From Bad to Good

The following song was the inspiration for the name of my blog. I don’t know if it was written to be about infertility but I’ve always found the words fitting to our journey. If you like country music, check out this song by Wade Bowen. 

I can’t change the way we’re talking, but trying might do us good. I can’t change the way the world’s spinning, but I sure wish I could. You can’t step twice baby in the same river. You can’t ever go back in time. Yesterday’s over baby we’ll survive. 

So dancer a little closer, laugh about this crazy day, or lay your head down on my shoulder and we’ll cry the world away. We’ll find a tender moment, let it heal up what it should. Love has always kept us going, going from bad to good. From bad to good. 

Look at all this time we’re wasting, thinking about what to do. We’ve got so much more between us and we’ve always seen the rough times through. I can’t handle another quiet moment. Being lost means we can only be found. Take my hand, let’s turn this thing around.

So dance a little closer, laugh about this crazy day, or lay your head down on my shoulder, and we’ll cry the world away. We’ll find a tender moment, let it heal up what it should. Love has always kept us going, going from bad to good. From bad to good.

Mother

Yesterday, as I was signing the consent forms for my 2nd D & C in 4 months, I noticed something that I didn’t in August.  It said, ‘Mother’s signature.’ It didn’t really hit me yesterday and I don’t remember it months ago.

Let me back up.  In early November, we transferred our 2nd and final embryo.  I felt positive about it at the beginning but two days before my beta when I has some mild pink spotting, I lost all hope.  My beta did come back positive and my second beta rose appropriately.  I was unconvinced and terrified of miscarriage.  I didn’t feel that lovey feeling like I did with our first Rio. I prayed that God would change how I felt-maybe I didn’t let him.  Our first ultrasound revealed what I knew all along.  I felt terrible for Brett, he was abounding with joy and hope leading up to the ultrasound.  To make matters worse we had to wait another week for a follow-up ultrasound to see if maybe the first one was too early.  It wasn’t.  The pregnancy was nonviable.

This one feels different.  I’m sad, but yet I’m relieved.  Relieved that I don’t have to worry every day about miscarrying because I already have.  It’s a terrible place to live, in fear.  Looking back, I think maybe I wasn’t mentally prepared to carry another child.  I did love this Rio, granted I didn’t allow myself to dream for it.  I didn’t let myself imagine what he or she would look like or what he/she would be.  For that I am extremely sorry.  It was selfish.  I didn’t do those things so I wouldn’t hurt as much.  But now I hurt because I feel like I didn’t know this Rio like I knew the first.  Even though it’s naive.  That’s what miscarriage and infertility does to your heart and mind.  It gives you all the reasons to doubt and stop yourself from loving.

‘Mother’s signature.’  I am a mother.  A mother of two.  In less than a week, my second will be taken from my body.  I am ready for a break.  Ready to spend some time celebrating the 15 weeks I carried my babies over the last 6 months. Ready for some time to enjoy my husband, friends, and family without worrying about the next injection, pill, or appointment.  Ready to get back to running and exercising.  I’m ready to exist for me even if it’s just for a month or so.  This time I’m going to push to be the best ME  I can be so I can be strong and ready for the next IVF in January/February.  If your reading this-please pray for this MOTHER.

Late to the Party

A LETTER TO MY HUSBAND

Brett,

Pregnancy is a party and I’m late.  But I’m always on time. Being late to the pregnancy/parent party is heartbreaking for so many reasons. We struggle daily with the loss of an assumed future & the loss of our unborn child.  Our human nature is to control things that are clearly only in the control of our Maker. It’s so frustrating being late to the party when we have always been ‘on time’ people.  We sit back and watch what seems like everyone we know indulging in cake, gifts, surprises, and games.  We feel that by the time we make it to the party all of those things will be gone.  We wonder will there be enough left for us?  We feel left out.  We don’t get the inside joke.  I spend so much time comparing my not-growing family to everyone else’s progress that I have forgotten the most important thing in my life.  I have been so consumed by fertility treatments, doctors appointments, exams, injections, and pills that I have failed to recognize the one thing that I should be so thankful and grateful for.  I realized today that I’m never late to the party if I’m late to the party with you.   I had been so content with our party for two, often thinking that if it wasn’t meant to be for us that we could easily be that couple that was perfectly happy on our own.  However, God had a different plan for my heart.  He placed a sweet child in my belly whom we loved with all of our being, and now I can’t imagine a world where we are not at that party. But for now, the real party is what is happening between the two of us while it’s just the two of us.  I don’t need a baby to justify our marriage or our love for each other.  I just need to be with you.  I know that everything is ok when I can look into your eyes or when I see you smile.  All of this time with just the two of us has only strengthened our conviction and love for each other.

So when we finally show up at that party (late) we are going to look really good because we are going to have a deeper love and richer experiences than all of those people who showed up on time.  I’ll walk down any path, or go anywhere as long as I can do it with you.

