4 Pregnancies, 2 Births - 6

  I woke up the next morning.  Ned was a memory.  He was completely gone.

I'm a light sleeper.  The bathroom is inches from my bedroom.  Nobody flushes the toilet in the middle of night.

I think Jesus scooped Ned up for me.  He took him home.  And left me to heal.  To feel.  To believe in goodness and hurt and grace.  He left me with a hole in my heart, and said, "for me.  What will you do with this, for me?"

You see, God doesn't promise blissfulness. Or loveliness.  Perfectness.  Great life - if we choose to love him.  No, instead he promises to never leave our side.  To bring joy in the morning after a night of wretchedness.  Strength, when we feel we can't.  A second more.  And grace.  Oh, so much grace.

I hid from the world.  And told no one of my empty hole.  Business as usual, for what needed to be done.  Work, etc.

I have a vivid memory of being out in town with Queen Bee and Murnice.  We wanted to go to an upscaley boutique.  I needed to use the restroom, as I was still bleeding quite a bit.  My mental state was so raw.  And the horrific-ness of how I was treated because I needed to use the restroom would have brought poop-flies to a standstill.  The lady who brought me to the bathroom had to stand right outside the door.  And Murnice asks why there is blood.

That my dear, are the remnants of your brother, who is no longer.


I hid for months.  And stalked everybody on facebook in my darkened house.  Looking into their scar-free lives.  Feeling every moment.  Allowing every bit of mourning to surge through.  Allowing myself to feel what needed to be felt.  I did not give myself a timeline.  Or beat myself up for still feeling so sad, months beyond.  I just remember opening my heart, and wallowing.

....................................................................

The next couple of things that happened, I do not remember the order.  But in my mind, they happened close in time.

Up to this point, we had been trying to conceive for 3 years... . . . .

There was this guy at church, who for some reason was drawn to Big D and myself.  He always made a point to say hi - but it never went any farther than that.  We always thought it was a little strange, but there's nothing you can do about strange-ness.  One Sunday we must have looked exceptionally down, and it came out that we were struggling with infertility and losing babies.  And he looked at Murnice and said, "she's not your last one."  And then he ran away.

(update:   within the last year, we have started to build a relationship with him and his wife.  And that whole conversation came up.  He was horrified that that came slipping out of his mouth 4 years earlier.  I told him the power those words held.  So much hope.)

..........................................................

I was driving by myself one Sunday, praying my mamsy-pamsy prayer (I'll get to that later) and Jesus reached down into my car, slapped my little cheeks, and said, "Foxy, what do you want?"

HOT DAMN, I WANT A DADGUM, REAL-LIVING BABY, THAT I PUSHED OUT OF MY OWN ALREADY TRAIN-WRECKED VAGINA. THAT'S WHAT I WANT.

And that was the first time that I had ever uttered those words.  The first time that I was real with myself and with God.  Real, with not feeling unworthy of having a desire.  Real, with screaming from the rooftops what my selfish wants were. 

You see, for 3 years we prayed like this:  Dear Jesus,  we are so grateful for Murnice.  Healthy, wonderful Murnice.  But we would love to have another baby if it's your will.  Because we want your will.  And we recognize that you see all and know all, and maybe another baby just isn't in the cards for us.  And if that's the case, just give our hearts a peace and take away this desire for more babies.  Above all, we want what you want.

Which is fine and great.  But we were totally missing the point, that Jesus wants us to be real with him.  To share our desires, as silly or earthly or spiritual, he wants us to give him details.  Nitty-grits.  Just because he loves us that much.  He wants to shatter our earth-ridden minds with extravagance.  Just as any lover would desire to do.  He wants to know us intimately.  And intimacy comes with details.

So we changed our prayer.  We asked for a baby.  Send us a baby.  Not, "if it's your will".  Or, "if you deem it appropriate".  Just plain and simple, give. us. a. baby.

The end.

4 Pregnancies, 2 Births - 5

So I've kinda been ignoring this story.  It's hard to write when I don't feel sad.  I skimp on information, and hurry the story.  And make it sound more lovely than it is.

I left off where I just found out that I was pregnant for the second time.  I felt no bond.  I was excited, but it was an outward excitement.  My heart felt nothing.  Except betrayal.  I couldn't trust my body to grow a baby.

I was desperate to feel pregnant.  Bloated, tired, achy, nauseous, anything.  I wanted confirmation.  I wanted to be pregnant.  I wanted a baby.

I was in an odd emotional state.  Of wanting something, desperate.  But not believing, accepting.

At 5 weeks pregnant, Sister Bear had her wedding.  The wedding party had to wear all white.

5 weeks pregnant was when I lost my first baby.  I was a mess, just thinking about miscarrying and wearing all white.  I don't look at Sister Bear's wedding pictures and think, "Sister Bear's wedding".  I think - "5 weeks pregnant with a baby I never held".

