Remembering Our Angel Baby.

Today is a special, tender day for us. 

Today is the day we were supposed to have our first baby. 

I knew I couldn't forget it, but I never would've guessed just how…ok, everything would feel.

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Since our miscarriage in May, Joey and I tried to think of a nice way to honor and remember the baby that we lost. We were never given an ultrasound picture; all we have of our babe is the pregnancy test that now sits at the bottom of a little drawer in our bedroom. We wanted a simple reminder that he is still part of our family, especially now that we are pregnant again with our rainbow baby.

I thought about making some sort of print to frame or something, but I knew I wanted a memento that would really be part of our family, not just something that would hang on the wall, separate and alone from us. So when we went to Myrtle Beach at the beginning of December, we headed to Build-A-Bear to make a special bear to celebrate our baby.

Before placing the tiny, red, satin heart in our little bear we wrote his name on it. He may not have been with us for very long, but that was still our baby, and 'officially' giving him his name brought us a lot of peace. 

I suppose I underestimated my ability (or inability, rather) to remain cool and composed, because while we waited for our turn to stuff our bear, the tears just started flowing. I looked at Joey and was comforted knowing he was crying too. The woman who helped us make our bear noticed we were quite emotional and after hearing our story, was very sweet, kind, and sympathetic to our tender hearts.

Our little bear is now sitting quietly with the rest of the baby things we have slowly started to collect for our future arrival. I don't know if/when/how we would tell our baby about their angel sibling, but for now, our little one will cuddle this bear and will always have their big brother with them. 

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Early this morning I sat at our dining table while Joey finished his breakfast before leaving for work, and I thought about how in the previous months, I assumed today would be a painful, sad day. I assumed it would be a day that I would want to avoid completely. But as I sat there I realized that, more than anything, I feel peace. I feel peace knowing that because Joey and I were sealed, our baby is sealed to us too. He is and will always be part of our family. I feel peace knowing that no matter what anyone else thinks or what they think is or isn't a child, to us he will always be our child, and that he's safe, he's not alone, and he's ok. 

That everything is ok. 

Our second baby is due exactly five months from now. And while it doesn't make us forget the pain that we have felt and the loss we have gone through (and even though being pregnant after miscarrying is a nerve-racking, sometimes scary experience), this rainbow baby brings us so much happiness and even more peace. 

When this baby is born, we will be a family of four, and I love that. 

THANK YOU.

We just wanted to take a minute to express our gratitude for all of the friends and family who have extended such love and well wishes to us and our little peach. Several friends emailed or texted to let me know how happy they were, saying they even relayed the news to other friends and they were celebrating and getting excited for us. Its been a difficult journey to get to this point, but its been amazing to have so many people in our lives rooting for us. We certainly have much to be grateful for this Thanksgiving!

Oh! Several friends have asked---and no, we didn't conceive while on our honeymoon in Italy over three months ago, however it looks like our good deed and extra payment to the Trevi Fountain did the trick! We're not superstitious people, but I do love that that's part of our story. So now you know folks---the Trevi Fountain can really work some serious magic! 

I'm sure you've noticed the frequency of posts has diminished over the last couple months, and we're just going to chalk it up to all of that first trimester exhaustion thing and just feeling sub-par in general. But hopefully the nausea, exhaustion, and super emotional-ness will start to fade soon and we can get back to normal! ----I still have some photos from things we did in New England over the summer….whoops!

ps: look forward to a great list of all the ridiculous things I cry about now…

Have a great Monday, and thank you again!

Holy Four-Letter-Word.

When I was a kid, my mom shared a quote with me by a member of our faith that essentially said that swearing is a feeble mind's attempt to express itself. That quote has always stuck with me and I've tried my best to remember that when frustration starts to get the better of me and I think to release a less than ladylike term from my mouth.

But in this case, I don't think any statement could be more true of my reaction on one particular September day and my imperfect, human self to comprehend it all and express everything that I felt.

But first---remember in the last post I mentioned that Joey and I got together with Brinn Willis of BMW Photography for a little project while we were in Virginia? Well awesome, amazing Brinn finished everything up that day, and now we'd love to show you what we were working on.

pssssst…you're really going to want to watch it for the rest of this post to make sense.

I suppose I could just leave it at that, but given our experience with infertility for almost a year and a half, I feel the story of how we got to this point is perhaps just as valuable, or at least to us it is. But be warned, its a long one….

On September 19th I had an appointment with our infertility specialist to touch base after being gone all summer and to see what our next plan of attack was going to be. Those that follow me on Instagram might remember that I had mentioned that this appointment did not go well. I mean at all. It would take far too long to explain the whole meeting, but I can at least share some of the highlights. First, I met with my doctor because I had some questions about my diagnosis of unexplained infertility. I wanted to see if there was anything else we could investigate before we began sinking large amounts of money into treatments. I thought this was reasonable, but every question or concern I brought up was condescendingly shot down and I basically felt like a big idiot. I'm cool with him being the doctor and the fact that he went to med school and all of that, but that doesn't mean I don't have the right to advocate for myself and ask questions so I better understand my health. So I was getting a little frustrated.

Then he brought up the miscarriage. And after dredging up what that felt like and remembering the pain Joey and I went through, I understandably (or so I thought), started to cry in his office. Big mistake. See, according to him, most people get over their miscarriages after a couple weeks, and it wasn't good that I still got emotional after four months. Boy, I could give him an earful about that one.

So lets combine my hesitancy to blindly jump in to treatments without exploring options for answers, the fact that I cried about the miscarriage (you know, the worst thing I've ever experienced in my life so far), and that my medical history indicates I had problems with anxiety and depression years ago (and have overcome and haven't needed medication for in almost three years)…and my doctor tells me that he refuses to treat me for several more months because I am not stable to handle treatments or be a parent and that I need to see a psychiatrist and go on antidepressants. Then to add insult to injury, as I checked out the receptionist completing my paperwork gave me a condescending lecture about how I'm still young and I need to be grateful that I am because some women can't biologically afford to take a break like I can.

Now let me say, I have no problem with mental illness. I'm all for getting help and not hiding it because of embarrassment and social stigma. So that's not the issue here. The issue is that he felt that after one 45 minute appointment, during which, very emotional subjects were discussed, that he is in a position to judge my mental stability and resiliency in every other moment of my life, and that he pronounced that judgment without opening any sort of dialogue about it with me, all because I cried. And that receptionist had no right chastising me as if I was a pouting child---I have just as much right to want a baby as quickly as anyone else---that's why I was at a fertility clinic in the first place!---and frankly it was none of her business. I could go on and on about it all, but I guess the point is: my appointment sucked. Big time.

