Snippets Of Where I Was...

I wrote this letter to Luke a month and three days before he was born.  Thirty-five months ago, today, his brother was born.  So much different; so much the same.

Sweet Little Luke,

It’s important you know how Mommy was feeling today. I know that you will grow up in a slightly different way than many others, though you should also know that all of us pretty much do!  You, however, will grow up with a big brother you never knew and it’s my job to make sure you know as much about him and his place in our family as you can.

I cleaned out your brother’s room today.  I know it will be your room also, but it was and always will be Matthew’s first.  This is not written to be disrespectful to you; it’s simply the way it is.  I don’t think anyone finds it ok to say, “Well, mom’s dead so the next mom can have all her stuff.”  Therefore, I don’t find it ok to think that because your brother is dead, we need to pretend that room has always been meant for you, or things bought for him were somehow ‘meant’ to be bought for you because he died and you lived.  Acknowledging that it was Matthew’s nursery and Matthew’s things I cleaned out is just acknowledging life.  More specifically, his life, and I won’t ever, ever, ever act as if everything said, done, felt or bought for Matthew wasn’t and isn’t real and true.  The length of life lived does not determine one’s standing in the family, nor is it interchangeable or replaceable. 

But that doesn’t mean that it will not be any less yours.  Several things are in the works for you.  Our sweet friend Miss Amy is making your nursery set.  It’s really adorable, an Under the Sea theme, and your daddy and I love it.  I’ve also ordered some sweet decals for your walls, and Miss Stephanie is making you some awesome art with your name to match your room.  You’ve received several kind and thoughtful gifts, and mommy has been buying things for you since the day we found out you were part of our lives.  I’ve been meaning and meaning to take pictures of things you’ve been given and that I’ve bought for you and I was able to today after I took Matthew’s things down and out of the room.   There are a lot of pictures, obviously, but I want you to always know that you’ve been very loved and very hoped for before you even existed.  I never want you to doubt that.

Though hard, I can’t say that cleaning the room out was the hardest thing I’ve had to do.  I can’t even say it’s at the top of the list.  I’ve had  to hear your daddy say, “He’s not breathing, Lori.  They’re doing CPR,” and “Lori, I’m so sorry.  He’s gone.  I’m so sorry.”  I’ve had to hear the NICU doctor tell me, “Your son is a very, very sick little boy and we’re going to try to do what we can to save him,” as she looked at me knowing that I’d never see him again.  I’ve had to decide what songs to play at my son’s funeral…pick out what he’d wear in his coffin.  I’ve had smile even though my world was shattered.  I bring flowers to a grave that marks where your brother’s body is.

Cleaning out the nursery was hard, but sadly, just one more in the list of things that breaks my heart.  I’m getting to the point where I think I’m just numb to them. I didn’t cry for the most part…but when I came across Matthew’s First Thanksgiving outfit, I did.  When I cleaned out his diaper bag, I did.  When I read what your daddy wrote to him in the book he bought for him, I did.  When I took his curtains down, I did.  When I took all his first Christmas outfits out of the room, I did. 

I guess I cried more than I thought. 

I took a ton of pictures before and took video.  One of my fears is that I won’t be able to remember.  I can’t remember where my keys are most days…I can only imagine how time will chip away my memories of all the happy preparations that were made in anticipation of Matthew.  I don’t want to lose any of that.

So, his room is now ready for you, his little brother.  I anticipate it will be decorated in the next few weeks, and most everything that we’ll need to use with you for the first several weeks is waiting to be used.  It’s been waiting for nearly a year to be used, and unlike me, holds no attachment for whom it was meant to be used.  I can say that as time has passed, I am able to lose some of the attachment as well.  After Matthew died, I couldn’t dream of using just about anything of his for any one else, much less another child.  When your only child dies, the only things he gets to ‘keep’ are those you make sure are only his—clothes, toys, ornaments, shower venues, certain books…different things.  I’ve been able to get to the point where some things I can now contemplate sharing with you.  Not because I probably would have passed them on to you anyway (I HATE THAT ARGUMENT!), but because I know that they are just clothes.  Some clothes are special for Matthew only, and had he lived, would have been that way regardless.  But most clothes do not hold the memories they would had he lived and worn them, and I can see them for what they are—clothes with maybe  a vague memory of me buying them. 

And now your things will go in and wait for you.  It’s hard to believe  that won’t be very long now.  I have to admit that as I was getting things I’ve bought you ready to wash, I found it hard to believe I’d actually bring you home.  There’s no medical reason for me to believe that, it’s just very surreal still.  In any event, know you are loved and cherished and we cannot wait to meet you!

All my love,
Mommy

Struggling...

There's no point in trying to deny it; that's pretty much how I am functioning.

Still, though...I'm struggling.

I can't even pretend that I'm not.  I mean, I can...and sometimes I am just because life has its expectations, and that's what one does.

But I'm struggling.  Struggling to smile.  Struggling not to cry.  Struggling to keep my head above water.  Struggling to sleep.  Struggling to stay awake.  Struggling to eat.  Struggling not to throw up.  Struggling to stop struggling because MY HEAD KNOWS I AM SO LUCKY.  I AM SO BLESSED.

My heart, though?  My heart hurts.  I feel like it's just drowning in wistfulness every time I turn my head.

My mind races...making connections with everything and everyone and I hate it.  Lady in front of me at Target?  A baby about Luke's age and a big brother about Matthew's...and very visibly pregnant.

My heart screams, "It's a boy and that should be YOU!"

New babies and new pregnancies are all around me.  I am thrilled beyond thrilled for all of them.

My heart screams, "NEVER AGAIN YOU.  NO MORE FOR YOU."

We told Shady Grove that we felt like it was time to withdraw from the Shared Risk program.  I was hoping Dr. K would say something like, "Well, Lori, I certainly understand if you feel it's time.  You've been through so much.  If you should decided to keep trying, though, I still feel like we'd have success and this is what I'd do..."

Instead, I heard, "Well, the plus to the Shared Risk program is the more chances you have, the more chance you will get pregnant." (Not interested in the 'Even the Blind Squirrel Gets a Nut Theory'...Maybe our nuts were in January.)  I also heard, "Well, I think we've tweaked the medicine about as much as we can.  We'd probably just hope for better response."

Hope.  That's a fickle word.

The biggest thing I heard that makes me pretty much realize we are done with trying to have more children is Dr. K mentioning he felt I'd have much greater success with egg donation.

Don't get me wrong...blood does not make a bit of difference to me.  Before Luke, I contemplated egg donation and wouldn't blink an eye if that's what we had to do in order to raise a child.

But we don't.  We have Luke.  And while I feel like the desire to raise more children has been laid on my heart since I realized that girls can grow up to be Mommies....I begged and begged and BEGGED God to just let me have Luke.

I plead with Him for 34 weeks and one day to just let me bring that baby home and to love him and raise him...and if He did, I'd never, ever, EVER ask for another thing.

So to ask again...and to go to those lengths—more time, more trauma for my body, WAY more money in medicine and more interruption in our family—only to have either failure, or God forbid, success and then MORE loss?

I just don't know.

Well, I do know.  I have to accept this place.  This person.  This life.

