Adoption Loss IS Loss!

I'm not really sure how to write what I have been thinking about for the last 24 hours.

I mean, other than the pain in my ....

Ahem.

Anyway, the whole reason I started this blog four years (gasp) ago was because we'd come to the point in our family-building that we'd decided to adopt.  We started down the path of Russia, then looked to Kazakhstan, then our agency convinced us that the new Kyrgyzstan program was for us.

Little babies.
Beautiful little babies.
Fast process.
Great program stability.

Um, yeah.  And an ocean front house in Malibu with every baby adopted.  Sure.

The babies WERE beautiful.  So many different ethnicities creating such beautiful, beautiful children.  Sign us up! We started the process,  I started this blog so I could keep record for my little one to read about one day, met lots of other moms and dads from this country, as well as others and were on our way!

And we all know how it didn't turn out....about a week out from our expected referral, the country closed.  A year and a half...all that money...and again...we spent another Christmas without a little one looking at the twinkling lights.

Obviously, this 'setback' was what made us decide to look into Shady Grove's Shared Risk program, and obviously, I am beyond grateful we did.

But don't love hearing, "See...it worked out the way it was supposed to!"

Two dead babies for me and a country full of orphans stuck without the full-time love and support of families who so desperately want them?

Don't tell me that's how it was supposed to be.

ANYWAY...of course we are grateful for what we ended up doing...and grateful for the lives I've been honored to carry.

But we still miss what could have been with that little girl we named Emma.  I remember the day I woke up (do you remember, Terri?) and KNEW that was the day she'd been born...I just knew it.  I felt it.  I went to school, was giddy, and couldn't contain my excitement knowing that the little girl we were going to adopt was born and somewhere across the world, waiting for me.

Then again, we know how my gut works, so....whatever.  The bottom line is that we were in love with what we thought would be.

And heartbroken when it wasn't.

But I admit...of course loss can't be compared and I don't know why people do except they are just not validated enough in their feelings and they feel like they have to create their own validation. Sad for so many on so many levels.  Regardless, as sad as I was, John and I were SO thankful we had *not* gotten the referral yet.

Had not gotten the glimpse of her...who she was and what she looked like and how she would fit in our family.

Because to have seen that and lost it....well, we know how that feels and it is just life-changing and painful beyond painful.  We were glad that we had not actually been told that our child was just waiting for us to come and get her.

Especially since that wait would go on for at least three years.  Or more.  To be blunt, we were grateful we were not as attached as we could have been just a few weeks later.

Attached like 65 other families I knew were....families who had gone to Kyrgyzstan...met their children...held them.  Loved them.  Imprinted what those babies felt like in their arms.  Families who had no choice but to move Heaven and Earth to bring them home—even if that meant putting out insane amounts of time and money and heart day after day after day.

This last few months has been hard on those families.  Sadly, children have died while waiting.  Heartbreaking.

Other families have had to drop out—for whatever reasons—and I cannot even begin to imagine how hard those decisions were.

Other children have become 'unadoptable' and that in itself has been a travesty and devastating to the adoptive parents.

But some...some have been able to have their families—families who have been waiting for three or more years to come back and get them—go back to Kyrgyzstan and continue the process, as their moratorium recently was revoked.

Some are LITERALLY days away from those children being theirs forever.

And then another blow.  Another moratorium.  Who knows if they will be grandfathered in?  Who knows if they will be able to bring them home?

I want to scream for these families.  I can't imagine.

Yes, I've buried a baby.  I've lost another's heartbeat inside of my body.

But death, though devastating and not final in my beliefs, IS final on this earth.

There is no wondering what Matthew is doing in another part of the world right now.
There is no wondering whether or not he is hungry.
There is no wondering whether or not he is tired or cold or just needs his mama to hold him.
There is no gut-wrenching pain knowing that he COULD be in my arms but the politics of another country are keeping us apart.

I am just sick to my stomach because I know how much it hurts missing your child...feeling the ache of knowing that family members are missing.

But I can't even begin to imagine how it must feel for those families—who are there in that country or about to be and may be told that those beloved and prayed for children will STILL not be able to go with them...that when they leave those children, they may never see them again and it's NOT DEATH that is stopping that.

Death can't be controlled.

But politics can.  And that's heartbreaking.

Please, please, please pray for those families and those children.  I am laying all I have to God and begging Him to have mercy on those parents' hearts.  I know just a little, in a different way, how much they are grieving right now, and the weight of that pain on their hearts is crushing mine.  Please pray that these children will be grandfathered through and these babies will finally, finally be able to come home...that these parents hearts will finally be able to heal.