Needless to say I was furious the rest of the day. And after I picked up Joey from work and recounted the appointment to him, he was equally as upset---it was one of the few times I've seen him actually angry. And we both just cried. We were at a complete loss. It had been almost a year and a half of trying and we had nothing to show for it except a miscarriage. We couldn't make our dream happen on our own, and now the one person who is supposed to be able to help us, wouldn't. We really felt like we had no idea what we were going to do.

The next day was Friday and I had an appointment scheduled with my regular doctor at the Naval Clinic because I had been having UTI symptoms all week. I knew this week that I was nearing the end of the "two week wait" and would be able to test, so even with all of the awfulness of the previous day's appointment, I still had a bit of hope that somehow we'd have a miracle and I'd be pregnant anyways. As I got up to get ready for the appointment, I noticed I had some bleeding. And I lost it! I had hoped that everything was going to work out anyways and I wouldn't have to go back to my jag of a doctor again---but no. Now I once again can't get pregnant on my own, don't have a doctor that will help us, and to kick me while I'm down, my period decides to rear its ugly head five days early. 

I went to my appointment feeling absolutely defeated and like I just wanted to get it over with so I could go back home and drown myself in sweatpants and Netflix. Of course any time you might have a UTI, the first thing they do is send you to the lab for a urine sample. So I completed that step and then returned to the exam room and waited for my doctor. 

Fifteen or so minutes passed by when she came into the room, and the first words out of her mouth were "congratulations, you're pregnant!" And, rather frustrated, confident in my infertile body, and matching her tone I replied "no, I'm not!" She handed me the lab work, pointed at a few numbers, and there at the bottom of the paper I saw P-R-E-G-N-A-N-T. So for the second time in 24 hours I cried in a doctors office. I told her I couldn't be because I was bleeding quite a bit that morning, and I had experienced implantation bleeding before and knew this time was nothing like that. Her face turned serious and she began asking me more questions, eventually deciding to put me on progesterone (which my infertility sisters will empathize with--these are the worst!) and fairly strict bed rest until further notice. After one last hug from my doctor, another nurse came in to ask me a few more questions and go over my history. At one point he looked at me and rather surprised (and with a hint of judgment) he asked "So, you really didn't know you were pregnant?". And this still just makes me laugh because I think, no, I didn't know, but not in the same way other women might come in here and say they didn't know. I mean when you're working with a 4% chance of getting pregnant, you're probably going to be pretty confident it ain't happenin' too. 

Oh and the irony of it all? The UTI test came back negative. 

I drove home that morning in complete shock, my feeble little mind unable to comprehend or express what the heck just happened. In 24 hours everything had changed in drastic ways. I repeated an exasperated, surprised expletive in my mind because I just couldn't think of much else to think. I slowly and as gently as I could, climbed the three flights of stairs to our apartment, cozied up on the couch, and arranged for someone to pick Joey up from work. I still didn't quite believe it all, so at one point during the afternoon my silly self even took a couple HPTs, just so I could see for myself. And sure enough, it was there! 

Joey eventually made it home and I got to share the crazy news with him. But you know what? I think part of him already knew. I mean he was hoping this was how the day was going to go anyways, but after watching his reaction and talking about how we felt, I think something inside him already knew. I just love that about him. 

Funny enough, we actually spent the rest of that Friday night at the ER because, though the UTI didn't show up on my lab work earlier that morning, by dinner time it had progressed enough that doctors were able to catch it and treat it. 

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So that's the story, and sometimes I still can't believe it. 

That Friday afternoon I reflected on the previous day and that horrible appointment, and I wondered why on earth I had to go through that if we were pregnant all along. And I immediately thought back to one moment that day. I was driving to the base to pick Joey up from work, sobbing uncontrollably and blasting a song that has always been a pick-me-up. I was thinking about how defeated and hopeless I felt. And then all of a sudden it clicked. I gripped the steering wheel tight and sang at the top of my lungs and I thought, NO! My infertility specialist will not be right about me! I am not unstable---I am resilient and strong and I fight back. I may cry and I may have hard days, but I've always gotten back up---the fact that I'm even alive and breathing right now proves that. I will not let him tell me who I am! And come hell or high water, we WILL make our family. And I cried even more (I'm a cryer, ok people. I hate it and I'm always embarrassed by it, but I'm a cryer---and pregnancy hormones have only made it worse). And I think that is why that Thursday, September 19th had to happen. I needed to show myself that I could do this, that I'm capable and strong and can still overcome hard things. I needed to remind myself just how damn hard I was willing to work to make things happen for us. 

We are now over 12 weeks, and things are going swimmingly. Naturally, I've been a little worried every now and then since I've already miscarried before, and we did have a little scare at week seven. But so far everything about baby is healthy and perfect and I no longer have to take progesterone or be on bed rest. And we've felt really good about it too. We've talked about how this is different from our last pregnancy, and we both just feel at peace this time. Last time, while we were happy, it didn't quite feel real, there was always a slightly "off" feeling about the whole experience and we never day dreamed too far in to the future. This time, everything is as clear as day. We're happy, we're at peace, we actually research strollers and bottles and swaddling blankets, and we feel great about it all. Its very refreshing and exciting. 

So how did this all even happen? I can't deny that there are probably greater works at play beyond the two of us. Since talking more about our infertility struggle, people have shared why they think we couldn't get pregnant---or rather, why God wouldn't let us yet, from timing with Joey's schedule to not having a strong enough marriage, to even suggesting I wasn't meant to be a mom. And truthfully, I don't think a single one of them was right. I don't think there's ever a perfect time or a perfect checking account balance to have a child. Especially with the Navy, not one single chunk of time is any easier than the rest of it, really. And the other baloney speculations? That's a topic for another time. No, what I think we needed was the summer we had. I think perhaps God knew how important traveling was to us and that the opportunities to do so would drastically dwindle once Joey starts deploying. I think we needed to take all those trips, check off those goals. I think we needed to do things totally unlike us, like go places spur of the moment, or use a credit card for the first time in years just for something fun. I think we needed to stop putting our lives on hold just in case a baby came or just in case we had to do IVF eventually. 