I feel horrible.  There are so many horrible and terrible things going on in this world.  So much pain and suffering and loss.

My days are filled with the love and giggles of the most amazing little boy in the world...planning fall activities and trips to Disney World and things to do when Daddy deploys...

I am so blessed beyond belief, and I am ashamed of just how hard it is for me right now.  I have more than many people dream of in their wildest dreams.

And still...I'm struggling with want and heartache.  I'm struggling with grief for the losses I've had and the realization that every time I rock Luke to sleep, it may be the last night he lets me...he's growing up so fast.  My heart hurts so much missing days that haven't even happened yet.

Ridiculous.  I know all of this is ridiculous and I just have to get through this.  I've had a lot going on in the last few weeks...months...year....three years...and more to come with Daddy deploying and the acceptance of different stages of our lives.  Hormones are still equalizing.  And honestly, I NEVER struggle to smile or be genuinely happy with that precious boy of mine, and I am just grateful that I have him with me all the time.  What a blessing just to be able to stay home with him and not miss anything I don't have to.

Please pray for a sweet friend who delivered her sweet little girl last week and her precious little boy today...and mourns them both as they have both died and gone to Heaven.

Please pray for the children in Kyrgyzstan who will remain there and not with their families because of political turmoil.  To know my child was alive...but without me...would tear my heart out.

Please pray for my sister.  Her lupus is really bad.

Please pray for sweet friends who have lost babies in the last months, and are having enduring complications.  Insult to injury.

Perspective.  Perspective.  Perspective.  Pray for my perspective to come back.

I may be struggling, but it could be so much worse.

Was Looking Forward To...

...another birthday in our family today.

I don't care what anyone says or how anyone feels and I sure has heck don't care about what anyone else's view on when life begins is or whether or not my heart feels as great a loss today as it will, again, on November 28.

In MY family, this little boy is and will always be as much a Big Brother as he is a Little Brother.

Sad I have to explain to him one day how that can be...grateful I'll be able to explain with full confidence where his brothers are.

Numb Is Not Always A Bad Thing...

When my mom died, I was shocked.  We knew she had cancer; knew it was serious...but she'd been in treatment for year, and her oncologist told us that even though her cancer had metastasized, she had 4-6 months left withOUT more treatment, and she was doing treatment.

So when I got the news that she died, only 4 weeks after he said that, I was shocked.

Numb.

For a long time.

When John's dad died, we were not surprised.  He had been valiantly fighting his cancer for nearly 6 years, and when it metastasized to the brain, and he went into hospice, we pretty much knew what was coming...and we dreaded every phone call because it could have been the one.

Not numb.  Wishing we were.  Wishing we had that 'protection' of dumbfounded, if you will.

When Matthew died, shocked doesn't even begin to define our surprise.

Numb for a long time, that doesn't even begin to cover my emotions either.  Intense, raw and the most painful I'd ever known, and yet...

I was numb.

That's how this week has been...sort of.  Intense and raw emotions, and yet, numb at the same time.

I mean, honestly, if you look at the things going on this week, you almost have to just laugh at how ridiculously ill-timed it all is.

All in a week:
Our last cycle? Negative.  No More Babies. Ever.
A lump?  Cancer?  Maybe no more Mommy?
Oh, don't forget...tomorrow would be the big day!  Got my offer from Shutterfly in the mail today for the birth announcements I should need...probably using a picture I'd take tomorrow.

If his heart hadn't stopped beating.

I've sort of looked at this week in that way===> just ridiculously ridiculous.  So much going on it's hard to believe, and yet, nothing in my control, so I might as well remember I'm that girl who puts on the smiley face and makes the funny, often sarcastic jokes.

Coping mechanisms of my whole life...and very successful, for the most part.

So I really was not worried this morning.  Seriously.  What were the odds?  I mean, I know I am GREAT at beating them (except in the last cycle, of course), but still.  Surely, it was going to be fine.

And it was.  I was told I had nice, young looking and dense breast tissue (ha ha) and neither the mammogram nor the ultrasound showed anything but that...a place/band of really dense, thick tissue.  I'm skinny.  That's not news.  Skinnier than normal, I guess, and that means less fatty tissue and more opportunity to feel new, dense tissue.  Throw in the hormones of enormous proportion affecting the shape and molding of the dense tissue, and my ability to feel more in my thinner self...and in the end, there's nothing even really to biopsy.  The surgeon will still consult with me, but really, for measure and not concern.

I've turned off most feelings this week.  Most.  Self-preservation, whatever...grateful for every single second with my boy and focus on the fact that still, my life is so much greater than the lives of so many.

There are far worse things than pouring all your time, love, efforts and resources into one sweet little miracle.  I look at my clinic's FB page every day, and know that I am so lucky.

I could easily say it's not fair that we lost Matthew...and Trey...and that of the four fresh transfers I've done, the one that DOESN'T work is of course, our last.  I could say that losing my mother and John losing his father to cancer isn't fair.

Oh, there's so much I could say isn't fair.  And it is SO not.

Neither are innocent children dying all over the world because their mothers can't feed or hydrate them.
Neither are people who are persecuted simply because they believe.
Neither are those who suffer neglect, cruelty and abuse in epic proportions.
Neither are people suffering life-threatening illnesses...especially little ones with long lives they should live.

SO MUCH IS NOT FAIR.

I am beyond grateful that the pain of so many others is not my pain.

And I'm grateful for being numb sometimes.  It's not always a bad thing.

The End.

I went ahead and had my blood drawn yesterday afternoon.  A few hours isn't going to make a difference.

It was negative.

I will never again carry a miracle within me.  Never know again what sweet little baby kicks feel like when Mommy eats Skittles (which, by the way, Luke loves).  Never be able to scan another face, desperate for any signs of Matthew or what Trey may have looked like.  Never watch Daddy lose all hints of "Manly Marine" and go goo-goo ga-ga over his precious newborn.

No Hannah.  No William. (The names another boy and girl would have had.)

I'm sure many are thinking, "Don't count yourself out...." and have some story of some woman who ended up with a surprise pregnancy when she least expected it.

Yeah, not interested.  When you spend as many years and dollars as we have pursuing just about every modern technology available to bring children into your lives, you don't give 'those' stories credence.

Of course, they happen.

Just not to me.  I'm the story of the lady with babies who die.

************

I'm also the story of the lady who is blessed beyond measure.  A dear friend told me that when she read about how I was saying it would be just my luck to end up with cancer, she was thinking about how lucky I was with Luke.

And she is SO right.  He is the song in my heart and one of the most amazing gifts I've ever been given.  He is proof that God can and does create all things new and I am often just at a loss for words to describe just what he does for my heart and soul.  For his Daddy's too.

I told another friend yesterday...in light of how it ALL has turned out...I still would not change a thing.  I'd do every treatment, go through every heartache and roller coaster ride, cry every tear and plea every plea all over again just for the privilege I've been given to mother the babies I have.  I'd obviously prefer that ALL were with me here on this earth.

Given that they aren't, the joy of knowing and loving them for whatever time I was given is enough to last my lifetime.

And it will.