I survived the wedding.

I played head games of:  I think I feel a little nauseous.  I think I feel bloaty.  But I didn't.  I felt nothing.  I called my midwives and told them I just didn't feel pregnant even though I was registering as pregnant according to pee tests.  I had more blood work done - and it confirmed that I was pregnant.  My levels were good.

I named my fetus Ned.  So when he died, I could say:  "Ned is dead."  And that was the way that I was handling my pregnancy.  Just knowing that I wouldn't hold this baby.

I still don't know if it was intuition that this baby wasn't mine.  Or if it was my nonbelief that killed Ned.

In the middle of August one weekend, I went to Pier 1 with Queen Bee.  I told her I was pregnant a few weeks earlier.  I ran into an old neighbor.  She asked if I was pregnant.  I said no.

When I got home, I used the bathroom.  And was bleeding.  I told Queen Bee to go home.  Big D had a friend over.  He got kicked out too.  I like to think about how that conversation went.  Big D:  "So, um - my wife is losing our baby, so you need to go home."  Brandon:  "Um, this is weird.  Good-bye."  (In my head, that's how the conversation went.)

The next day was Murnice's 4th birthday.  I made a tie-dye cake while wearing a big crunchy pad.  Waiting for my baby to fall out.  I cried all day.  We went to the beach.  I made 4 trips to the park bathroom.  Waiting.  Hoping that I wouldn't have to say good-bye to my baby in a dirty, sandy public bathroom.

Big D and I did the best we could celebrating.  Celebrating life. Celebrating Murnice.  Celebrating what we had been given.

We put our new 4-year-old to bed.  And around 9 that night, Ned slipped out.  The finalization is hardest.  Because there is always hope.  The devastation, rampant.  And Big D is in the shadows.  Again.  Unwilling to mourn with me, together.  Unwilling to acknowledge that this was ours.

Ned laid in the bottom of the toilet.  I did not have the heart to flush our baby.  And I did not have the strength to scoop him out.  He was just there.  And I was stuck.  Feeling so guilty for not feeling brave enough to scoop him out.

Jesus was so kind.  I had prayed earlier that it would be a gentle miscarriage.  And it was.  So peaceful, so gentle and complete. 

The end.

4 Pregnancies, 2 Births - 4

It was a Saturday.  Sunny and perfect and cozy.  We were sitting on the couch together.  Happy.  I got up to use the bathroom.  And my baby came out.  No warning.  And because I'd never had a miscarriage.  Or thought about a miscarriage.  Nor did anybody ever really talk about miscarriage.   I was in shock.  So much blood.  And chunks and chunks.  I remember being emotionally removed.  Nothing can prepare you for the feeling of having something that you've created, die.  And then empty out in the toilet.  The disrespect for human life, with no other choice.  I pulled chunk after chunk out of the toilet.  Not sure what chunk was my baby.  I stuck all of it in a bag, and then in the freezer.  Desiring to put it in the ground at some point.

I don't remember anything else about that day.

The next day was my massage school graduation.  The two things I didn't tell you:  1) my graduation was pushed 3 weeks later than it was supposed to be.  So yes, I was pregnant when I was supposed to graduate. 2)  For weeks leading up to my graduation (possibly even a few months) I had the feeling that I would not be attending my graduation.  But had no idea why..

I contacted my classmates Saturday night to let them know that I would not be at graduation on Sunday.  They were so sweet to me.  During graduation they called so I could listen to the ceremony.

Over the next few days I spent a lot of time studying.  I had to take the LMT boards in a few weeks.

 I went to work like normal - pool job.  That was weird.

I also had to get a bunch of blood work done.  Make sure all of the baby came out.  That was neat.  They handed me grieving pamphlets and told me about circle groups.  Asked if I was ok.  It's weird to have that question asked so close to losing someone.  They should wait a month or two before asking.

 I didn't really tell anybody what happened.  Just went on with life.  Felt sad on and off.  I wanted to talk about it with Big D, but he didn't want to talk about it at all.  That made me mad.

On a happy note, I was so relieved that I could get pregnant.  Now the challenge was just going to be, growing a baby.

Friends kept getting pregnant.  And due dates would come around. Reminding me that I didn't have a due date anymore.

Early that spring, a job opportunity opened up.  A director position for a pool at a fancy golfy club.  I applied and looked fancy.  Interviewed twice. And they offered me the assistant position.  I declined after a smooshing dinner.  It was a crap offer and they were trying to wrap it up in pretty bows.  The awesome part was, the new director who was smooshing me, butt dialed me after I declined her offer.   I called her back and she answered, and was horrified when she realized it was me.  (That actually didn't sound as incredibly awkward as it actually was when it went down)

The beginning of July I got pregnant again.  But I had been burned.  And once you have a miscarriage, you don't look at any pregnancy with such simplicity.