I also think that we have Preseed to thank. If you've read about Preseed, you'll know that it kind of sounds too good to be true, and that couples often buy it thinking it'll solve all of their infertility woes and they'll be just like the couple in the testimonial that got pregnant after one month of using it. But unfortunately for some people, it won't work that way. And we knew this. However we also knew that $20 for a product that could end up working was a lot cheaper than $1500 for IUI or $10,000-20,000 for IVF. So we figured, what do we have to lose? And it turns out, absolutely nothing. We ended up being one of those testimonial couples that got pregnant the first time they tried it. And maybe it was the Preseed. Maybe it wasn't. All I know is that in the grand scheme of things it was a small price to pay, and I think it was worth the try. 

I know I've written a novel, so if you're still reading, go you! But I just wanted to finish up with one last thing.

Publishing this post was a very scary thing. I have formed some very special friendships with people who are also going through infertility, and I have friends I had known previously who have opened up to me about their private struggle as well. And I know how hard it can be when yet another person announces their pregnancy (I've had six friends this week alone!). I know that, though it is unintentional, pregnancy announcements can cause a lot of pain for others. I hate that I have felt it myself and might now be inflicting it upon someone else that I care about. I've spent the last two months trying to figure out how to do this all in the most compassionate, sensitive way, without seeming condescending or insensitive. And I suppose what I most want to say is that, my dear friends, you have been on my mind. I have not forgotten what infertility feels like or my friends who are also going through it just because our situation has changed. In fact the "infertile to fertile" transition  has been harder than I thought. I want to be supportive and kind and sensitive. But I also deserve to be happy about the challenge we've overcome. And the option I have come up with right now to reconcile those feelings is that I am choosing not to post much about the pregnancy on Facebook, but will update occasionally on the blog and Instagram. I will still post links on Facebook to blog posts I write which puts few details on Facebook, but after my own experience with infertility and social media, I think this is what I'll be most comfortable with. I love you all greatly and want to continue to offer support, encouragement, and compassion, if that's ok with you. But please just know, I still think about you and will not forget the love and support you have extended to me during our struggle. 

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Well I think I've said more than enough. We're happy and excited and grateful for our rainbow baby, and so glad we could share this video and story with our friends and family. And this couldn't have been published at a better time because I have become distinctly more round the past couple days. So now you know--I'm not getting chubbier, I'm just pregnant! ;)

Much love!

I'm So Over This.

Today has been a hard day.

I've certainly written less about infertility lately, and I suppose that's because we aren't doing any sort of treatment right now so there isn't really much to say. And for the sake of not beating you over the head with an endless onslaught of venting, I have refrained from sharing some of the regular thoughts, frustrations, and upsets that roll over month to month.

But dang it, today I'm so tired of being infertile. 

Eck. I hate that I even have to use that word. It feels so fatalistic. 

I won't go in to the details, but it really felt like this month was going to be the month. I remembered all the things I felt the last time I got pregnant, and I knew this had to be it. What really sealed the deal is my new ability to sob at every youtube video of a soldier surprising his kids, or ASPCA commercial of poor, pitiful puppies. Not just shed a tear or two, no. I mean loudly, uncontrollably weep for half an hour after the fact. Its embarrassing. And further, it doesn't help when people fill your head with dreamy anecdotes about their best friend's niece's cousin's so-and-so who got pregnant right after they had a miscarriage. So no matter how much I tried to suppress the what-if's and could-it-be's, they persisted and defiantly squeezed out every last ounce of rational, level headed thinking that should've reminded me that statistics say I have less than a 4% chance and I need to get real. My bad! But I'm pretty confident I am very not pregnant.

Sure, overall life is pretty good right now. I've had several friends remark to me that our life looks incredible, that they're so jealous of the activities we've gotten to do this summer. And I'll give it to 'em, we've done and seen some pretty neat things, like going to Boston for 4th of July, getting a fancy-schmancy camera, spending two weekends in NYC plus amazing seats at a Broadway show, doing some 'grown up shopping' as we like to call it, and eating some of the best food along the east coast. And hey, we're going to Italy in 27 days. And its been really fun. Its all been a fairly adequate distraction from infertility and a way of healing from the miscarriage. Its been great living in a bit of a fantasy, taking advantage of opportunities that, logistically and financially (not that we're really swimming in green right now by any means, though), we might not have again--or at least for quite some time. And sometimes I may have thought to myself, "ha, everyone else is spending their money on maternity clothes and cribs and burp cloths and I'm booking plane tickets to Italy, so suck it infertility!" 

But you know what? All of the traveling and adventures and excitement don't make days like today any easier. I can guarantee that. We've made a great effort to try to bury the underlying pain that hangs on to our hearts month to month with trips, fine eating, and shopping. But when it comes down to it, even a vacation to Europe isn't enough to fill the void created by infertility and the loss of our unborn little one that we remember nearly every day. 

I had so hoped that we'd have a very real miracle this summer, but I'm becoming more and more convinced that we won't be finished with our infertility clinic for quite some time.

See ya in September, CFS!

But again, despite all of this, I'd like to express how grateful I am for Joey. He is kind, patient, and so loving. His heart hurts as much as mine, yet he keeps going and carries me with him when I just can't do it myself. He is such an example to me and I'm so lucky to have him. 

Where I'm At.

I've wanted to write an infertility update recently, but there isn't really much going on---much to my displeasure. After the miscarriage I was not in the best place emotionally--my heart was understandably broken, and as much as I like to think I'm generally a positive person, life was fairly difficult. And even though I shouldn't be ashamed of my grief, and its ok that I didn't (and still haven't completely) accept what happened or bounce back quickly, I decided to take a little break from blogging about infertility until we got to Connecticut. 

So now that we're here, now what? 

Here's the dish--

We are taking a break, of sorts. Obviously if we're here and the fertility clinic is in South Carolina, we can't do treatments. That thought has been extremely frustrating to me. We want to get back to it, but the fact that we can't do any sort of injections or procedures means we're pretty much left on our own until the fall. Sure, we can't say miracles won't happen, but when you're already sitting at a 4% chance every month (and it just keeps getting lower), things aren't really looking good for you on your own. 