Please, just pray for that country and orphans everywhere.  The thought of Luke being alive, and yet, me not ever being able to hold him again literally has me crying my eyes out right now.  Pray for all mothers and fathers who may suffer that as their reality.

A Pain In The Bum...Literally.

While this last FET we did unfortunately did not bring us another pregnancy, lucky me, it gave me something else...

Something that might be permanent.

Something that might make me remember the failure of this cycle forever.

Hooray.

Apparently, the progesterone shots I gave myself gave me something back.

I hit a nerve.  Literally.  I knew it the night it happened (July 6).  It stung like I've never felt...and I've given myself quite a few shots in the last three years.

I didn't realize what I'd done.  I just thought it was a painful shot and that was that....it would get better.  Only because my rear end is still numb...still sore...back aching—I'm talking can't-bend-back-aching—did I mention something to my nurse.

She said, "Lori.  I hope you didn't hit a nerve."

She told me to get to the doctor quickly to find out what is going on and especially since I'm about to start my medicines in two weeks.

So I did.

Definitely hit a nerve branched from my sciatic.  Ibuprofen allows me to bend a bit more, but I still am pretty uncomfortable.  My bottom is pretty sore...can't sit on that side, sleep on that side, put much pressure on it...and the numbness feels like when Novocaine just starts to wear off and that cold numbness is all you can feel.  There is definite weakness in the muscles, and I have to watch out for more.

My white blood cell count is a bit elevated...which could be from the progesterone, this cold I've had, or an infection under the skin from the injection site.  I am supposed to look out for fever, aches or chills, and if things don't feel any better or get worse, will need an MRI in a few days—mainly to just gauge damage and be able to compare.  They are also talking about an EMG, which I sort of zoned on when they were explaining it...except I definitely heard, "It's kind of painful."

Well, sign me up!

There really isn't much that can be done—unless there is serious damage and needs surgery at some point.  Really???????  Hopefully, it will repair itself.  I now have a very legitimate reason (and doctor's orders!) for massages and that should help lessen the pain.  There are some physical therapy strategies I can try as well....though it's hard to do that with a sweet little one attached to my hip.  I could take a steroid shot, but that could mess this cycle up.

The fear is that I get pregnant and it exacerbates things and then I can't take even ibuprofen.

Super fun.

Apparently, this doesn't happen that often.  When nerves off the sciatic are damaged, it is usually due to an intramuscular injection, but it's not common.  My nurse and the doctors I saw today have never seen it.

We all know what a great odds beater I am.

The neurologist said I may never get feeling in my bum back.

It may always be sore.  There may not be more chronic damage (that's my hope and prayer) but it may never get better.

Literally, I may have a pain in my bum for the rest of my life.

I can't help but laugh.

These Days Will Pass Too Soon...

I held you a bit longer tonight.

You were exhausted...a long, fun day with your aunt and cousins and the awesome Marbles Museum in Raleigh.   Only 1/2 and hour of nap all day (whew...) and you were in your crazy, giddy, punchy-tired mode for quite a while.  Fun, but challenging because you are so darned cute when you are mischievous!

I was unpacking the car, with you sitting in front of Backyardigans (a new show you like...still not much tv, but Wonderpets are getting a few friends in the form of Backyardigans and Sesame Street...COOOOKIE!).

Or so I thought.

When I walked in from the driveway, you weren't in the chair.  I walked quickly down the hallway, and called your name, obviously startling you...because I came around the corner and saw you had moved the stool all the way over to the pantry...climbed up on it, grabbed a small bag of Krispy Kreme Crullers and were desperately trying to get into the bag.  When you saw me, you got a look that was a mix of "Busted!" and "Thank God!  PLEASE get me one of these!!!!" and I seriously thought I'd melt right there at how cute you were.

And then....that cute little voice...waving the bag at me and chanting, "Don-ee...don-ee...don-eeeeee...don-eeeeeee!"

You are your Mama's child and you love those Krispy Kremes.

I adore you, Luke.  Literally, some days I feel like I can't take another breath because I am just so overwhelmed with love for you.

Mommy was exhausted tonight too.  I'm still feeling pretty icky with this bronchitis-like whatever it is...and I'm tired because I haven't been sleeping well and daddy has been busy and you are such a mover and a shaker!  It was hot, hot, HOT bringing all the stuff in from the car, my back STILL hurts so much that I can't bend (makes carrying all the heavy stuff in fun!) and Dixie would NOT.STOP.YAPPING!  I still have no idea what that dog kept barking about—NOTHING made her happy and of course, as you adore her, you were giggling and laughing and "Woofing" every time she did.  So much for settling you down for bed!