*************

We have several more opportunities to do more fresh cycles.  We are withdrawing from the program, though.  The last two cycles have been pretty indicative of what is going on with my body as it ages (gasp, I know...39) and my plea to God was to have 'one last shot' at bringing a brother or sister Luke could grow up with into our lives.  Two weeks ago, I was begging Him to allow us to have at least two beautiful embryos to transfer and to accept whatever happened after.

God is good.  I was given exactly what I asked for and more.  Not only did I have two—two BEAUTIFUL, perfect looking embryos (even prettier than Matthew's and Luke's!), I had a third.  God gave that lab a miraculous ability to rescue more embryos and we had a THIRD embryo to transfer.  I didn't mention it, but another embryo actually kept growing a few more days, which was, in itself a miracle and we thought we might be able to freeze it.  Sadly, it arrested right before freeze.  And still, a dear friend told me, "What an opportunity to give God glory."

So right.  Though I would love nothing more than to bring another baby into our lives, I am not willing to put our family (or my body, in light of this lump) through any more trauma...no more interruptions in our lives because of treatments.  No more copious and crazy amounts of money on drugs—money that should and could go to Luke.

We are blessed.  We've always thought raising another child would just be icing on the cake that is Luke.

Not that I would not love more of that icing.  Who wouldn't?  It's so flipping delicious that it makes you CRAVE it.

But I'm grateful for the cake I have...it's sweeter than I ever imagined it could be.

**************

I am so grateful for the most amazing messages and texts and calls and gifts that I've been given.  Facebook has it's faults, for sure, but it also is such a nice way for a girl to feel the love.  I have to share about a gift I received yesterday—I'll ask my friend if she's ok with me sharing her company, but it's one that makes adorable scarves.  I got home from my doctor appointment yesterday and out of the blue, a package was delivered to me.  It had a sweet pink and white scarf in it and the most precious note.  I couldn't even read it because I was crying so much.  The note told me the she'd read my blog for years (we were acquaintances in college) and was touched by my post on the October 3 about how breast cancer and pregnancy loss were close to my heart.  She just felt she needed to make me a scarf, one that had been designed for her cousin, a breast cancer survivor, and that would be able to remind me of my mother when I wore it.  For my heart, and my heart alone, she added two little butterfly charms—one for Matthew and one for Trey—so they could be with me.  I don't even think she knows that my mother was a HUGE butterfly lover (she had a bumper sticker that said, "I brake for butterflies!" and on the day of her funeral, butterflies were EVERY WHERE)....nor does she probably know that when we were looking at gravesites for Matthew, standing under a beautiful poplar tulip tree on a cold, cold December day in Maryland, a sweet little yellow butterfly came by...and we knew that was the spot.  I see those little butterflies all over the place here in NC, and Luke calls them out every time.

My point?  That scarf coming to me in those colors, for that purpose, with those charms, YESTERDAY?????? God-given reminders that He is with us always.

Of that, I have no doubt.

****************

I think that I have a lot of things to process.  I think it will not be easy, as I am a hormonal mess and there are some upcoming dates that are sure to tug at my heart.  Even once the hormones peter out, the acceptance of many things not in my control is one with which I have to deal, as do we all.

So as I do, I appreciate all the love, care and concern.  It is all such a blessing to me.

As are these sweet boys in my life.

A Pregnancy Test In Perspective...

I am not really a big fan of drama, yet I always seem to somehow be in it.

So, I have kept it quiet because I wanted to see what the doctor said.  I saw him a little bit ago.

He wants an immediate ultrasound, mammogram and biopsy.

No, not talking about pregnancy testing...

On Saturday, I found a lump in my breast.  I have not really slept since then.

Since my mom died of breast cancer, I've been very diligent in doing self-checks. As I am basically doing the EXACT opposite of what her oncologist told me: "NEVER do hormone replacement therapy!", I am hyper-vigilant in monitoring myself for anything even hinting of breast cancer.

There is definitely a decent-sized lump and it is definitely new and not normal to me.

I spent most of Sunday Dr. Googling.  There was every possibility this is just something related to hormonal craziness in my body.  There still is, though...the wonderful doctor I saw today feels like it's atypical for me to start reacting to crazy hormones in my body with cysts all of a sudden.

I mean, for real.  I've been doing this a while.  Never had any 'reaction' like this.

He felt it, and was 'encouraged' by the fact that it was movable.  He did not feel it was fluid-filled, and called it a solid mass.  He said that if I was any woman off the street, he'd probably think it was fine, but given my mother's and my history, this was nothing to play around with and so he was going to be aggressive in finding out what we are dealing with and take care of it.

To the extent that we can.

I really do not like the drama factor in all of this...wouldn't that just be my luck?  "Poor Lori...all she's been through and now this?"

But it is what it is, and I'm just going to take things bit by bit as they come.

I go in for an ultrasound and mammogram (unless I am pregnant) on October 19, unless there are cancellations that can get me in sooner.  I go in for the biopsy on the 25th.

Puts a pregnancy test in perspective, huh?  As much as I'd love another baby, I'd sure like to be around for the little boy in his room fighting a nap right now.

As if this was not all fun enough, the room I sat in this morning was on the other side of a woman who was almost 39 weeks doing her NST.

THAT'S what I should have been doing there...listening to my baby's heartbeat and getting ready to deliver him Saturday.

Not all this mess.

Twenty-One Months of AMAZING!!!!

I find it harder and harder to believe that my sweet little Luke is closer to a two-year old than he is a one-year old.  I don't know how these days go by so.flipping.quickly.

He is 21 months today.  Twenty-one months!!!!!!  He is seriously more and more fun every day.  He has brought us so much joy and happiness, and I honestly just don't know that I ever would have believed I could be so madly in love with him.  There has never, ever been any doubt that I would love any and all babies entrusted to me as a mother, but the healing that Luke has brought into our lives and in my heart is nothing short of miraculous.

Truly, I was given a new heart, and this little boy has every single inch of it covered with my devotion.

He is a funny boy.  He loves to laugh, and somewhat sadistically, he laughs at us when we 'cry,' or rather, when we pretend to.  We joke about how he shouldn't get so much glee out of us bumping our knee on the table and screaming, "Ouuuuuuuccccccchhhhh!" but he does...and it's hard not to laugh at his laughing at us.

More, he does NOT like it when I cry.  He gets a very, very, very uncomfortable look on his face, and it's because he does not really ever see me cry and it makes him feel unsettled.  This makes my heart so happy—not that he is unsettled, but that me crying is such a foreign thing to him that he doesn't know what to make of it.

And let's face it—there is never any reason but to be completely joy-filled when I am with him.

He is talking, talking, talking.  Non-stop.  All the time.  Babble, words...makes no difference.  He just talks or sings  all.day.long.  I could not be happier.  I joke that when he starts making sense, I am in big trouble!  He repeats the last word of EVERY thing he hears and everyone notes it—"Wow, he repeats everything, doesn't he?"

Yes.  Yes he does!  Still not putting too many two-word phrases together, but I'm not really worried.  His vocabulary is strong enough and he talks so much (and so quickly, again, like his mama) that he could do just fine communicating with individual words for the rest of his life.

Like his daddy, ba dum dum.