As excited as I was, I just couldn't connect or bond with the thought of me being pregnant.

And I'm done for right now.  While writing this blog - I also multi-tasked by chasing Ed back to bed for the past 35 minutes.  I know that sounded cute, because I used the word "chase".  But it was not cute.  And now I am livid.  And hot.  And beyond fuming.  And Big D is at work - working late.

So many blessings tonight.

4 Pregnancies, 2 Births - 3

Back to doom and gloom . . .

On a side note - I would like to acknowledge the ladies who have written comments to my posts.  Thank you. It means a lot to me, sharing a part of your story.  And your past hurt.

Back to massage school . . .

While in school I started reading a lot of John Eldredge books.  It actually started when I walked into a Christian bookstore with no direction but to buy one book.  I let my heart lead, and it took me to this book.
It was a great beginning of healing.  Not so much with my infertility - but more a healing of being a woman, and breaking barriers of who I thought and what I thought about myself.

And sometime during this time, I can't remember if it was while reading this book, or after - but I was reading 1 Samuel chapter 1.  Now I know that this was Hannah's story.  But promise #2 came.  Verse 17:  . . . go in peace:  and the God of Israel grant thee thy petition that thou hast asked of him . . . verse 20 . . . Hannah had conceived, that she bare a son, and called his name Samuel, saying, because I have asked him of the Lord.

Through reading this, I knew that I was going to have a son. It was as if God walked down and said, "this is for you - I'm talking about you."

Also a key part of our story was what we were praying.  Both Big D and I want, truly want God's will.  And even though I knew I would have a son, I didn't know where or how he would come to us. Meaning, I didn't know if I was going to conceive or if we would adopt.  My heart wanted to conceive. . . . . .  We would pray, "God, if it's your will, we would like to have a baby.  But if its not what you want for us, then we're ok with that too." It was the most wishy washy whiney prayer ever.  More on that later.

Every month I would go beserk with pregnancy tests.  I really should have bought stock . . . any person who has struggled/struggles with infertility knows what I'm talking about.

Days before my period was supposed to arrive, I just needed to take a test.  I needed to emotionally prepare myself.  I needed to know as soon as possible, to expect my period, versus hanging on to a few late days thinking there was a possibility. Because after getting 24 periods back to back, you believe that they will always come.  But you always hope that maybe one day . . .   And every month, there is hope.  Small as it may be, there's always hope.  And after every failed pregnancy test and first period day, it seems there is no air left to breath.  And you wonder how much longer, how many more periods until there isn't one.

I understand that was the most confusing paragraph known to man-kind. And that kind of sums up how it actually is - emotionally.  It's hope and dread and despair and maybe all wrapped into one.

Period number 29 was due.  I took my too early test - which came back negative.  But by the 5th week of being period free I thought I might need to take another test.

I remember I had to work my lifeguard job that day.  I was out of tests, so I left to go to work a little early - giving myself enough time to pick up some more tests at the drugstore.  I took the test, in a very secluded bathroom.  After a few minutes a very faint line appeared.  I almost had to convince myself that there was a line.

I don't remember how I felt at work.  I don't remember telling Big D that I was pregnant.

But I do remember the next day.  I woke up feeling so free.  So queenish.  Thinking, "this is it.  This is where my story of infertility ends".  So happy.

And that's all I'm going to write today.

4 Pregnancies, 2 Births - 2

This is not my favorite thing - going back and remembering.  Trying to gather all the small parts that have made up this big part of our life.  Because there are so many small parts.  I wished I had journaled it all then.

With the birth of Murnice, I knew that I wanted to pursue something in the more natural field of medicine.  I thought a good place to start was becoming a doula.  It was a simple weekend class, read a few books - and that qualified you to attend births.  Which I wanted to do.  I wanted to be part of the magic that happens when babies enter the world.

I liked the class.  Abhorred the instructor.  And never finished the course to qualify becoming a doula.  Ok, the honest truth is - I didn't think I was good enough/knew what I was doing.  (which goes back to my lie that I'm not good enough)  And I did abhor the instructor, which didn't help with me feeling supported in pursuing.

So then I decided that I was going to go to massage therapy school.  Murnice was 18 months when I started.  I loved, loved, loved, massage therapy. I loved my classes. I loved my classmates.  I loved the consistency and schedule.  And I loved that I was at the top of my class.  I met some really great people.  And I became in the know of the body and how to naturally treat.  I loved learning.  And  I started learning about how to naturally treat infertility.  I felt like a queen.