I was tired.  Chest burning.  Back Aching.  In the middle of a mess of chaos—groceries to be put up, our things from the weekend scattered, a fabulous poopy diaper to clean...I just wanted to have a nice glass of wine and a hot bath and let calgon take me away.

But I held you longer.

I know all too well the days will pass too, too soon.  Even the ones that drive me nuts and make me sigh because it seems like I take three steps forward and eighteen back and every.single.thing is a chore.

They will be gone too soon.

So, exhausted as you were, you fell right asleep in my arms.  We sang a couple of rounds and you fell sleep curled up like you were my sweet little newborn after nursing.

Such a luxury these days...you falling asleep so contentedly and easily in my arms.

And I held you for nearly an hour like that.  Listening to your sound machine.  Looking at each wall—and being overcome with how loved you are.  The wall quilt Mimi made you.  Your L*U*K*E letters made to match your bedding as a surprise from sweet Miss Amy.  Your Luke painting created just for you by Miss Stephanie.  Another painting created just to match your nursery given by Auntie Shelby.  Your birth stats and your beloved "cabby", star-"ish" and sea-"orse" lovingly cross-stitched by Miss Diane...the picture Grandma cross-stitched for your daddy...and gave to us for Matthew...and now looks over you as you sleep.

You are so loved.

It is the most amazing honor and privilege to be your mother.

All the aggravation and frustration of the day just disappeared as I held you and listened to you sleep as I rocked in the chair with you so perfectly fitting in my arms. The rhythmic, soft breathing that took me back to the very first days we had you and I just could not believe that God could make my shattered heart feel as amazing as it did when I held you.

These days are just passing too quickly.

I'm grateful for the nights I am reminded that I need to soak up every.second.I.can.

What's Next?

Well.

Great embryos and great doctors and great lining and great transfers and great EVERYTHING do not always equal great success.

This is why I often get under-my-breath infuriated when I hear things like, "Why don't you just do IVF?"

Because it's not "Just doing IVF."

There's so much involved in an IVF cycle that people's minds would spin if they realized what we who do it actually go through.

How much medicine is involved.  The toll that medicine takes on one's body.

How much it costs.  The program we are in is mega-expensive.  Then you throw in medicine on top of that.  Luke's first and maybe second year of college already spent.

And hey, don't forget about the toll on one's heart.  Because trust me, it's huge.

Hope is beautiful.
Hope crushed is really, really painful.

IVF is not the automatic guarantee one will get to bring a baby home that so many think it is.  It's not popping into the doctor's and walking out pregnant.

And even if that easy, it sure as heck is no guarantee that one brings that baby home and gets to raise it.

FIVE TRANSFERS.

THREE fresh cycles and TWO frozen.

Do the math.  Look at my life.  Tell me if those numbers add up—If I'm just not "doing IVF" right?

Anyway...this morning's test results were obviously negative.  As perfect a scenario as could be...and still negative.

So we are at a point of decision.  We still have 5 more fresh cycles we can try.

NO WAY.  That's another $25K in MEDICINE alone.

Not to mention my heart.

John would like to do one more fresh cycle.  I told him that I had one more in me.

One more where I could maintain hope...excitement...a positive attitude.

One more for which I am willing to put my already very tender heart out.

Just one more.

So many people have been very, very kind in telling me how brave I am and how strong I am.

Really, it's just self-interest, I promise you.

The reality is that I am willing to ONCE again put my heart out because the pay-off is so amazing.  That little boy I hug and kiss all day long is the most unbelievable joy in my life.  In John's life.

Yes, we want more of THAT.  I want to be able to give more of that to John.  To Luke.

To have for me.

Look at this miracle cleaning up on his half-birthday.  Can you blame me?

I am completely, completely ok with accepting that may never happen...that Luke is the only one we get to raise.  He's MORE than enough, as I tell him over and over.

The opportunity for more is here though, and I am so much more fortunate than so many that I can take advantage of it, so I will with a grateful heart.

But only one more time.  That's all this heart can take.

Funny, it seems like I say that a lot...I can't take much more.

But there it always is...more.

I start a new cycle within the next two weeks.  Please keep us in prayer over the next month or so.

How Infertility Shapes Who We Become… | Still Standing Magazine

This month's contribution....thoughts and ramblings on the way to this last transfer....

And yes still waiting for Monday, ha ha!