He is thinning out...still has his chubby little chipmunk cheeks, but his little body is getting leaner and leaner.  We are calling him "Droopy Drawers" because his little bum won't keep pants up for anything. Adjustable waist is our new best friend!

Eating?  So.not.fun.  He just doesn't want to eat more than his 6 or 7 staples.  Nothing.  No way, no how, nothing doing.  I've tried EVERYTHING, believe me.  We've joked that he's a lazy eater, his teachers have commented that he's definitely pickier than most and may have an issue with chewing, and frankly, the list of things he will eat is getting too small for my comfort level.

Add that in with some sensory issues I feel he may be having and I've decided to have him evaluated by our local Occupational/Speech Language Therapists.

I put this out here fully expecting to hear, read or know that people are thinking, "She's nuts.  Every kid is picky.  It's a battle of the wills.  Leave him alone.  He'll eat when he's hungry.  She's being neurotic."

I hope all of the above is what his lack of eating and issues with clothing and textures turns out to be.  I would love nothing more than to be told, by professionals, that I am just worrying over nothing.

But I'll let them do that.  And if they have to tell me something different, and that there are things we need to work on, well, then, that's what we will do.

It's my responsibility as his parent to do so.  Whether I'm being neurotic or not, I'm tired of worrying about being thought of that way and then regretting not doing something I wish I had.

Call me crazy.
When the professionals do so, I'll listen.

He loves doggies, trucks, his daddy and all things outside.  One of his favorite things is to get in Daddy's truck and jam in the driver's seat to some crazy tunes.  Currently, it's "The Lint Song," and let me tell you, that is one weird song on a kids' CD.  But he loves it.  He loves, loves, loves music and to sing and bounce to a beat.  Yesterday, in a parking lot, a truck drove by blasting some rap song.  He was in the cart as we were headed to our car, and he just started bouncing up and down to the beat.  The people got out and were laughing and I said, "What can I say?  The boy loves a good beat!"

All day long, yesterday, he kept saying, "Beat? Beat? Beat?" and bouncing.  He cracks me up.

Still a big reader.  He climbs in his chair, opens his book (Still loving Llama Llama!), makes sure it is oriented the correct way, and starts "reading."  I know I am biased, but as a reading teacher, I'm impressed with his ability to mimic our reading at just the right places when he is 'reading' the same book.  I am so glad he loves books like his mama.

I adore him.  Just adore him.  He's starting to realize that he doesn't have to actually listen to me or what I say, and when he tries to exert his will, he's pretty easily redirected.  Oh, we have our little tantrums here and there, but they are few and far between.  And really, when they happen, I find it so easy to just get down on his level, give him a hug, tell him I know he's upset and that we can work on making it better, and just working through it.  I want him to be parented with love and mercy and grace and he makes it very easy to do so.

Except when he's whining, ha ha!  A new thing he picked up from school.  He just has this ghastly moan...not a crier, which has always been nice, but this moan!  Oh.my.word!  Working on curbing that!  He does love school, though, and though I miss him, I am glad we did it.  He learns things and is always happy and his teachers are both really wonderful.  I feel fully that he is in great hands and since he loves it, I love it too.

Happy 21 months, sweet boy of mine.  You are the most amazing little thing in the world and I am so, so, so grateful you call me Mama.

So grateful.

A Lot Going On, Not A Lot To Say...

I know, I know...I've been quiet.

Not really, I've just not been very public.

Lots of thoughts...Breast Cancer Awareness, Pregnancy Loss Awareness—dueling cause month.  Of course, as there are only 12, every month is dueling cause month, but these two causes are obviously sensitive and close to my heart.

It's hard for me to not look at every.single.little newborn and not think about how that should be me in ten days.  It's not really jealousy...just wistful.

Wishful.

Happy for the new mom.  Sad. For me.


When we were told by our adoption agency that we were a week away from a referral, we bought a stuffed sunshine that plays, "You are My Sunshine."

John and I used to sing or write that to each other a million years ago, and we thought a little Emma would like it.

A year and a half later, we prayed a little Matthew would like it and I'd play it for him while he was in my womb.  He definitely recognized it, as he'd always start kicking with glee when he heard it.

A year later, I put it to my stomach every night just praying I'd see a little Luke take a breath...him liking this little sunshine would just be gravy.

When he was born, I played it for him over and over.  He seemed to recognize it, and every now and then, I'd sing, "You are my sunshine," to him.  I won't lie; I could never sing, "My ONLY Sunshine..." I'd replace it with, "My LITTLE Sunshine," because that was such betrayal in my eyes....Replace Matthew with Luke as My Only Sunshine?  Couldn't do it.  He doesn't even know the difference in the words.

I used to, a zillion years ago, know the second verse.  Or, I thought I did.  Something about when skies are cloudy, I think of you, dear, blah, blah, blah.  Luke has a renewed interest in the song; he lights up when I start singing it, so I wanted to see what the second verse really was...

Felt like a punch in the gut.

"The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping...I dreamed I held you in my arms.  When I woke up dear, I was mistaken...so I hung my head and cried."

Dear Lord.  I'll never, ever be able to sing those words.  To type them makes my throat fill up with a softball-sized gulp and big tears on my cheeks.


Lest we forget about the hormones that are outrageously running through my body right now, I'll say that they don't help emotions right now.

John's been crazy busy and every day seems like his career may take a new direction.  It makes my head spin, but it keeps us busy, so that's nice, I guess.

Which all leads to the fact that the pregnancy test is a week from today.  No feelings whatsoever.  Whenever I feel positive, it's negative.  Whenever I feel negative, it's positive.  I sort of feel like it's positive, so I'm not sure how I like feeling that way with my record, but whatever.  It's way too early to tell and next week will be here soon enough.

Funny, huh?  I'm in no hurry for next week.  Either way, it changes a lot of things in my life.  Pregnant...all the emotions/anxiety/and really, expectation of loss that comes with that.  Not pregnant?  The last of our attempts for another baby, and that point in life that every woman comes to, regardless of her fertility issues:  Accepting that a phase in life is over.  Gone forever.  And all that comes with that...

So, yes....lots going on, and not a lot but a ton (in looking at the length of this post!) to say about it all at the same time.  A good friend told me that God told her I needed to rest.

I like that, and am taking that to heart.  Time for me to be still.  Be quiet.  Enjoy all the mundane and crazy and take time to rest and recharge.

Thanks for all the messages!  Hanging in and doing ok. xoxoxoxoxoxo

Secrets....

I am a GREAT secret keeper.  Seriously.

You can tell me something that you want to be kept secret, and it really will go NOWHERE.  Not even when you out yourself...I'll play dumb.

I have a few secrets too.  Some will go with me to the grave.  Some get shared every now and then down the road when I feel like they are no longer "secret-worthy" because really, I think keeping some secrets can make one sick, and I try not to have many.

I also try to be pretty transparent when writing on this blog because I'd like Luke to know it's ok to feel what one feels, but also because I realize other people read and have been very kind in sending me thanks for being 'real' and 'honest.'

I was planning on keeping a secret, though.  This morning, I got a phone call from Dr. K, with a report and his recommendations.  It made me nervous, but I trust him, especially since he is UBER conservative with me.

