to health and healing. I've always been super healthy, and never in my life have I had so many medical issues as I have in the past year.  As of now, it's been two weeks since I first went to the ER for the OHSS and I'm feeling better, but still having some residual hormonal effects. The RE had said that once the next cycle kicks back in, it's sort of like flushing a toilet and starting again. The ER doctors though have said it can take a couple months to truly be back to normal after several "toilet flushes". Knowing me, I'll undoubtedly fall into the latter category as we add it to the "incredibly small statical chance" odds I continue to achieve. Lucky, lucky me.

After everything that has happened, I am just ready to get back to my normal life. I'm ready to enjoy going to the new trampoline park or getting back into Zumba. I don't want to worry that I am going to do damage to my incision or my ovary by bending over to pick up my daughter or getting on the floor to play with her. I want to be able to meet my girlfriends for cocktails or coffee and to eat spinach or kale whenever I want to. I know I need to be patient, but I can't help but feeling like I've missed out on some milestones with baby girl because of physical limitations I have never had before. If it weren't for amazing friends and family, I don't know where we'd be. I'm hoping this is the end of taking one step forward and two steps back, and maybe the final step to really healing and getting my life back on track. Onward and upward!

The Next Right Thing

Husband and I got married in September 2009, 6 weeks before he deployed to his second tour to Iraq. Even though I knew he was deploying to a war zone, that honeymoon phase seemed to be a giant curtain over any possible realities we would have to face while he was there or once he came home. The year passed pretty quickly all things considered and when he returned in October of 2010, I thought that we were finally going to have the "happily ever after" part, leaving the worst behind us. Those first couple years after his return from deployment were very, very hard. It took almost 3 years before I felt like we were back to "normal".

We learned a lot during that time - about marriage, sacrifice, patience, unconditional love, forgiveness, and as I read one time that marriage "is a journey to holiness not just happiness". That foundation made us face this new challenge from the same approach we did previously: what is the next right thing.

In the hospital, I asked questions about hormones and ovarian function. I asked questions about options and ultimately about the IVF process of egg harvest and surrogacy. We had doctors telling us to not worry about that, that I was young, put it off for another day. I knew though, that the next right steps for me were to learn all I could and pray. Pray for guidance and pray for God's will. 

Praying for the next right thing led us to an IVF egg retrieval that happened July 18th. 2 weeks of shots led us to 4 beautiful frozen embryos thanks to the expertise of our wonderful RE. My active part in this journey is done for now. We pray for these embryos daily over a picture sent to us of one of them. We pray one is baby girl's beloved, and much wanted, sibling. 

                                     

Surrogacy?

Surrogacy. It's crazy how in the moment when trauma is occurring something that at once seemed so foreign becomes a lifeboat. I had a week between my delivery and the hysterectomy. I can remember one of the doctors coming in while I was fighting the sepsis infection and telling me that I was his sickest patient in the maternity ward that night. I can remember him telling me that they thought the source of the infection was still my uterus and that if I didn't get better I would have to have it removed. I remember asking him questions about would they take my ovaries and what would that mean. He was the first to mention the word "surrogacy" and from there it was like a lifeline I held onto after I learned that the worst had been realized a few days later.

I haven't known where to begin. In the weeks and months that have followed, husband and I have been open to sharing our story and our journey with our friends and family. We have felt like only by owning it publicly could we fully heal. I'm not good with keeping things from those that I love the most, and even though infertility is the most painful thing I have ever been through, I cannot imagine doing this alone. I also can't imagine doing it without an amazing group of anonymous online support such as the amazing women on Baby Center and a few Facebook surrogacy groups. I have learned so much about the process from them, and they have given me insight into what this will and should really look like. 

Hubby always makes fun of me but I always do my research. Whether we are buying a car, a carseat, or a can of paint, I am always one to read about 1000 reviews, check for competitive pricing, and make sure that whatever it is has the consumer reports seal of approval. This has been no different. The hysterectomy that I had was considered a radical one. It ended up having to be performed by a gynecological oncologist. I knew that because it was drastic there was a chance that my left ovary would decide it didn't want to work anymore and just retire. I began to read everything I could and research as much as I could as to what we were really dealing with. We had bloodwork to check my AMH levels 5 weeks after and the news wasn't good. AMH was 0.2, basically undetectable. We went to Emory down in Atlanta in January of this year and met with their infertility clinic. I was told to not wait and that they thought I could succeed but that we might be racing against the clock. I came back wondering if I'd only had one functioning ovary and had no idea all this time. At the suggestion of MFM Angel, we met with Vanderbilt's new RE doctor who seemed a little bit less concerned about the AMH level but still told me not to put things off more than 6 months. Her clinic wasn't to open until the end of April so I had time to fully get off the wound vac and then begin.

February came and went. March came and went. Then April arrived and with it, the worst hormonal week of my entire life. I was sure that I was going into menopause and we hadn't had a chance to do an egg harvest. It was awful. MFM Angel encouraged me to check in with my normal gynecologist and gratefully she ran a hormonal bloodwork panel. By the grace of God, everything was normal. I was told it was my cycle restarting after ending breastfeeding. I had no idea of that though because of the hysterectomy, and I wondered why don't more people tell pregnant women what all of this is REALLY like?! I know we don't want to scare women unnecessarily but I truly thought that was the beginning of the end. 