How Infertility Shapes Who We Become… | Still Standing Magazine

Two Weeks Worth of Yuck...

So, when Shady Grove gave me the all the little paraphernalia paperwork about how to endure the dreaded Two-Week Wait before I take my pregnancy test, I sort of laughed.

Because really, I've done this four times before. 

I've already done this wait enough times to know how to handle it.

I know it stinks, but goes by quickly.  Sort of.

I obviously know lots and lots of women undergoing infertility treatments.  There are those who obsess and begin home testing (otherwise known as peeing on a stick or POAS) the day of their transfer...waiting to see negative so they know the hcg is out of their system and then POSITIVE to prove pregnancy success.

Others don't do daily tests, but will take a test or two a day or two before...you know, just to see.

Others don't at all.  They just wait.  Rather get the 'official' let-down phone call.

I'm sure one can guess where I fall, just by calling it the 'let-down' phone call.

(I know, I know...even though it's more often than not the official "Congratulations!" call, I still expect it to be the let-down call.)

Anyway, like I said, I have now done 5 transfers.  I only have tested before my beta twice.

Once, the morning of my transfer with our little Yellow Fish after Matthew.  Caveat?  I didn't look!  I covered the stick, did it, and then let it sit on the counter until I got home from the beta.  The drive was about four hours round trip and I didn't want to have to wait until that afternoon for results.

I was called before I even got home and told it was negative.

The other time I tested before the beta was with Trey's cycle, and really, that was because my nurse was worried about OHSS and thinking it was getting worse because I was pregnant.  She was right on all accounts, and I did NOT want to test before the beta.  My sweet friend Karie can attest to that too!!

So, anyway, what on earth made me test the other day?

I'm NOT that way.  I don't WANT to test early.  I always feel like for whatever reason, I'm supposed to WAIT!

But I didn't.  

7dp5dt, or seven days past a 5 day transfer, I tested.  In the afternoon.  With a cheapo dollar store test.  That expired a year ago.

It was negative.

I know, I know...it was early. (Though on this very same day with Trey's cycle, I had an hcg of 54...I know that was a twin implantation, but still...I was making hcg that day in the cycle.)

I know the tests have expiration dates for a reason.

I know that the dollar store tests do not have anywhere close to the sensitivity levels that the good ones (my fave is First Response—can detect hcg as low as 6!).

Still, that little lonely line was pretty depressing.

I feel pregnant.  I'm crampy.  I'm moody.  I'm hungry.  I'm not.  

But, as always, the curse of the very medicines I inject to hopefully help a pregnancy and maintain it is that they make one feel pregnant.

Success there.

Speaking of injections.  Those suckers hurt.  That is all about that.

So, anyway...I'm waiting.  I had my annual GYN appointment on Tuesday and I was a wreck. 

A friend asked when it ever got easier to hear that women are pregnant?  When the sting of jealousy goes away?  

I had to be honest and tell her it doesn't.

Infertility, like loss, changes who you are.  How you look at things.  How you look at what you have and what others have and how you try to balance your contentment.

It's not fair, but we all know life isn't.  On the way home from that appointment, as I was contemplating taking another test in a few days (beta is on Monday, July 9), John Waller's "While I'm Waiting," came on the radio.

I started to cry.

I'm waiting.

I'm hopeful.

It is painful.

But patiently, I'm waiting on you, Lord.

A Little Luke Lovin'

I have not updated about Luke in what seems like ages...with summer vacations and daddy being gone and transfers happening...Needless to say we've been busy!

But that doesn't mean there's not a lot going on with that boy!!!  It's CRAZY how much happens at this age!

He is still pretty scarred from the Hand, Foot, Mouth Disease. His 18 month appointment is July 12, and we'll talk to the doctor to revisit whether or not they are *sure* it wasn't chicken pox too.  It was horrible, horrible, HORRIBLE and the scars will prove that for a long time.  Good thing he is such a trooper!!  No more night time bottle; that was taken care of with HFM, and we are *mostly* down to pacis at nap and bed (or emergencies!).  That stinker is sooo smart.  His Wubbanubs pretty much have no suction left—We have two Cliffords, Froggy and Tank his triceratops (which is the emergency car paci!).  Three of the Wubbanubs stay in his crib, along with a regular paci attached to a clip.  When he wakes up, we look into the crib, and I say, "Bye Bye, Clifford (or Froggy)," and he tosses the paci he's sucking inside.

If he has the clip one, though, he refuses to...or he'll toss it, but he will then go right back to trying to get it out of the crib.