So that brings us to the next facet of where we're at. Because my body wouldn't miscarry on is own and I had to have a D&C, we were instructed that my body needed more time before trying again. Some doctors say try again as soon as you want, others say wait three months. Ours told us to wait until after I get my next period (I know I know, the dreaded P word. Eh, ya gotta talk about it sometimes). This has been yet another source of frustration and anxiety for me. I've heard countless stories of women who, after a miscarriage, have irregular periods or none at all. This has been a fear of mine because if that were to happen, more time and effort and potential treatments would be spent on just getting my cycle as regular as possible again, before we could even worry about trying to conceive. And I don't know about you, but I'd rather have as few barriers and obstacles as possible. Luckily, after 38 days (a little long but I'll take it) I started a new period last week. And for the first time in my post-pubescent life, I was ecstatic about it. Sure, my uterus feels like it wants to fall out, and sure, I'm beyond bloated and yet still only want to eat chocolate, burritos, and pickle flavored potato chips. But for once, a monthly event that usually brings tears and disappointment feels like a little dose of hope. Not only does it mean that (as far as we know) my cycles aren't messed up, but it also means we can try again on our own. And like I said, though our chances without medical help aren't stellar, at least we can try. I feel a little less stuck and held back than I have the past several weeks, so I'm going to call that progress.

Even though I don't have to worry about my cycles for now, I'm not out of the woods yet. For the past few months I've had more twinges around my left ovary, and after the cycle of injections in April, those twinges became more pronounced and painful. Usually twinges are a sign of ovulation, but ultrasounds revealed that I had been ovulating from my right ovary, including the time I got pregnant. I've never noticed any twinges on the right side. During the week before I miscarried and then the week before the D&C the pain increased more and I was petrified that I had an ectopic pregnancy on my hands, but that was ruled out. Now lately the pains are greater--so much so that last week I could hardly sit still in the pew in church as the sharp twinges would jolt my body in flashes of pain. I debated whether I should go to the doctor for this or if i was worrying about nothing, but I'm quite scared that something could be really wrong and choosing to ignore it will only exacerbate the problem. So tomorrow I will be going to a hospital here in Connecticut for ultrasounds and tests and will then meet with a doctor next week. And perhaps nothing is wrong, but intense pain isn't normal and I'd rather be safe than sorry, so we'll see what they say next week.

Emotionally, things are generally ok. Some days are hard---I go on with my life until I read or see something that brings all of the heartache and the reality of living with infertility back to the surface. And I cry for an afternoon. Or maybe a day. Or perhaps two. But then the pain starts to fade and I get back to life until it happens again. Not having my puppy to cuddle when days are hard is difficult, but luckily I have my fun videos and photos of the little pup to cheer me up when I need it. I'm having a hard time telling myself "don't worry about it this summer, just relax and don't think about trying to conceive", because I want to feel like I'm working towards my goal of being a mother. And right now I feel a little stuck. However time is flying by fairly quickly with all of our weekend trips, so I'm sure we'll be back at the fertility clinic in (almost) no time. 

I still struggle with feeling like I have purpose. Many nights have ended in tears after trying to write a list of long term goals and plan Bs, only to conclude with "be a mom" as the one, solitary bullet. I go back and forth about going back to school for a Masters, weighing the cost and the value and what I would (or could) even do with it. I'm stubborn I know, but I think I know I'm just not ready to accept that I need a plan B....or C or D or Z. I'm not ready to accept that I need to figure out a job or a career or a Masters program because it could be several more years before we have a child. I can't think of anything I would want to do for years besides be a mom, quite frankly. But I know I need something to feel like I have a purpose, like I'm smart and creative and useful, like my time and efforts are worthwhile. And heaven knows its not going to get any better when Joey starts deploying in less than a year. So yeah--I'm feeling the pressure right now. This is about the time I make a joke with Joey and say "does our baby know its making life really difficult right now? It'd sure be nice if he'd go ahead and get here already!"

So anyways, looks like for the next couple months we'll be hoping extra hard for one heck of a miracle!

Charleston Strawberry Picking

In October we went pumpkin picking at Boone Hall Farms, and we loved it so much, we went back for strawberries in May! It was an unusually chilly morning for May in Charleston, but we had the fields all to ourselves and first pick of the best berries---and we got them all without breaking a sweat!

To be honest with you, its a little hard to look at these photos. We went strawberry picking on May 1st after a weekend of pure bliss, hope, and excitement for our little one to finally join our family. Just before going to Boone Hall Farms, I was at the fertility clinic doing a routine blood test to check my hcg levels. We had so much fun stomping through the mud and hunting for the best berry, unaware that later that afternoon we would get the first phone call explaining that things already weren't looking good for the pregnancy. The thought that something could be wrong was the farthest thing from our minds. And of course we all know how that turned out. Its strange to look at these photos and remember, 'Hey, I was pregnant then'. 

Even so, we had a fun morning together at Boone Hall. Going to U-Pick farms is one of our favorite things to do, and we can't wait to get back to Charleston to pick our own tomatoes, grapes, and blueberries too!

I think I'm Taking A Break

I've clearly been absent from the blog since our world practically fell apart a couple weeks ago. Its now been a week since I had a D&C, two and a half weeks since we found out we lost our little one. I should be eight and a half weeks pregnant right now.

Though we have tried to gain some sense of normalcy since then, including a simply wonderful anniversary in downtown Charleston last Friday, blogging (about both infertility and our every day life) has certainly fallen to the wayside for now. I know I made a promise to myself to be open about infertility and what its really like, regardless of whether or not every day was rosy. But right now I think I need to take a break. Its hard to feel like many things matter right now (showering, wearing something other than sweatpants....you get it), and I suppose blogging is one of those things that just doesn't matter currently. I also know that right now, I am very angry. I'm upset and I'm confused and I'm mad. Its not fair (and so help the person who tells me 'life's not fair'...). And as honest as I'd like to be about all of this, I fear that how I feel at this point in the grieving process and the resulting words I'd like to write might inadvertently be hurtful to others. And I made a goal for myself that I would do my best not to talk about other people and that, to the best of my ability, I would be conscious and respectful of other people's feelings.

So I suppose the best option right now is to continue taking a temporary break, probably until we get to New England in a couple weeks.

I'm grateful to those who have supported us through this struggle. We have received love and prayers from some great people, and even from old friends I haven't seen or spoken with since high school. I'll be honest with you, miscarrying over Mothers Day and right before your wedding anniversary, and having a D&C while some of your friends have their own babies that same day just sucks. It really sucks. But to those who reached out to us by text or email or a phone call and let us know we weren't forgotten and that we were cared about, we are so grateful for you and appreciate your kindness.

Enjoy the rest of May, everyone, and we'll be back again in June.

Things Don't Always Work Out

Unfortunately.

I know I've been a little absent from blogging lately. And well, I was pregnant.

I guess I should just start at the beginning.

