Broken again

This week, we said goodbye to another 2 baby Savants.

I am so ANGRY to be typing these words.  I fully planned on talking about the miracles growing inside of me and the anticipation of a better 2018.  Now, the only positive I seem to come up with is that in 2018 I can only lose 4 children instead of 5.  Cynical?  Sure.  But I'm just not sure how much more one can endure.  I keep thinking that I've suffered enough, that it can't be my turn yet again.  But the truth is much harder than this fantasy I want to live in, and we are left ending this year in the same way we started it - barren.

We had a very brief 24 hours of hope.  Twenty-four hours when I had a faint positive on my pregnancy test.  I've been there before, walking the line of faint tests, which always darkened as the days went on.  I had years of negative tests, month after month.  I know what those look like and the heartbreak that accompanies them.  And, because of that, the faint positive is SUCH a huge thing, something I never had in those years of waiting.  So, for 1 full day, I clung to that.  And then the next day - it was gone.  These babies existed for only a few weeks,  I'm not sure that they ever count in my medical charts.  But for us?  They were everything.  They were our hope at the end of a difficult year, they were a promise of something to look forward to, they were two little people we loved so desperately.  Miscarriage isn't easy at any stage.  I used to think that miscarriage before that first ultrasound wasn't so bad.  But, here's the thing, from the MOMENT you see that faint little second line, you make plans.  You dream.  You talk about names.  You hope.  And to have that all come crashing down is hard, whether that child is loved for a few weeks or months.  We knew these babies for 12 days, saw them for the first time 12 days ago.  Not long at all.  And yet, still so painful.  To make it all worse, two new big boy beds were delivered this week.  Two new mattresses, new accessories, new bedding.  I have a once-nursery, now spare bedroom, filled with unused cribs and changing tables and baby gear...

I'm not sure what lies ahead for us, I'm not sure what our plans are.  We have 4 embryo waiting for us, so I am confident we will meet all 4 in some fashion.  But I'm also coming to grips with the reality that this big family we have dreamed of may not be what God has planned for us here.  That we may continue to watch our extended family grow while also watching our own children die.  That I may only be raising these 3 crazy ones here - a Warren, a Dean, and a Hannah.  And we may not know our other children until they are grown.  I have a pile of maternity clothes that I ordered while pregnant with Lucas that came in a few days after he passed away - those may never be worn.  But, I still feel like our family is not complete.  Like something or someone is missing.  And I still feel like it's a set of boy-girl twins. As much as having twins again terrifies me, that's still where my heart is.  I just don't understand why there has to be so much pain in the journey to get there.

Our only picture of this set of twins

6 months

I cannot believe today marks 6 months.  How is that even possible?  Six months since I gave birth to my sweet son, in the silence of a delivery room.  Six months since I held my boy, since I rocked him and sang him songs, since I gave him his last kiss, since I said goodbye.  Our whole story is written in past tense as I look back to our one, final day together.  Oh how my heart breaks, as I cry these ugly tears and try to figure out what to say.  Because for the most part, there are no words.

Oh Lucas, I am so very sorry.  I'm sorry I failed you, in the most permanent way.  I make mistakes all the time as a mother - some based out of my own sinful nature, so simply because I don't have a clue what I'm doing - but I get to apologize, give hugs and kisses, share about grace, and ask for forgiveness.  I never got to do that with you.  I'm sorry son, I'm sorry for every moment I complained about feeling sick or tired or run down.  I'm sorry for feeling disappointed for a second that you were not the girl I had planned you to be.  I'm sorry for not buying you much of anything special, things that were just for you.  And most of all, I'm sorry my body failed and I couldn't keep you alive.  I wish we had known to try things differently.

June 10, 4:41am, you entered this world, my only child to ever be handed right to me.  You were so small, just shy of a pound, but perfectly formed.  We have the most amazing hand and foot prints from you.  And, in those first few moments, I tried to soak up every tiny little detail.  The cleft in your chin, the slight pudge in your cheeks, your long feet and even longer finger nails, your little unibrow, your 2 single eyelashes, and your pouty lips.  Little pieces I can see in Dean, Warren, and Hannah every single day since.  In the short hours that followed, we attempted to create the only memories we would have in this lifetime.  We tried to make every second count.  I don't really remember too many tears in the delivery room after you were born.  It was like mommy instinct took over and I didn't want to waste a second of our time together being sad and missing out.  I knew from Reagan the importance of soaking up every single moment together.  The other emotions came later, but in the moment there was mostly joy and peace.  I kind of forgot that until now, how strongly I felt God's presence at the hospital.  Because, since coming home, there has not been a lot of peace or joy.  More angst and despair than anything else.  So, I am grateful for that day especially, and for the memories I have.