I know lots of people were watching FB for updates as to what we are doing, and so I made the post that we were transferring the two little engines that were still chugging along.

And we did.

We also transferred a third.  Three embryos.


I wasn't going to tell anyone that.  Dr. K recommended it, based on my age, history, the fact that the third was rescued, this is our last cycle etc...he, who has always said, "No more than two, no more than two," now said three.  The lab concurred.  The transferring doctor concurred.  No one feels like this is overly aggressive.

I don't either.

But I wasn't going to say anything publicly because frankly, people can be mean.  They can (and are) be very, very, very kind.  Very supportive.  Very encouraging.

They can also be very, very mean and judgmental and honestly, I didn't want to hear anything should there be any multiples and/or any issues.

I can see it now..."You brought this on yourself..."

That's not how I feel, but I can certainly see people throwing that at me.  So, in the interest of not hearing, "I told you so," down the road, I was just going to keep it very closely to a few that we transferred three.

I feel good about it.  I prayed for clear and purposed decisions and there was exactly that.  I am not feeling like multiples will be an issue, and I will not have the, "What if..." regrets.

This is the "No Regrets" cycle, and I feel really peaceful about it.  Would have liked less stress to get here, but this is just what I was praying for.

October 10 we find out.  A long time, but when looking at days left with John, I will not even think about wishing them away.  For now, we have time together and I was able to welcome some little embryos back 'home'.

Here they are....The two in each corner are the original little engines that could...and the one in the middle is quite a fighter.

The three pictures from my three 3-Day transfers...Matthew's in the middle and Luke is on the right.  Have NO clue how they compare, but hearing they look great is good enough for me.

I Need A Miracle...

I hate even saying that, though that's how I feel.  In light of all of the goings on of the last few days,  though, and despite  the constant churning my stomach has been enduring, there is a little girl named Marissa who is suffering and I am just so distraught over the ordeal that precious baby and her family has gone through.  SHE NEEDS A MIRACLE.  She's one of my 'adoption' friends...and she's precious.  She has had so many, many, many setbacks with her hydrocephalus that I can't imagine how her mother can even breathe sometimes, and literally, she needs a MIRACLE.  Please, please, please pray for her.

That said, the miracle I feel like I need is for guidance and peace and growth.  The original two that fertilized are still dividing and that's wonderful.  The other three that were rescued (can you believe that??????) all are also dividing.

So, we've gone from 2 to 5.  Which is a blessing.  Still, the stomach churning.  Dr. K now wants to do a Day 4 transfer.  This will allow the three rescued ones to have their extra day in the sun and show themselves to be strong and survivors or not.  The problem with that, for me, is that I worry about the two original ones...that needed no rescuing or anything.  If THEY are both beautiful and look good, I'd rather just put them back inside where they belong tomorrow and pray as I did with both Matthew's cycle and Luke's cycle that pregnancy will happen.  My hope in all of this was that we had at least two good looking embryos to transfer and feel like if meant to be, would be.

I know it sounds like I have over that, and in a way, I do...but it's more complicated than that in that though pregnancy can of course result from rescue fertilizations, the stats back those that don't need rescue more.  So, then we are also faced with the big issue of putting the two original ones back AND the best of the rescued in hopes that ONE will implant and stay.

Dr. K is worried about multiples.  As am I.  My husband is leaving very soon.  For a good bit of time.  I  have a busy toddler.  A multiple pregnancy that left me bedridden would be very, very, very tough in North Carolina.  Of course, it's done all the time.

But I'm not sure how many people actually would CHOOSE it that way if they didn't have to.

I'm not as worried about multiples.  We transferred two 8 celled-embryos with Matthew and Luke and both were singletons.  My body is older.  My eggs are older.  My embryos don't do as well at this age.  I can't for the life of me see how if there were no multiples THEN, there'd be now.

Then again...we all know how that thinking works for me.  Frankly, I am not really interested in losing any more babies in a higher risk pregnancy for the hope of bringing another child into our home to raise and love.

I've said it before and again and again...no child is interchangeable with another.  None.  Should a multiple pregnancy occur (and I'm doubtful), I'd want each heartbeat to beat as long as mine did...and longer.

So, driving today, I switched the station from the news to the Message.  Third Day's song "I need a Miracle" came on and I couldn't have needed to hear it more than right then...

That's pretty much been me today.  On my knees praying for the right things to be clear, clear, clear and for another brother or sister to raise to be in our home.

"There will come a time when you can’t make it on your own
And in your hour of desperation
Know you’re not the only one, praying
Lord above, I need a miracle

I need a miracle."

Thank you for praying with me...and please, add Marissa.  That precious girl needs a miracle and I am begging God for one for her.

See What High Expectations Get You?

I was all excited last night because we got eleven eggs and surely, surely half of them would be ok, right?  That'd be great.

Yeah, well, not so much.  Five were mature.  Only TWO fertilized.

Please don't give me the "Only takes one..." line.  I know.  I know.  I know!  We've been down to bare minimum (or so we thought) with Matthew and Luke and those embryos obviously were perfect.

But we had more to start with.  More that we could bank on at least one or two making it to day three.  Not so much this time.

Three more became mature overnight, and the amazing lab did a procedure where they basically tried to fertilize those as well.  I won't know until tomorrow how the first two are doing (though initially looks are that they look good, thank God!) and how the other three are—whether they even fertilized.

So some prayers are appreciated...prayers that we have two, very clearly purposed embryos to transfer on Tuesday and that they stick around for a long time.

I'm going back to expecting it to be crappy.  I don't mind writing about how I was wrong in those situations.  I'm more than happy to eat humble pie if it means that I was pessimistic for nothing!

I don't love, however, writing about how wrong I was to be excited in the first place.

Keep Expectations Low And....

...be pleasantly surprised!

While some may see that as glass-half-empty thinking, I don't.

I think of it as survival thinking.  Even before we lost Matthew, I always felt like if I 'secretly' kept low expectations, then I could only be happily surprised!  I don't think many people would have guessed that about me before they really started reading my blog and seeing how some of my thoughts really were.  Most people would (and still do, I guess) consider me quite a positive and optimistic person.  Ha ha.

I did not in any way, shape or form expect to get pregnant with Matthew.  After 12 years of trying, all the adoption mishap, and it being our first IVF?  No way.

And yet...surprise!  Now that I've had several of these cycles under my belt, it's funny to see how really bad Matthew's cycle was!  I had NO idea then.  I was working full-time out of the home, so I had very, very little time to google or to question my doctors or anything.

But it was really near canceling a few times.  Just like Luke's was.

Anyway, expecting a lower number of eggs only made hearing a little bit higher a number better!  Sort of.  Dr. K and I were hoping for 6-8 and Dr. Levens (super nice guy!) got 11!  He said he was going to be as greedy as he could in the egg retrieval and I love it.  Again, sort of...because I just wonder if I'm going to be pretty disappointed tomorrow when they say, "Yeah...you got 11, but only 4 were mature an only one or two have fertilized."