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But first, I know some people might disagree with my choice to write about this, and I respect that. However, both of us have chosen to share our infertility experience and to be open in an effort to bring more awareness to infertility, and we don't feel that this is something we should have to censor. There's no reason why we should hide it or act like it didn't happen. Its not something to be ashamed of. Yes, its personal, but we share what we are comfortable with, and there are still things we keep between ourselves because they are special and sacred. Further, I've learned that writing about things is how I cope with them. And Joey is aware of this and is a part of every decision made about the content of this blog. Blogging about this experience is part of what I need to grieve. Neither of us are looking for attention. We are just trying to understand and get through what happened.

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Our instructions were to take a pregnancy test on April 25th to see if the round of medications and injections worked. As the day got closer, my fears grew and my thoughts always eventually turned to how I was going to face the results. I was flying to Ohio the next day, and was so scared I was going to have to spend the weekend hiding a heavy heart. Wednesday night and into Thursday morning I couldn't sleep, so at 1am I finally sat up, quietly snuck out of bed as to not wake Joey, and took the test. My hands shook, I was so nervous for the results.

I put the stick on the bathroom counter, set a timer, and waited on the edge of the bathtub. I think part of me just assumed that this test would be negative like all the others, so when I got up to check it two minutes later I was beyond shocked to see two little blue lines. I kept looking away and then back at it, wondering if my eyes were playing tricks on me. Deciding to trust the results, I went back in to the bedroom to wake Joey and show him. 

You know, when friends call to tell us they're pregnant, I always wonder what that moment is like for them. Did they cry? Were they happy? Were they scared? Could they believe it? We were stunned. And really, there was not one part of it that felt real. I was so nervous that it was a false positive, that it in fact wasn't real, and I had a hard time being happy or telling myself that yes, I was pregnant, until I could confirm it with my doctor.

We tried to fall back asleep for a couple more hours before the alarm would go off. I think Joey was a lot more successful than I was. I pretty much waited for morning to come so I could call my doctor and schedule a blood test. I eventually went in for the test and later that evening as we sat down to dinner, my nurse called me to give me the good news. I was in fact pregnant and my hcg was looking great at 70.9. Shock and amazement consumed us again and we tried to stop crying just long enough to finish our dinner of homemade burgers (I had been craving red meat morning, noon, and night) and potato wedges.

We had talked about it a little in the weeks prior, but that night we discussed what our plan would be as far as telling people. Obviously since I've documented everything here, people would begin asking questions, so hiding it for three months like the average couple wasn't an option. We decided to wait a week or two to see how my follow up blood tests went before telling family and friends.

By the following Wednesday (May 1st) I had returned from Ohio and was going in for another blood test to monitor my hcg. I suppose for a brief moment I assumed I was going to have a regular, run of the mill pregnancy like anyone else, because I was not prepared when my nurse called that afternoon with less than hopeful news. After six days my hcg had only risen to 170. It should have doubled every two days. We scheduled appointments for Friday and the next monday to see if it would improve, but she said we were most likely going to be dealing with a miscarriage and that I needed to pay attention to my body and any sudden changes. 

I don't remember much about the next two days, except a lot of crying, cuddling on the couch, and praying. Every time I went to the bathroom I held my breath, hoping their wouldn't be any bleeding. Any little twinge or cramp sent me into a mental frenzy of worry. It felt like it was going to take forever for Friday to come.

When the day finally did come, we rushed to the clinic, hoping to get everything taken care of and still make it on time to Joey's graduation that morning. They drew my blood and sent me on my way. Though it was cold and cloudy, graduation went well, and as we were driving home from the event my nurse called with the results. There was more hope in her voice as she told me that my hcg was now at 281. She was looking for a level of at least 267. The fact that it was at least rising and not plateauing or decreasing meant that we could be "cautiously optimistic", as they like to call it, and we'd go ahead with an ultrasound on Monday. Our worries were temporarily relieved and we spent the weekend doing service projects, taking a trip to see Iron Man 3, and day dreaming about the little appleseed that was growing inside of me. 

Though we were nervous for the ultrasound on Monday (May 6th), I don't think we really thought anything would be wrong. My hcg levels were rising, and perhaps the baby was just getting a slower start, taking his time. Perhaps he was dramatic and loved the attention all of this concern was getting him. I think we just assumed we would see our little pea, safe and growing. My doctor began the ultrasound, but it didn't take long for him to explain that unfortunately he couldn't see a gestational sac or a heartbeat, which should've been visible by six weeks. There was no baby anymore. 

Joey squeezed my hand and tears filled my eyes while we waited for him to finish the ultrasound. It was impossible to not cry, but I tried to hold it together as best I could until we could get home. Before we left we met with my nurse and she explained what I need to look out for, to call her if I have any bleeding or other symptoms, and that I'd have to come back in a week to see if my hcg is going back down and if my body has miscarried on its own, if I'll need a d&c, or if its an ectopic pregnancy. As of today I still haven't had any bleeding, severe pain, nothing. And its scary not knowing when its going to happen.

That Monday the sun was shining for the first time in a week. Fresh air and warm sunlight replaced the clouds and rain that had overstayed their welcome. Everything was vibrant and green and new. But the world couldn't seem more dark and grey for us. We came home and didn't know what to do with ourselves. We felt lost, confused, broken. It would come in waves---we'd cry and cry and eventually our hearts would calm for a couple hours, and then we'd remember that what felt like a bad dream was our reality, and the crying would return. I have never seen Joey more upset or devastated. It broke my heart to see how much it hurt him. I've wondered what people do when something like this happens-- how do they get through each day, how do they cope. We tried to distract ourselves with episodes of Downton Abbey or 30 Rock, or making a batch of cookies. We thought about running away for a night or two. But then we realized, there is nothing we can do and nowhere we can go to escape the pain. It is with us. It is literally inside of me. We can't forget about it. 

I keep thinking about the ultrasound appointment. I think about my doctor asking me questions before we began. I never had a fever, no severe pain, not even the slightest spot of bleeding. I had all the normal symptoms--nausea, tiredness, bloating. I gave my replies with such confidence, as if I had met certain criteria to have a healthy pregnancy---if I have A, then I will get B. As if there were rules that my body was required to follow. But I suppose if I've learned anything through this whole experience, its that there are no rules. No rhyme or reason. If that were the case, then I would still be pregnant---or would have been a while ago---because I followed the rules. 