April came and went and the clinic wasn't ready to open. In May, I began to experience symptoms again that were concerning and spoke to my gynecologist again. She informed the RE and RE ran initial bloodwork. I was shocked when all levels, including my AMH, came back perfectly normal. AMH had gone from 0.2 in December to a much better 5.9 in May. I felt like we'd been given a presidential pardon and I wasn't on death row anymore. 

Maybe this surrogacy thing might be a possibility after all. I still had my lifeboat. 

This Is Only the Beginning

On October 28, 2015, at 12:02pm, after 85 hours in labor (both natural and including a failed induction to 9 cm) and an indicated cesarean section, Baby Girl was born. It had been a wonderful and easy 9 months, my body loved being pregnant and I was thrilled when I started natural contractions at 39 weeks and 2 days at a Nashville Predators game.

9 months of excitement and anticipation had finally come to that moment and I couldn't stop crying. She was tiny, but she was perfect: 6 lbs even and 19 1/2 inches long. After a few scary moments of learning she'd swallowed meconium, she was whisked off to the newborn nursery with my husband and I was left alone to finish the surgery. 2 1/2 hours later I would join them, the following weekend I would feel like death warmed over as I fought sepsis from a bad chorioamnionitis infection that festered from the prolonged labor, and ultimately on November 6, would be taken back for a second surgery to "fix a tear in the abdominal fascia" that I learned the next morning also meant a radical hysterectomy leaving only my left ovary because the infection was so bad. Two days after the hysterectomy, I developed a DVT in my left arm which hematology told me was "provoked clot" from all the fallout. In total, we spent 3 1/2 weeks at Vanderbilt, I had a wound vac for 11 weeks both in the hospital and at home, and I was left devastated and unable to bear another child.

We couldn't understand how we had gotten to this place. I experienced a completely uncomplicated 9 months. We were pregnant 6 weeks into "trying", breezed through all the milestones, so grateful to not have pre-eclampsia or gestational diabetes, and other than morning sickness the first trimester, I felt great. I hired a doula, attended every prenatal appointment, and read all the books. We had growth ultrasounds, doppler checks, and a midwife team at Vanderbilt that I trusted completely in conjunction with their OB and MFM team if needed. Baby Girl was head down at 28 weeks and so low the last few weeks of pregnancy I walked like John Wayne in a Western.

That Saturday night at the hockey game when labor began, I called the midwife on call, reported how far my contractions were apart, was told to monitor and inform my doula. Timed contractions, consistently coming 5 minutes apart, spent all day the next day on Sunday with the doula walking and using my birth ball until contractions were 2-3 minutes apart and then we went down to the hospital expecting to be through transition. Instead, only 1.5cm dilated, was sent home on "therapeutic rest" with a shot of morphine, only to wake up and have contractions back to 12 minutes apart. That Monday night, same thing, back to hospital, this time 2.5cm dilated, and then sent home on therapeutic rest again. Show up in the clinic Tuesday morning, desperate to know what was going on, and was going to be sent home again when MFM Angel overrode the midwives and called the induction.

I cannot say enough about MFM Angel. As the overseeing doctor for the midwife team, I had met her at my monthly growth scans but not really interacted with her much else. I am convinced she saved not only my life, but Baby Girl's as well. If she hadn't called that induction, I'm not sure either one of us would have made it two more days. It's terrifying to me to even think about.

Nothing and no one can prepare you for that kind of turn of events. As thrilled as I was (and am!) to have my beautiful Baby Girl,  hubby and I have always wanted more than one child. I have spent so much time somewhere between over the moon happy about Baby Girl and in the deepest despair about the loss of what I won't get to go through again. I regret not taking weekly pregnancy photos of my growing belly. I should have kept a pregnancy journal. I feel the deepest guilt about all the plans I had for Baby Girl that just didn't get done- her handprints in ink on the day she was born, I've forgotten to write down what she loved monthly as she has grown, and I lost the ability to nurse at 4 months because my milk dried up within 3 days of ending the 90 days on warfarin to deal with the DVT. I wasn't able to change diapers or walk and hold her for weeks. I still struggle with bending and getting down on the floor to play because of where the incision is that left me with a surgical hernia (that I need to have another surgery to fix soon). I still haven't been able to baby wear.

We started trying to get pregnant when we did because I thought it would take us a little while to succeed. My mom had tried for a few years before she got pregnant with me and we have had so many friends affected by infertility, I just assumed it would be a bit. When we got pregnant so quickly and I had such an easy pregnancy, I assumed we'd be doing it again in a few years without a problem. Assume, assume, assume. As my husband says, to assume makes an ass out of u and me. I have been incredibly humbled by this entire experience, and really come to realize I took for granted how easily we got pregnant and that I had a functioning uterus at all. I have felt guilt and been guilted by others for even wanting another kid. We have prayed and prayed and feel God calling us to pursue surrogacy and to pursue having an additional child. This blog details our journey to give our dearest Baby Girl a sibling. We want to be a family of a mommy, a daddy, and two children: it's what we dream 4. Thanks for reading.