That's what sort of happened with Luke.  Sixteen retrieved!  Woohoo!  FOUR fertilized normally.  Yeah, yikes.  By day 3, thankfully we had two beautiful to transfer, but I was nervous.  And yes, yes, it only took one.

I wonder if people really understand how much infertile women want to throw up when they hear that? Even when I say it—because it IS true—I always preface it with, "I know you'll want to slap me when you hear this, but it does only take one!" NO WOMAN WHO HAS BEEN WAITING FOR "THE ONE" FOR ANY LENGTH OF TIME WANTS TO HEAR THAT.

They know it from a "It happens to OTHER people but not to ME" standpoint.

Even if they finally get to know it from personal experience, it sure doesn't take any of the months/years/decades of apprehension wondering if THIS time, THE ONE will exist away.


Sooo...coming down from my soapbox, I feel pretty good about things still.  I'll be on pins and needles waiting to hear how many eggs were mature and what the fertilization rate is.  Dr. K said we'd probably do a Day 3 transfer (Tuesday) but if I had four 8-celled embryos with no fragmentation on Tuesday, he'd push for a Day 5 (Friday) transfer.  We also talked about number to transfer since this is my last hurrah...while 3 could be justified with my age and other issues, he would not recommend it to me because he knows we are ADAMANT that there would be no discussion of reduction should a triplet pregnancy occur.

So, God willing, if we have two beautiful embryos to transfer, we will.  I'll be honest in saying that I am feeling a bit of apprehension about being SURE that this is our last cycle—we still have 4 more fresh cycles we could do (though not really another $25K in money for medicine!) and I keep thinking, "But what if...."

And I remember...EVERY woman goes through this.  EVERY woman, even those resolutely sure of her decision that her family is complete gets to my age and realizes that the childbearing days are ending.  They wonder if they are REALLY sure, regardless of whether they've had any fertility issues or not.  They have that final "What if..."

John and I are pretty sure.  So we are praying that it will be a non-issue in a couple of weeks.

Don't Really Need A Basket, But....

...we are going looking for eggs on Saturday. Tonight I will trigger (and hope not to do more nerve damage!) and the retrieval will be Saturday sometime. Not sure when, as I'm waiting to hear, but got a call from Dr. K about the way things are looking.

My estrogen has been better..1495 yesterday and 1837 today. I have several follicles but the
problem  is that those 4 bigger ones from the beginning are still that way and there is a decent enough discrepancy between them and the several smaller ones that we don't want to take the chance of me ovulating and losing them all in the name of waiting and hoping the others catch up some.  They still can, and we are hoping for 6-8 eggs. I have icky, icky fertilization rates, so if that's the case, then it could be chancy for what we can actually transfer, but....as much as I hate to say it because I hate hearing it, it really does only take one.

So that said, we appreciate your prayers for a big week...retrieval, transfer, John traveling a lot and just anxiety in general.  It's pretty weird....I'm very anxious about a lot of stuff.

But, feel good about things. Mainly because I know I control not a single one and worrying won't make a difference but to make me sick.

Besides, how can I not feel good when my sweet boy wakes me up at 5:15 am humming the tune to the BeeGees "Stayin' Alive," ???  That boy is pure bliss.

In Other News....

We are still chugging along in this cycle.  It's not as fabulous as in January, but oh-so-much-better than last month.  It's better than Matthew's and Luke's cycle, though probably not retrieving as many eggs as I did in either of those cycles.

That's ok.  It's quality over quantity and hopefully, the adjustments for extra maturity of the eggs will make a difference in the quality.  I went in Saturday and there were 4 follicles that were a decent size and dominant still and thirteen smaller ones.  My estrogen that day was 297, which is WAY better than Matthew's was on that cycle day (102) and Luke's (don't remember, but it was around 100ish).  As I predicted, my medicines were upped a bit (not all the way maxed yet, though!) and today was a recheck.

Much nicer.  About 8-10 follicles with promise; my estrogen was 635 and SO much better than at this point in Matthew's and Luke's cycles—with Matthew, it was 308 and with Luke, it was 321.  With Trey, it was 1282 (CRAZY) so 635 is a nice medium.  All seems well, and we are on target for a Saturday or Sunday retrieval and a transfer 3-5 days later.  I feel good about it all.

The other news, which has sort of been rumbling around for awhile, is that John will be switching the squadron with which he is working, and will be going out with a different squadron soon.  Much sooner than we've been planning.  I've never been one to worry about people knowing he was gone because I am A)naive and B) usually lived on base or in a neighborhood I felt very safe in.

I still am not worried about people knowing he is deploying, but in the interest of security for ALL, I will never publicly disclose anything about what he does or where he is.

While ALL who deploy put themselves in harm's way, suffice it to say that where he's going has not been pretty lately.  AT ALL.  Marines have been killed and are dying pretty regularly, and it's just so sad.  The nice part about him leaving earlier than expected is that if this cycle works, and we should be bringing another baby home sometime in the next year, he will hopefully be home not too long after that happens.  We also are planning on taking Luke to Disney a bit earlier than we thought.  We've always wavered about spending that crazy amount of money to take a child at an age that he may be able to get more out of it than when he's Luke's age, but frankly...we live to minimize regrets.  Going to Disney before John leaves works with that plan.

Thankful in advance for your prayers for us and all service members everywhere.

Hindsight Is More Than Just Twenty-Twenty....

Wow.  Pretty funny how hindsight can really give insight.

I am in the middle of another cycle.  I've kept it pretty quiet (though thanks to the privacy of FB, everyone can see anything I post to my Shady Grove page, so it's not that quiet, I guess!) and mostly because I feel like less expectation = less disappointment.  Not making a big deal and then being pleasantly surprised is what I am going for now...

Anyway, I head up to Virginia tomorrow morning and the retrieval should be in about a week or so.  If it goes well.

We are doing exactly what we did with Trey's cycle.  Actually, less suppression.  I got my call today and it wasn't great.  In fact, my nurse said, "Don't worry, though...it's looking just like Matthew's cycle."

It was meant to be reassuring because one look at the picture up above and it's obvious that Matthew's cycle was far beyond successful.

It was reassuring, even though it was not what we were hoping for.  My estrogen was only 58.  Matthew's at this point was 39.  Trey's at this point was over 200.

Funny thing is that since she said it was like Matthew's cycle, I went back through this blog and reread all those days.

I think it's hilarious that I was tired of shots then.  Oh, if I only knew...I also find it funny that I was worrying then about it being canceled and hear I am hearing the same things three years later.  Mostly, I think being able to see how it all worked out (relatively speaking) is what is giving me some confidence now, even with not so great results just yet.

Then, I was talking about how my eggs were not as young as pretty as they were a few years earlier.

Ha ha!  I STILL say that, only that they are even uglier now...and yet...I have more follicles now than I did three years ago!  Each cycle I do seems to show more antral follicles than previously...as Dr. Greenhouse said, "Your fertility gets better with age!"

Not easy to believe, but apparently somewhat true.

So, I'm not worried right now.  Knowing that we are doing what we did the last time we had wild success (again, relatively speaking) is giving me great peace in feeling like this is what it's supposed to be.

***************

In other news, there's other news in our lives.  There's not much to be able to share right now, but just prayer for our family and family time would be lovely.