I feel foolish sometimes, thinking that we would have a successful pregnancy after only one treatment. What makes me so special that we would get pregnant on the first treatment, while so many others spend years and thousands of dollars on dozens of treatments that never work? And I feel like I can't find much comfort in the "at least you know you can get pregnant, you'll have another chance" kind of encouragement. Because it took 11 months and very expensive medications and getting poked and prodded every week for months for this time to even work out. Even this treatment only increased our chances to half that of the average couple. So I can't just get pregnant, now can I? 

I know that there are people out there that would wonder what we're so upset about. How could we be so sad about something the size of a pea that looks nothing like a human baby. My body hasn't even changed that much, so how could I even know something was in there. And I'm not sure how I could even explain it to them. But that was our baby. However small and incomplete, that was our baby. We're not going to meet him in January anymore. We miss him. And we're heartbroken.

[And I'm sorry but I just have to say it---going through a miscarriage the week of Mother's Day is just a cruel joke. A woman said "happy mother's day!" to me at the commissary and I nearly burst into tears] 

Now that we are going to New England in June, we don't have time to try another medicated cycle. So basically everything is getting put on hold until we return and, depending on what my body does, we might not be able to try another cycle until September. I suppose it will be good for us to get away for a couple months. But I can't even begin to figure out how to mentally put everything on hold and just forget about our dream for almost three months. 

Our hearts are heavy and I don't know when things are going to feel like they're ok again, but we're trying to get through it. Despite all of this, the one thing we always return to is that we have each other. All of this has shown us just how strong we are together. I think some people worry about our marriage and if it'll make it through this infertility stuff. Perhaps they don't want us to focus on having children because they fear it'll strain what we already have. But I can say confidently that though this is difficult to get through right now, we've never been happier with each other and we love each other more than ever. Joey has gone above and beyond to take care of me, especially while my body goes through hell with shots and medications and all of the ultrasounds and exams, the surgery, and now the physical pain of waiting to miscarry. He's absolutely incredible. And when he's having a hard time, I take care of him. We balance each other. we talk with each other. Our marriage is the one thing in life that we feel is undeniably successful, despite the storms that come our way. Joey keeps me going, and I know I'd be so lost without him. 

We are facing this together, and that means the world to us.

Join the Movement

I am a whole-hearted supporter of being more open about infertility and am excited about the relatively new national awareness week for it. There's this vibe out there that women and men struggling with infertility should be ashamed or embarrassed, or that their trial is not as important as others and therefore shouldn't be talked about. I also think that there is a hesitation to talk about it, like there's this taboo undercurrent because you can't talk about infertility without talking about how babies are made in the first place--shoot, I didn't want to tell our parents for a while because I didn't want them to have to think about their babies...well, you know.

But ya know what?

There's nothing wrong with experiencing infertility or talking about infertility.

Blogging about our own story has been difficult. Its difficult to put yourself out there and be so open about something so personal, and for us, has very sacred and spiritual elements. Its difficult to receive nasty feedback on rare occasions. Its difficult to accept that some people we care about think we are wasting our time or making ourselves upset for no reason. Its difficult to acknowledge my short comings as I try to come to terms with what's actually happening.

But its also been very rewarding. It feels great to see some of our friends open up to us and share their similar struggles, admitting that they too were afraid to talk about it, but that our openness has helped them to talk about it more or seek the help they need. It feels great when others reach out to us and explain that reading this blog has helped them more fully understand infertility and how they can better interact with and support their friends or family members who also are dealing with infertility. It feels great to become a little bit kinder towards myself, to appreciate that I'm only human, that infertility doesn't make me broken or a freak, and that its ok to not walk around with a smile every waking moment.

Talking about infertility---whether through an intimate conversation, blogging, support groups, or posting on social media---is hard sometimes, but its important, and can make a world of difference to others and to yourself.

I've been thinking lately that I don't know how this is all going to end, what will happen if we do eventually conceive, and how and when we will share that. To be honest, I'm not entirely sure what to do. I don't have a plan, because none of this was part of my plan. The open-ended-ness is in a way a reflection of the experience itself---there is no neatly packaged ending in sight. 

But for now, I'm grateful for the opportunity to, like many others, be a voice and share my own experience with infertility. In my own small way I am contributing to the movement to be more open, compassionate, and educated. 

[Get the scoop on National Infertility Awareness Month -- and here too]

[Infertility 101]

Things Are Moving Along.

Hello!

The past few days I've been having a bit of a hard time drafting posts and thinking of things to write about, so please forgive me if this isn't the most well put together post, but I thought I'd share a little update and some thoughts.

Last night I took my ninth and final shot for this cycle. In total there were eight Follistim shots, and the ninth was the "trigger" Ovidrel. 

Doing the injections wasn't too bad overall (except a lot of bloating, a lot of cramps, and a lot of tiredness), but some days it was hard. At 6:45 every night I'd sit down on the bed and start preparing the pen and getting things ready for Joey to help me, and I'd kind of lose my breath, I guess still shocked that this is all actually happening still. I'd lay down and hug a pillow tightly while Joey gave me the injection. Sometimes the shots hurt and would sting for fifteen or so minutes afterwards. Sometimes I'd cry. Sometimes I'd think about those to whom pregnancy came so quickly or easily, while I laid there on the bed as my husband injected chemicals into my body for just the smallest hope of increasing my chances from 4% to 10%--still half that of the average woman. How different this experience of creating our family could've been. 

Joey and I have been marking the injection sites in order to keep track and make sure that we alternate sides and locations. As I stared at the nine little black dots this morning in the mirror, I thought about how I've had so much emphasis on my stomach, and yet for completely different reasons. I checked it daily to watch for any signs of infection at the injection site. I kept track as the number of little black dots grew. I turned to the side and could see how unbelievably bloated the medications made me, but remembered there's nothing in there. 

I still have more medications to take over the next couple weeks while we essentially wait to see if anything worked, but at least I'm done with the shots and I'm done with going to the fertility clinic twice a week for ultrasounds and blood tests, thank goodness. 

I don't mean to weird anyone out, and forgive me for my horribly untoned midsection. But this is part of my experience and I want to document it as much as everything else, so if/when the day comes when this is all over, I'll remember just what I did and what we did to have our dream family. 

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I've spend the last several minutes trying to write about a moment from the weekend that I just loved, but I just can't quite seem to get it out. And I think that might be because its something I just need to keep special for me. But, I guess what I will say is that I'm so grateful for the gospel and the opportunity to have a completely uplifting weekend and hear just what I need to hear. In general, I feel like I can do this. Sure, its hard sometimes, but I know I can do this. And what's more, I know that I have a Heavenly Father who knows what is happening right now and is taking care of me. I don't know what's going to happen or why, but I know He's helping me. 

