Babies 13 and 14

Yesterday, we met our final two embryo.  We started this IVF journey six years ago. Six. And so, these babies have existed for us for the last 6 years. It’s really crazy to think about that, how the science of it all works. This time last year Andrew and I were wondering what in the world we were going to do with all of our extra embryo. At that time we still had 8. It was a huge question mark in my future. And felt like it was going to be so much pressure to decide. How could I ever turn my back on any of these little ones?? Yet how could I keep having babies. The last year has been the hardest of my life by far, as we lost 7 in a row. Each child took a little piece of me with them, broke me a little bit more. And here we are, at the point of having no embryo left. Babies 13 and14 are now tuck away inside of me. And we wait. For 12 long days, we wait. And pray. And hope.

Going in to the transfer, I felt surprisingly calm. There was no moment of stress, no anxiety. I’m sure a good dose of Valium helped, but even before that there was peace. A peace I know only comes from above. Even when I have these doubt of God’s goodness towards me, He shows up, holds my hand, and carries me through. It’s a beautiful picture of Him as Father. One I could miss if I wasn’t looking. So, for all those who were praying for me, for us, thank you. 

I also just realized this is National Infertility Awareness Week. I’ve just had a few other things on my mind recently and missed that. A little ironic we end our infertility journey this week, one we really started 8.5 years ago, long before we ever decided on the IVF route or met the team of doctors who would hold our hands through the process. For us, our infertility issues could never be fixed, despite numerous surgeries and medications, despite diet changes and supplements, there was no way for us to conceive on our own. We didn’t have a low chance, we had a no chance. But now, we have 3 healthy, happy, crazy kids who bring so much joy (and frustration) into our home. Though my years of being childless are over, my infertility is not. We are still here in Charlotte doing our transfer, my body is scarred from the daily injections, my emotions are all over the place from the roller coaster of hormones. And we still don’t know if we will get to bring either of these little ones into our home. Infertility is a silent struggle, it permeates so many areas of your life. For years, we lived with this constant longing.  Every time I saw a pregnant woman, every time I saw a diaper commercial, every time I saw kids playing down the street, and every year on Mothers Day, always this ache. I broke the silence 2 years into our walk because I was tired of pretending and tired of being asked when we were going to have kids. And I am so glad I did, because I couldn’t imagine the pain of walking through this alone.

6 months

Today is Easter.  If I were stronger, I'd dig deep and do another Easter post.  Because ultimately, Christ's sacrifice on the cross and his resurrection are the only hope I have.  I know that because God lost His Son, He can relate to my ongoing pain.  I know that this is not the end of my story, that one day there will be a happy ending.  It is only because of what Easter symbolizes that I am surviving, that I am waking each morning and doing what needs to be done and living a life as a functioning human being.  Otherwise, I would be completely broken.  Otherwise, I would live life in utter despair.  Don't get me wrong, I often feel as though I am living in utter despair, but I know the truth.  And, so, I chose to cling to the cross.  Even when it's hard, and even when I'm angry at God, and even when I don't understand, I cling.

But, today marks 6 months since I went into the hospital with Noah.  Six months since we said goodbye to a child I would never know and never hold.  And the first day of the month in which he would have been born.  To add to that pain, today we packed up the last booster seat for the table.  Stacked it right on top of the empty infant seat.  Right next to the box of baby clothes, the brand new rock-n-play, and the never worn maternity clothes.  All things purchased for Lucas, all things we expected to use with Noah, all things that are simply collecting dust.  I now have no kids in diapers and no kids in need of being strapped in for eating.  They're all big enough to choose their clothes, to brush their own teeth, to get their own water, clean up their own mess.  (NOTE: when they choose to...).  This is a moment that most mothers celebrate, the beginning of some extra freedoms.  But for me, it only makes the emptiness more profound.  It only makes the longing stronger.  Holidays always hold a special but difficult place in my heart, as I wonder what Reagan would have looked like, 5-years-old and dressed to match little Hannah; Lucas, nearly 10 months old and matching Warren and Dean.  All these precious moments I will never have.

This week marks the beginning of the end of menopause, and a quick shift and hormonal transition on Friday as we begin estrogen medication.  My heart is so fragile, already broken.  I often feel like I'm just hanging on by a thread.  I know that I will not get through this process without prayer, and I'm out of words.  We're looking at a transfer at the end of this month, our last attempt.  I keep telling myself it probably won't work, but honestly I don't know how I will not completely break if it fails.  If our story ends with the loss of 9 children in a row.  If the last delivery I have, the last baby of mine I hold, is Lucas' still, silent, but beautiful body.   I just can't.  I can already feel the bitterness creeping in alongside the tears as I anticipate what it will feel like to get that negative result.  To learn that my hormones are dropping instead of doubling.  To go in and see the empty chest, yet again.  How many times can I do it??  I know that God can carry me through, I know that he can heal my body and I can have a "normal" pregnancy with a healthy baby - He did it with Hannah.  But it's hard to wrap my mind around the fact that I have been pregnant 7 times with 12 babies and have only made it to full term once.  That I've only had an experience with "normal" once.  That every other time, there has been immense heartache involved, even though Dean and Warren survived, I lost a huge part of who I was during that pregnancy and their NICU stay, living in constant terror.  I may never feel safe again.  But, I know without a shadow of a doubt, that our family is not complete, not yet.  So, we're praying fervently for babies #13 and 14 in this IVF process, that they get to spend a few (or 60) years with me here before we are separated.