***************

Luke is loving 'pre-school', though he has, in just three sessions, developed the fun tendency to be spiteful when told, "No," and throws whatever he has in his hand down in a mini-fit.  If he doesn't have anything, he looks around for the nearest thing to pick up and then throw down for mad effect.  He also BIT me yesterday!  For the first time in TWENTY MONTHS, he bit!  We were hugging and he was leaning into my shoulder just snuggling, and then, "OUCH!", he bit!

And giggled.

Much like the giggle he gave tonight when he was tossing food to Dixie, and I told him, "Nein, Nein," and took the food away.  He asked for it back, nicely, so I gave it and said, "We don't give food to doggies."

He looked at me sweetly, as he proceeded to very quickly sneak Dixie the bread, and then giggled hysterically.

Seriously.  How does one not laugh at that?????

I love that boy.  Adore him.  Cannot imagine my  life without him and am so thankful for the fun (and challenges) he gives me.  I also love that three years ago, in this post on February 25, I said that I LOVED the name Luke.

Long before I knew I would ever be pregnant.  Before I knew I'd be a mom to boys.  Before I even dared to dream that once we lost Matthew, we could still know what healing and restoration felt like in the sweet giggles of a little boy tossing food to dogs.

I loved the name Luke.  Still do...and the sweet little boy to whom I gave that name.

We drove up to Maryland last weekend and were able to visit Matthew's spot.  I love this picture....

Enough With The Double Standard Already… | Still Standing Magazine

Enough With The Double Standard Already… | Still Standing Magazine

The article I wrote for this month's Still Standing Magazine was somewhat difficult for me to write.

Not so much because I was having a hard time with what I am feeling, because I am very sure about my feelings.

More because I am not fond of the venom that back them.

I've been really, really angry.

Angry with the ridiculous notion that we should not be attempting any more cycles because we already have more than we've ever dreamed we could with Luke.

While that is true, we wanted a big family from the beginning.

Whether or not any died.

Whether or not we had to go through hell on earth to get there.

Whether or not we finally were able to experience the bliss that comes with raising a little one.

We wanted a big family.

So, so many women I know feel as I do—as if we should just be grateful for the fact that we finally know what a living little boy or girl feels like in our arms, and that wanting more is outrageously greedy on our part.

Trust me.

We are BEYOND grateful.  No words describe the gratitude.

But I'm still a woman who dreamed of 4 children and two dogs and big family gatherings and oodles of grandchildren to "ooh" and "ahhhh" over one day.

I'm no different than any other woman who has dreamed of those very things...

Except I've had a lot more heartache in the process than some have.

I don't think it's unreasonable to just want to be treated as 'that' normal mother.

In fact, after what we've gone through, I think it's pretty reasonable to HOPE those things for me.

Not everyone does.  For me, and for many others.

Sigh.

"Delay Is Not Denial...."

....but death sure is.

That's what I wanted to scream this morning at church.

I need to preface that statement with the fact that I LOVE the church I attend.  The pastor is amazing; young (2 weeks older than I am, so yes, YOUNG!), honest, relevant, evangelistic and not afraid to tell the truth.  There has not been a single week in over a year now that we've been back in Jacksonville where I've listened to him preach and thought, "Yep.  That's just what I needed to hear this morning."

Today was no exception in many ways, but I also found it a hard sermon to listen to.

It was on James 5, and specifically, on patience.

Now let's be honest.  I'm married to a wonderful man.  Who readily admits that he's as ADD as they come.

I taught elementary school children for over ten years.  Little guys.  Little guys who take a lot of patience.

I spent nearly twelve years trying to bring a child into our family, and though I admit I had the occasional pity party now and then, I have to say that I don't think I did too much complaining and was pretty patient.

When doing IUI or IVF cycles, I don't even really *want* to test before I am supposed to.

I *think* I am a pretty patient person.  Even being a military spouse—though God knows there are SO many things I just wish I knew about for planning purposes—I don't really worry too much about them because I've learned that I can't change them and worrying about them doesn't do anything but make me ill.

Which is sort of what Jason, the pastor, was talking about.  Being patient especially about things that are out of our control.

Another reason that our pastor is so great is that he is really open.  He shares his life and lets us all know he's no different than the rest of us humans.  He's often shared of his and his wife's struggles with infertility—16 years, which included the adoption of two little boys and the birth of a little girl they conceived with the help of IVF.

He used that example of being patient this morning—and he said, "Delay is not denial," as an example of how being patient allows God to do what will be done in His time.

Jason is so right.  Delay is not denial.  They, and many others who suffer through trials that eventually 'work out' with a somewhat happy ending are proof of that.


But while delay may not be denial, DEATH IS!

When Matthew died, I was denied.  I was denied the opportunity to kiss him and feed him and put him in cute outfits his dad calls "Man-Dresses" and show him baby lizards and watch his face light up when the bubble making machine goes crazy.  On the way to church, Natalie Grant's "Held" song came on, and as I always do when I hear it, I cried.

"To think that Providence would take a child from his mother while she prays is appalling..."

Yes, it is.

Not only were there 12 years of delay in my life—longing of my heart—when we finally, finally, FINALLY got to the end....

...there was death.  DEATH.

God and I still talk about that a lot.  Listening to Jason this morning just gave me a few more talking points.



Lest anyone think this is yet 'another' downer post (for the recent apparent outpouring of 'downer' posts, I guess I apologize.  I am a big believer in just not reading if you don't like something, but whatever....),  it's not.

The morning ended with the song "Beautiful Things" by Gungor.

Truer words could not be spoken:

"All this pain
I wonder if I’ll ever find my way
I wonder if my life could really change at all
All this earth
Could all that is lost ever be found
Could a garden come up from this ground at all?

You make beautiful things...beautiful things out of the dust.

You make beautiful things...beautiful things out of us."

There are no good explanations.  There's no reason I can accept.  There a million conflicting things and beliefs and questions that run through my mind every day.

But this, I know.  God can and does make beautiful things out of ANY situation.  Not replace people, but create new places in our hearts...new feelings we didn't even know we could have again.  He took the horrible, terrible ground that was my life after Matthew died and showed us joy again.  He gave us the most amazing little boy in the world.  Matthew's little brother and Trey's big brother.

Our sweet, sweet Samuel Luke.
So grateful.

Sweet boy helping Daddy brush his teeth before church this morning!  I adore that smile.  Literally, melts my heart.

My Heart Is Weary...

I haven't written much because there are too many conflicting thoughts in my head.

I believe fully that God puts desires on our heart.
I also pray daily that my wants/desires/will is that of God's.

So logically, I hope that the desire for another child to raise and love is from God and therefore God will be faithful, but logic doesn't get me too many places.

I also don't like the fact that people feel like I am being greedy by doing another cycle.  Greedy for more when I already have so much with Luke.  I wrestle with those emotions regularly.  I don't need them rubbed in my face.

In the interest of not saying anything because I can't say much nice at all, I just remain quiet.

But, my heart is weary.  This world is so miserable sometimes.