Here We Go.

Well, turns out I didn't end up having to wait the full ten days.

So Tuesday morning I went to the clinic to officially get started with my treatment. I did some blood work (which resulted in a blown vein and subsequent nasty bruises), did an ultrasound to check uterine lining, ovaries, follicles, etc (thank goodness everything looks good right now), and then I met with my nurse to go over my medications and learn how to give the injections. 

She gave me the injection pen, a mock cartridge, and a needle and had me assemble everything, then showed me how to measure the right dose, and finally had me practice how to give it with a little rubber square. When I unwrapped the needle and began screwing it onto the pen, I just burst into tears. 

Because ya know, part of me was really hoping that this last cycle would be the winner, that everything would finally work out and I wouldn't have to pursue fertility treatments any further, and everyone could say "see Megan, you made a big deal out of nothing". I was willing to swallow my pride and accept that statement. 

But as I sat there, staring at the needle, I just couldn't believe that this was all happening. I couldn't believe that Joey and I are actually doing things that for months were just talk, something we said we'd worry about once we got there. As my nurse and I went over all of the paperwork and the medications and procedures and calendars, I felt like a bit of a human experiment---and taking some medications and doing injections isn't even the craziest thing people do just to have a baby! 

But anyways.....I started Letrozole, my first medication on Wednesday morning, and waited for my other three to be delivered on Thursday.

As I unpacked the large box and cooler of medications, I was completely overwhelmed. Everything I felt while learning to give injections came flooding back as I held the needles, the alcohol swabs, the vials and bottles of medication in my hands. I felt scared and nervous---what if we mess up? What if I forget a day, or we give the wrong dose of Follistim? What if we don't inject in the right spot? Its so nerve-wracking. I mean I now have my own biohazard box for crying out loud! And I'll spare you the details of how mood-killing and awkward it is to have to schedule every intimate moment with your spouse when you're doing a medicated cycle. All of this isn't what you think about when you day dream about starting your future family. But this is where we are now. 

Sunday night I have my first injection of Follistim. This weekend I'll be teaching Joey what to do because he most likely will be giving it to me. I just don't think I can bring myself to deliberately plunge a needle into my stomach. I'll do another shot of Follistim on Monday night, and then I'll go back to my specialist for another ultrasound to monitor my progress on Tuesday. Depending on what they say, I might have to return again on Thursday or Friday. There are two other meds--Ovidrel, another injection, and Prometrium--but I don't start those until I get the go-ahead from my doctor, based upon how my body is progressing.

Despite feeling overwhelmed, the one positive thing I have been feeling since last night when I unpacked and organized all of my meds and supplies, is gratitude. In the information packet I received there were receipts for the medications. It included the copay that I paid, and then the actual cost of the medication. One medication alone, without insurance, is over $2,500. And all I had to pay for it was $17. 

I won't lie to you. dealing with insurance through all of this is a headache. And sometimes I don't feel its fair that artificial reproductive methods aren't covered by the majority of insurance companies so people have to pay thousands upon thousands of dollars to have the same reproductive capability as everyone else. But right now, I'm so grateful that at least at this stage in the process, the large majority of it is covered and that we can afford it. Sure, it stunk to pay the forty dollar copay for the whole package of medications and supplies, but considering how much its actually worth (both monetarily and as the potential method of creating our family), its practically an insignificant price to pay. I pray so much that we won't have to think about doing IVF or some of the other expensive procedures. I don't even know how we would do it. But for now, I'm glad that modern medicine progressed enough that there are medicinal ways to help fertility, and that right now, we can afford them. It makes me feel so blessed that as a young married couple, barely a year out of college, we have a stable job which provides health insurance. If it wasn't for Joey's job in the Navy, we might not be able to afford everything involved (the insurance, the copays, the meds, the gas to drive to the fertility clinic almost weekly) and we would have to put our dream on hold. While life in the military is certainly demanding, it is a blessing in our lives right now.

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Tonight Joey and I are going to the temple (after having to reschedule from Saturday), and I just can't wait. I love being there with my best friend and getting to have a truly special date night. 

I hope you have a great weekend, too!

I Slept on It, And Here's What I Want to Say.

In the past 24 hours I have written two different blog posts. 

The first out of frustration and hurt feelings. The second out of questioning myself---or rather, pretty much being lied to, I guess to make me feel like I was wrong (and so I questioned my response), only to have them admit (in a convoluted, we-did-but-we-didn’t sort of way) that they were in fact talking about me and judging & criticizing me. But that is neither here nor there. Neither of my posts have appropriately said what I want to say. 

So here it is:

This blog is about my experience. I have been clear in previous posts as well as in our “about us” and “why blog” sections that we are new to the world of infertility, that we got a head start on the process because we were operating under the assumption that I had a certain diagnosis (PCOS since I was 14-15), and that we had no idea how long this journey would last. I am not lamenting after only trying to conceive for two months. Its been a little over ten months now, and I have had serious medical conditions that clearly interfere with fertility. I have every right to seek the treatment I feel is appropriate, and to write about my experience.

As I said before, I started writing about my experiences because many friends and family asked and encouraged me to write, to help them understand what its like and how they can be the most supportive. I have actually received emails thanking me for my honesty about my experiences because it has helped them open up about their own infertility problems and to seek help.

My decision to write about my experience doesn’t negate any reader’s personal trials or problems. My trial isn’t greater than the trial of someone who has experienced infertility for years, or someone who is going through a divorce, or someone who has lost a parent. And for an individual to say that, by writing about my own life (and not theirs), I am in some way disrespecting the life and memory of a loved one they or someone they know have lost, is unkind and unfair. Do not think that my character is so cold, unfeeling, mean, and selfish that I take away from the severity of another person’s grief, just by experiencing my own. 

I still stand by this quote from Resolve---

"Who is the final authority on what is the "worst" thing that could happen to someone? Is it going through a divorce? Watching a loved one die? Getting raped? Losing a job? Different people react to different life experiences in different ways. To someone who has trained his whole life for the Olympics, the "worst" thing might be experiencing an injury the week before the event. To someone who has walked away from her career to become a stay-at-home wife for 40 years, watching her husband leave her for a younger woman might be the "worst" thing. And, to a woman whose sole goal in life has been to love and nurture a child, infertility may indeed be the "worst" thing that could happen. People wouldn't dream of telling someone whose parent just died, "It could be worse: both of your parents could be dead." Such a comment would be considered cruel..."