So today, sweet baby Lucas, we celebrate you.  We remember you and love you and want to do something special for your 6 month birthday.  We are baking you some cupcakes, that each one of us can decorate with whatever makes us think of you.  I imagine this will entail SO. MANY. SPRINKLES.  My child, your siblings love some sprinkles.  I will be sure to take some pictures for you.  Warren wants to send you a balloon, because that is what he knows.  So, be on the lookout for a few blue balloons headed your way.  And we'll make you some cards, carefully decorated and written on.  Probably at least one of them will get crumbled in a ball.  But don't worry, we'll flatten it out and place it gently in your memory box.

Oh Lucas, how I love and miss you.  I wish these last 6 months were filled with memories with you.  I wish I could be sharing about what your favorite book is and what calms you down, how well (or not well) you are sleeping, and new milestones you have reached.  I will never have that post.  I will maybe never know these things.  But know this, you are loved beyond words, my son.

Tentative steps

Well, it's been a difficult 6 months for sure.  Nearly 6 months ago, Lucas was born.  Since then, it's been a whirlwind of medical procedures, tests, surgeries, and more pain.  Some days I'm not quite sure how to go on, how to get out of bed and face the world and all the painful reminders.  My heart aches for the feel of our son safe in my arms.  Oh, how I long for those sleepless nights.  August brought another surgery to ready my body.  In September, we did transfer, saw another 2 little baby Savants, fell in love.  Only to have everything come crashing down again just 7 weeks later. Those sweet babies I never even got to feel kicking inside of me.  Then, we planned on doing another transfer at Thanksgiving, only the testing leading up to it lead us to a dead stop.  Everything looked great, but I had retained some placental tissue from Noah.  My body was not yet ready.

Fast forward to December.  We are mid cycle again, and facing more problems than I would like.  Tomorrow I head back to the hospital for yet another surgery, this time to remove an ovarian cyst.  Why?  WHY??  I want to scream at it all.  It's not the procedure itself, it's fairly simple.  It's not the inconvenience of it.  It's just the accumulation of one more thing, one more obstacle.  Some people just get to have sex.  And just like that, the bitterness takes root.  And I find myself questioning over and over again, what's wrong with me?  Why is it always me?  At this very second, I should be nursing my sweet baby.  Or, 17 weeks pregnant.  Instead, I am barren.  Empty.  Prepping for another medical procedure with the hopes that I will one day be able to raise those sweet babies.

So, here is how you can pray for us.  First, the surgery tomorrow.  It's being done by a doctor I've never met in a practice I've never heard of.  He says he can do it, no problem, so we'll see.  I'm also electing to only have local anesthesia as the hubs is out of town.  Anyone who knows me knows that I HATE all these things, and that I much prefer to be completely out for anything that happens in an OR.  Second, we have a transfer on the books again.  On 12/19, we'll be meeting 2 other little baby Savants.  This is hard to share in advance.  I blogged my way through the entire process with Reagan and it was a really beautiful time.  Since then, we've been fairly secretive about the process for some reason, choosing not to share until late in the 1st trimester, after several ultrasounds and labs confirming everything looks good.  And through that all, I've learned it's certainly not any easier that way.  More times than not, my babies still die.  This time, I feel like I need an army of prayer warriors surrounding me, so I'm choosing to be vulnerable instead.  I'm saying goodbye to the cute little surprise facebook announcement because this is infinitely more important.

As I look into the future, I have a hard time imagining that anything will work.  Testing has revealed some things that may or may not be treatable and may or may not be contributing to our losses.  That doesn't leave me with any warm and fuzzy feelings.  Statistics are scary, with up to a 25% chance of recurrent stillbirth.  That is very high, too high some might say.  But, we were given these embryo for a reason.  I have 6 more babies, babies I've never met, babies I would love to know.  So, less circumstances change and close this door to us, we will move forward with the transfers, trusting that God is good even when He doesn't appear to be.  Trusting that He knows best, even when I think I could do it better.  It's not a fun place to be, but it's where I am called right now.