A couple of things I remember about my infertility and going to massage school.
1)  My closest friend at school had a miscarriage (years ago) when the baby was 3 months.  She was so lovely to me during this time in my life.
2) I decided to try infertility treatment at a clinic (which I'll write about more in a bit) but for those of you who have taken Clomid - (and for those of you who have NOT taken Clomid) know that the vaginal area smells worse than 7 rotting fish carcases.  And when you smell that special, and you're naked on a massage table - you feel pretty self conscious.  Not to mention, hyped up on all sorts of hormonal highs and lows.   . . . .  I was treated so lovely and gently.
3)  In the back of my head, or you could say - in my mind's eye - I felt that at graduation I would be pregnant.  It was just a feeling I had.

With infertility, you must be baby free after trying to conceive for one full year before you are named "infertile".  After trying for almost two years to conceive I decided I wanted to give drugs a try.  Because I firmly believe that God is not always just going to hand over what's wanted.  Sometimes you have to work hard.  Sometimes you have to open yourself up to new ideas.  God has given us a brain.  And God has guided the brain to create medicine.  I remember not wanting to do the meds, but that want of a baby was bigger.

The clinic was awful.  But that was my own perception.  I walked in with an almost 3 year old.  And there was a lot of hate and anger and judgment given to me through eyes.  I felt awful parading my 3 year old around and wanting another baby.

I remember having to go to the clinic it seemed like every other day.  Getting blood drawn, checking levels, checking viable eggs.  I remember freaking out about taking Clomid - the possibility of having multiples.  And not wanting that.  To the point where if the choice was multiples or none, I was choosing none.  The medical team decided that I should take only half of the recommended dose.  I remember wigging out with having so much blood drawn.  And crying a lot.  I remember the nurse who was a Christmas Angel who was so sweet to me, and used the baby needle.  And I literally didn't feel a thing.  And I thought she was magic.  I remember when it was time to have my eggs checked, there was only a male doctor to do it.  And he was so rough and insensitive, physically and emotionally.  I am angry that I allowed somebody to treat me the way he did without standing up for myself - physically and emotionally.  I am angry that Big D just stood there watching what was happening.  But I think he was in as much shock as I was.  I never went back.  And I didn't get pregnant.

That's all I'm writing today.

4 Pregnancies, 2 Births - 1

I'm going to do this.  I'm going to write about my journey of infertility and miscarriage.  I've never written down the whole story.  And I need too.  Time has healed some and I feel brave enough to share about Big D's and my very personal story.

I also hope that you will share your story.  When you feel brave enough. Because what I've found, is that so many women have and are bathed in infertility and miscarriage.  This is a part of who we are.  But we women hold it too close.  And the new mama's don't know that we have a history.  And the cycle continues.  Are we ashamed?  Or in grief?  Whatever the case, we have turned it into this taboo topic.

I hate that nobody talks about the very realness of infertility and miscarriage.  I hate that we get asked, "how many kids do you want?"  And we except to have what we want.  I hate that people are rude enough and ask very personal questions that revolve around you and your partner's sex life.

Anyway, here's our story:

When I got pregnant with Murnice, it was a "whwhwhoooooaaaaa" thing.  I don't like to say a "whoops".  Anyway, the point of that whole statement is that I got pregnant very easily.  On the first explosion inside my lady bits.

I promptly got an IUD after giving birth.  And I don't regret that decision. After exactly a year, I had it removed because I felt emotionally stable enough to have another baby.  I assumed I would be pregnant within a month. 

Within "that" month - (I'm not sure if it was the following Sunday, or 3 Sundays later) I was up front shaking my money maker (kidding, just dancing) and God said to me, "I'll give you a baby at the right time".  And I said, "yeah that's neat God, but now is the right time."  And he chuckled and snortled.  And I went on dancing.

That was my first promise.  It was August 2006.

From that first promise to Ed, time has become very jumbled in my head.  I don't have a timeline, just a general idea.

The next two years were filled with a lot of frustrations and anger.  It was really easy to question the IUD, wondering if that was the culprit.  I just needed something to blame at that time.  It was awful whenever friends or family announced that they were having ANOTHER baby.  I felt I needed this personal warning that Billy and Susie were going to start trying to have a baby.  I needed to emotionally prepare myself that there was going to be a baby announcement sometime in the future.  It was the absolute WORST being taken off guard with a baby announcement.  And I would have to force a smile out and say something nice.  When in reality I hated their very being, and would cry for a million hours after I was alone. 

I remember Big D and I didn't make too much of a fuss over actual intercourse.  I never got crazy about temperature or secretions, or feelings of love, or any of that stuff that can make infertile couples hate sex.  We bunnified when we wanted and how we wanted.  Although we did start using a pH friendly lube that wouldn't kill Big D's baby makers.

And that's all I'm going to write today.