I would never tell (and have never told) someone that their trial is any less than someone else's. I've never said that my problem right now is bigger than any other problem that anyone else has or has ever had. I have not judged someone else’s trial and how they decide to handle it, whether its drinking, declining to talk about it, or choosing to write about it, as I have. I have never told someone that they don’t know what true pain, suffering, grief, and trial are because they haven’t experienced things in life that I have. And I would appreciate and think I deserve the same courtesy. Just like everyone else, there are many things about my life and my past that few--if any--know about. It is unfair, wrong, and quite hurtful, actually, to assume that I know nothing of pain, just because the details of my life are unknown to some. If someone else’s trial and grief is valid, so is mine, because right now, this is the hardest thing for me to go through. Maybe it won't be next year or in five years, or thirty. But right now, it is. I don’t know how else to explain this concept. 

I have taken great care to make sure, to the best of my human ability, that I don’t write things that hurt or offend others. I spend multiple hours and go through several drafts before content is even published (yes, even yesterday’s post). I try not to write and publish in a state of uncontrolled emotion. With the exception of these last couple posts, I do not write about other people (you know, real, actual acquaintances). I’m not perfect, but I at least try to be tactful and considerate. It is unfortunate if someone read something that I wrote and chose to be offended and bothered by me and my story. I think sometimes people are looking for things to be offended by because of the experience they are having themselves. I am not disregarding everyone’s feelings--quite the opposite. I am making my best effort to be kind and aware. But there is only so much I can do. I hope that the true tone and purpose of my writing is evident (and again, I have done my best to be clear about my purpose and where I am coming from), and I do my best to understand why people feel the way they do towards me, however if someone chooses to be so outraged and offended by me, that’s their decision. I am doing my part to be kind and considerate, but when someone still chooses to be mad and rude to me, I make no apologies for my writing or even my decision to write about my life on my blog. 

I am going to keep writing about my experience. I try to balance the good with the bad, but sometimes life just doesn't unfold that way. If an individual doesn’t like that, they are welcome to stop reading. Not every post will be about infertility (though to those individuals who told me that “everyone” thinks that its not worth reading, my posts where I write about my real life and my real experiences have quadruple the reads as any other kind of post I publish). Sometimes there might be three in a row that are about infertility. Its my blog and my choice. However I can’t stress enough, if someone doesn’t like it, they aren’t being forced to read it. 

I do try to get people to see that infertility isn't just cured or even alleviated with a cruise, or having more sex, or by just forgetting about having babies. Its a serious trial with serious emotional, mental, and physical ramifications. And I won't ever say its anything less than that. I won't apologize for explaining just how devastating it is, whether someone thinks it actually is or not or whether I deserve to feel that way at all. I do not need to be ashamed of my experience and the emotions I feel. 

I don’t expect everyone to approve or agree with what I write. I recognize that one of the consequences of writing in a public way is the opinions of readers. I am not afraid of critique or a difference of opinion. But am I bothered by rudeness and unwarranted, passive aggressive meanness.

Not all of our friends and family agree with my course of treatment (or pursuing treatment at all) or our desire to have children right now. They don't understand why this hurts me so much. But they still try to be supportive as best they know how. For those people, we are very grateful and we love you dearly. I know that the majority of those we know and who read fall into this category. A couple of our acquaintances fall in the former. And that’s fine, they don’t have to support me (and apparently they don’t even have to be nice to me). But as long as we have that majority of loved ones who care about, love, and support us, I’m going to keep writing.

As much as I wanted to say my piece, I will not drag this out anymore. This post will be here for anyone to read, and I have done my best to...make disclaimers, if you will, about my blog and my decision to write about infertility. I have done as much as I can, and now it is up to readers and how they will choose to react to my words--with offense or with at least some measure of understanding. 

Playing the Waiting Game

[one of my favorite moments from the weekend. I sure do love them]

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Ten days have never felt so long-----scratch that, every post-ovulation-waiting-time feels so unbearably long. 

This time, things can go one of two ways: first scenario is, my next cycle doesn't start in the next ten days (this current cycle's day 35), and I call my doctor and we will try to find out what's wrong (he's concerned because my last cycle was 42 days---12 days longer than my normal). Or, I do start my next cycle and I start my first round of meds and injections next month.

The waiting game is the worst. Time passes so slowly and my mind just fills with every possible scenario that could unfold. Sometimes I get hopeful and think, "this time it worked, this is all over". And then almost instantly those thoughts are replaced with, "how naive of you, Meg, there's no way you're done with this trial". Honestly, being positive and hopeful is really difficult, because I feel like I just get let down. Positivity in this is easier said than done for me. The fall to frustration and sadness is a lot shorter when your hopes aren't that high. 

I sound awfully cynical. I'm trying to have more faith about all of this, but its a challenge for me! And I feel guilty that I can't get to that point of peace and hope.

I read so many talks and books and articles about people going through infertility and other trials, and they talk about how they overcome it and trust that God is taking care of them and that everything is ok and their faith carries them through everything.

And I'm just not at that point!

And I'm doing what I can to get there, but its just not happening. 

And I'm afraid that God won't help me because I can't yet accept what is happening to me and let my faith be greater than infertility. 

And then I become more frustrated.

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Today marks the start of my life sans job (for the time being), and so far its going well. I have a lengthy list of projects, activities, crafts, chores, recipes, and general to-dos that I can spread throughout the next few weeks until Joey graduates from Power School in May. The truth is that I'm very excited about this time. I will be less stressed. Joey will be less stressed. I can schedule my various appointments at the fertility clinic without having to worry about missing work. I can have the time to take a mental break and cry on the really hard days. I can work on things that will uplift me and and help me feel productive and creative during a time when I sometimes feel like a broken waste of space. I think that at this time in my life, this is going to be good for me. 

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Well, here we go. Ten days.

Today is Better

[credit]

Difficult, but better.

Night time is the hardest, because I've gone all day trying to hold it together and by the end of the day, I'm just spent. 

But today is better.

Its how it always goes. Things seem to be going ok enough, and then depression and confusion and desperation and anger all rear their ugly heads, and I break. After a couple days the crying lessens, and I pick up and try to keep going again--at least for as long as I can.

But today is better.

I opened our bedroom window this morning and let the fresh spring breeze flood our room. 

Fresh air is one of my favorite smells in the world. 

It makes me hopeful.