All my love,

SJ

IF

When I teach my students about soil conservation, I like to show them parts of the PBS documentary, The Dust Bowl.  The dust storms of the 1930’s were the worst man-made environmental disaster in history.  Millions of acres of earth were plowed up for the growing of wheat.  When wheat prices dropped, planting ceased, thus leaving these millions of acres open to the drought-like conditions and the high winds typical of that area.  It breaks my heart to listen to the eye-witness accounts of the individuals who lived during that time.  The documentary describes them as ‘next year people.’  They lived by three little words, “if it rains.”  If it rains, the dust will stop.  If it rains, we can have a crop.  If it rains, we can pay off that loan.  If it rains.  I sympathize.  I, too am a ‘next year person’, maybe more like a ‘next month person.’  Brett & I have built our life around the phrase, “if we have a baby.” Or, “if we get pregnant.”  It’s a scary way to live.  After our recent miscarriage it terrifies me that we will be living in the world of ‘ifs’ once again.  I wonder how we will have the power to overcome the urge to say ‘if’ and start saying ‘when?’  It’s hard to not feel foolish saying ‘when.’  After one year of unpredictable periods, a hysterosalpingogram, countless ovulation prediction kits, three failed rounds of clomid, a laproscopy, PCOS diagnoses, three failed rounds of IUI, and one successful IVF-resulting in a missed miscarriage, it’s challenging to believe that ‘when’ is on our side. The only thing that keeps me going is God’s promise, that if we believe, we need but to ask, and we shall receive. It’s such a test to be a ‘when’ person, and maybe that’s a reason why God’s given me a life full of ‘ifs.’  Everyday, I pray that God takes this burden from us, I know that he will, one day.  Until then, I must have faith.  I must have hope. I must find it in myself to say ‘when.’

I am praying for all those saying ‘if’ tonight, no matter the cause.  My heart is with you.  You are not alone.

Hard Truths

They say there are two sides to every story.  Can there be two sides in our own minds as well?  Today, I struggle with two truths, the hard one and the hopeful one.

Two months.  Seems like yesterday. Seems like a lifetime ago.  Today, my mind is constantly thinking about the look on my husband’s face when the ultrasound tech said, “Sorry, there is no heart beat”.  It kills me, but that is what I see.  I can imagine the look on his face 6 weeks earlier when he was seeing a heartbeat pounding at 173 beats per minute, but it doesn’t hurt any less. That look tells me a hard truth. My husband was in love.  My husband’s heart is broken.  He loved us more than he will ever be able to say or express.  My man, ‘the strong silent type’, will never break. So I have to.  The hard truth is we have to do all of this again.  We have to hope for the best, and be prepared for the worst.  The hard truth is that our love for each other can’t create new life, no matter how badly we want it to.  The hard truth is that some days are good (really good) and then some days the grief knocks the wind out of me and I forget all of the things in life that I have and that I should be thankful for.  I can’t breathe, I can’t think, I can’t focus on anything but the one I lost.  Even the idea of another child is almost evil. I wonder how can I even consider another baby?  How can I possibly love a new child more than the one I lost?  The hard truth is that infertility has made me spiteful and bitter.  I am happy for my friends who become pregnant easily but I constantly struggle with “why me?” Their successes are constant reminders of my failures. These are the hard truths that happen with infertility and miscarriage.

The hopeful truth is more difficult to find.  I have to look for it in a place that I didn’t know I had.  I have to unlock my best self. I have to be strong and I have to fight.  When I have no energy left I have to seek even the tiniest glimmer of light on the horizon.  Some days I just don’t want to, so I won’t.  Other days, I have to or I might just lose myself to this evil force that controls my every thought and my every move.

The hopeful truth I have to find is that the look on my husband’s face that terrible terrible day would never have happened if he hadn’t known the love a parent has for a child, something he has never known before. We CAN try again.  It CAN work! That is a very hopeful truth! The hopeful truth is that love doesn’t make life, instead it sustains it. My husband sustains me and I him. The hopeful truth is that the good days can out-number the bad and they do if you let them. Infertility does make me more thankful for a life that was growing inside me.  I know that without the struggle I would take for granted every little thing.  The hopeful truth is that there is enough love in my heart for a dozen children and that is why I so desperately want to be a mother.  The hopeful truth is that I AM A MOTHER too.  My friends may be holding their children in their arms but I know God has mine in his.  I may have nothing to show for my efforts, but my heart is full.  Full of love for my Rio. (Embryo)  Full of love for my precious husband.  Full of love for God who has blessed me with this terrible disease.

The choice is mine.   What truth will I embrace today?

Why I’m Here

Growing up, in a house where television was limited, video games were non-existent, and house and barn chores were ever present, my number one idea of fun was writing in my journal.  While my brother sorted through Dad’s old vinyls for comfort, I was writing about the cute boy in class, the love I dreamed of finding, or how I was mad at my parents for one reason or another.  I do not claim to be an excellent writer, so reader beware!

I am here for three main reasons, 1) TO FIND MYSELF, 2) TO SHARE MY STORY OF INFERTILITY  3) TO SHARE WHAT I BELIEVE, HOW I FEEL, AND WHAT I’VE LEARNED.

In posts to come I intend to tell my husband and I’s story of infertility, love, and loss.

Blessings to ALL!

Sara Jane