My uncle died a few hours ago.  He'd been sick.  Cancer.  Complications.  Withered away.  Didn't even get to see him before he died.  I hate cancer.  I hate death.  I hate irony.  This came in an email less than an hour after he died:

Hi Lori,

By now, you may have heard from a smiling, happy someone who received your recent gift(s) (order #98977341) to Gerald "Butch" Mullins arrived. It was delivered on Wednesday, 08/29

Recipient(s) Information:

No, no...I didn't hear from a smiling, happy someone.  He was already dead.

My sister is very, very sick.  Her lupus should have killed her 10 years ago, according to her doctors.  She just started what her doctors are considering her last-ditch effort to continue living.

She's 36.

I'm 6 weeks away from what should have been a very joyous day.  Another baby boy in our lives.  Pictures of Luke and a sweet baby brother that I would cherish forever.  Instead, I'm in the middle of another cycle.  And being judged for it, to boot.  So over judging.

Today, this came in the mail.

I have always been a big supporter of St. Jude's, and one of the reasons I fell in love with my sorority in college was because our philanthropy was Childhood Cancer.  But seeing this, today, made my eyes sting with tears and my throat choke up.

I loved that little girl we never got to adopt.  I loved her before I knew her.  Knew who she was.  What she looked like.  I lovingly lingered over just the perfect name for her. (Funny, this post was written 4 years ago, and yet...nearly the same things going on in the political arena...)

I mothered her the best I could...and mourn that to some, it was just a failed adoption.  To me...loss of an entire lifetime I was planning.

And here's this little Emma Grace, fighting cancer.

Have I mentioned I hate cancer?

I hate that people in this world (including me, I'm not judging) take SO MUCH FOR GRANTED while others literally wither away to the point of death simply because they had no food or water.

I hate that my biggest worry sometimes is what on EARTH I am going to try to feed that picky eater of mine and yet, and my heart aches to think of other mothers like me who would give anything just to have crumbs for their babies to eat.

I hate that babies are fighting for their lives every single minute...innocent little souls who have been long prayed for and loved...and I hate knowing all too well that any minute, the little white coffin may be needed.

I am beyond grateful for the things I have and the life I live.  I know very well how blessed I am.

But my heart is weary because that knowledge also has the flip side--Knowing how hard life is for so, so many others.  The weight of the suffering in this world, even though not all mine, just seems crushing.

This is not where I belong.

The Cry Of My Heart....

This morning's church service was very powerful.  We talked about James 4, and specifically how we need to give God control and want the wants HE wants for us, not the wants WE want for ourselves.

Ok.

So, how to know?

Obviously, He doesn't want me chasing another relationship, or making bad career choices based only on poor motivations, or a myriad of other, seemingly 'no-brainers' like our pastor talked about this morning.

Of course God doesn't want that for us, and if we pursue those things, we are bound to miss out on His best for us.

But what about the not-so-easy things?

What about children?  Gifts from the Lord, right?  Where does begging Him for children fall? He puts desire on our hearts, right?  What about having children?


For some people, it's super easy.  Blink, look at the opposite gender, and ta-da!  Pregnant.

For others, longer roads.

For me?  What seems like eternity. And so many opinions on what to do!

"Do this!"
"Do that!"
"Don't do this!"
"Don't do that!"
"Just adopt!"
"Just do IVF!"
"Don't adopt!"
"Don't do IVF!"

"Wait on God."
"In His time."
"According to His will."

How long does one wait?  How long does one pray?  To what lengths does one go?

One would tell me that IVF is circumventing God and I'll suffer the consequences. (Yes, that explanation of why Matthew died was given to me.  Not very well-received, let me tell you.)

Another would tell me that I should have done IVF sooner.

Another would say that I just need to wait for God to make it happen.

Another would tell me that God wants us to take responsibility and use people and technology He's given.

We started trying to bring a child in our family over 12 years ago.  We didn't do IVF until three years ago.  I waited.  And waited.  And waited some more.

How long should I have waited?  What kept me going?  What kept driving me after that long?  There's no doubt IVF was the best choice for our family, and so many kept pushing us to 'never give up.'

So now, in light of losing Trey in April and the FET not working last month and this cycle being canceled, I'm getting the impression that a lot of people feel I should "cut my losses," and just be grateful for what I have.  Stop pushing.  Stop trying to force it.  Take all this as God's way of saying we are done and that's that.

What if I'd believed that after our several failed IUIs?  Or when the country from which we were adopting closed?  We'd never have attempted IVF.

Someone very close to me told me, "You say Luke is enough, but going through all of this, you don't act like it."

That stung.

But, it was someone who loves me, so I took it as a valid talking point and thought about it.

Is he enough?  If he was, why would we keep doing this?  Why am I continuing all this??  Why put all this time and money and physical and emotional toll in our lives when I am so, so, so, so completely in love with and content with that precious little boy?

People think these are such easy, black and white situations.

They are so.not.

Then, this morning, listening to how we need to submit to God and then singing, "My heart and my soul, I give You control," again, I questioned.

What.am.I.supposed.to.be.doing?

Of course, I know I am not in control.  In fact, I think people who have dead children know more than ANY body that we are SO not in control!

But, what if every failed attempt just stopped me altogether before I got to IVF?  No Matthew.  No Luke.  No Trey.  No one.

So I don't understand why people feel like I'm taking control away from God now and pushing something I shouldn't be pushing just because I want to do one more cycle with no regret.

(Seriously, I will never again, in public, say "Never" or "Last" again.  After this sentence, ha ha!)

Actually, I do understand.  I don't agree, but I understand.

And while Luke is absolutely what our worlds revolve around, it is because he is so amazing and we know it that I push.  When we lost Matthew, we only imagined what we lost.

Luke shows us in very clear, tangible ways how amazing it is to parent, but his every smile is a reminder of so much we've lost.

So again, I say, sue us for wanting more joy like Luke.  Sue us for loving him so much that we want more of the amazing that is being parents to living children.

Sue me for feeling like this was NOT the cycle to end on...that there may be something waiting for us...one, two more maybe?

Things aren't as easy as they seem.  Decisions are not as clear-cut as some might think.

And the people who feel I should just call it quits now are the same ones who constantly told me, "Be positive.  Keep thinking positive.  Just keep trying.  Don't give up..."  before AND after Matthew died.  After Luke was born and when we were thinking about doing one more shared risk cycle....

Now is not the time to change that tune.  I'm already having enough of a hard time.

I wonder how many people realize that every day I take a shower, I look at my stomach and think about where I should be?  What 32 weeks with Matthew looked like on me?  How different it was than 32 weeks with Luke?  What it would be like now?

That Luke still lifts my shirt and says, "Baby?  Baby?"

That I trace the outline of Matthew's eyes and nose on his pictures every time I go up and down the stairs?

That when he falls asleep in my arms, and he's really out, his mouth opens up just a bit and still, at nearly 20 months, Luke looks exactly like Matthew did in the pictures the nurses took after he died?


But still, I smile.
I laugh.
I'm happy.
I adore my little boy.

I grin and bear more than I sometimes feel is my fair share.

So, I truly, truly mean it when I say that the cry of my heart is to give God glory and praise...whether it's with more children we get to raise in our lives or not...that's my prayer.

I'm just waiting to find out which way it will be.