He knows which ones have suction and which ones don't.  Couldn't really care less about the ones with none, but boy, he wants that Bop (?????? Who knows?) with the suction!

Funny boy!

Painting Daddy's Father's Day card!

He is talking a ton.  He parrots EVERYTHING.  Starting to put two-word phrases together, like "Oh, no!" or "More, please," (still with much prodding from Mommy!) or "Bye Bye, Daddy!".  He says "blueberry" in the cutest way ever, and he calls just about anything you can dip, "blueberry" (as in his beloved blueberry syrup!)...ketchup (though he's started to say ketchup more!), ranch dressing, you name it...if it's dipping, he'll try it and usually call it blueberry.  He lives to dip, that one.

Food?  Still selective.  I got him to eat three bites of scrambled egg yesterday, because they were dipped in ketchup, but then he said no more and it was over.  He loves most soups, so that's how I usually get veggies in, and has just started to eat strawberries and some mango.  He's getting really, really good with a fork, and still so-so with spoon, yet that's great because letting him spoon his own yogurt (yogi) allows me to have some eating time too!  He's also getting really good at drinking out of regular cups, which he much prefers, though we often have little overspills!  That's ok, he's learning!

I've given up soda altogether.  I was pretty much down to only if at a restaurant, I'd have a ginger ale, but the last few weeks have been busy and I've been indulging in a Dr. Pepper a couple of times at the beach. 

Well, of course, he wants it.  And has no idea of why he can have so much of what mommy has, but not that?  And how do I explain that it's bad for him, but not for me?  I can't...because really, I don't think it's great for me and I've just given it up, cold turkey.  I have grains to make water kefir, but I'm ashamed to admit that they've been in my refrigerator for two months because we've been traveling so much and I haven't started them.

My new go-to?  Water.  Every morning, I slice a lemon and a lime...fill a pitcher with water and put half the lemon and half the lime in.  It sits all day, infuses, and I drink from it all day.  Get tons of water, it tastes great, and is sooo much cheaper than soda.  And he loves it.  I'm glad that he is pretty much a milk and water kid because Lord knows he'd like to be a sugarholic every where else he could!

Yes, he is my child.

He's in 18-24 month pjs, and they are getting tight.  He's taller and I just can't get over how much he is a little boy.  Some of my favorite things about him right now are how much he loves transportation!  Everything turns into a 'guck' and he 'vrrooooms' all over the place.  My heart swells seeing his cars (thanks Connie and Terri!) in the driveway, with him just moving them all around like he totally knows how it all works.  Love that innate sense of 'boy'!

No, he doesn't match, but at least he's wearing a shirt, ha ha!

The More buttons to push, the better!!!!!!

Naked Back Hoe, Anyone???

He LOVES water.  Loves it.  When I water plants, he comes over, grabs the hose, and drinks straight from it...then shakes it all over, getting himself and everything around him WET!  And then he giggles, giggles, giggles.

I love that I have such a little beach baby (we are there ALL.THE.TIME!) and that he's such a fish.  He's gotten super great at blowing bubbles in the water and laying on his tummy sort of 'swimming' around in his little pool. Swim lessons soon, for sure!

I was trying to stay cool by sitting in his little chair in his pool and that stinker kept trying to climb all over me and get me wet!!!!  That's ok!  I'll take snuggles when I can get them!

My favorite thing about this time right now is how much even more he is showing he loves music.  He picks up a beat anywhere and starts bobbing.  He sings to just about any song he hears.  He is really starting to pick up and copy and sing songs like Baby BumbleBee  and Slippery Fish and my favorite, favorite, favorite is him singing with me as I rock him before bed.

Every night since he's been itty bitty, before I put him in his crib, I've rocked him and hum/sung You Are My All In All.

For months, he's been humming back with me as he's drifted off to sleep.

Now, he's actually able to somewhat follow the tune and he sings with me.  He sings!

And so does my heart.  Every time he holds his hand out before a meal so we can say, "Thank you, Jesus!" or stands in front of Praise Baby and sings, "Holy, Holy, Holy," or his new one, "Amen!" at the end of the blessing....I just tear up.

Literally.  I am overwhelmed with gratitude for this sweet, sweet spirit I've been given. (Even when that sweet spirit is awfully salty, which is ALSO new with this age, ha ha!)

He is our sun and moon and stars and we could not love him any more.  I'm pretty sure he gets a good read on that with all the loving he gets from us!

Being his mother is such a joy and privilege.  I am so grateful.

I adore his little feet!

Some of the 'salty' we are seeing these days!  Still too darned cute to even get flustered by!

No pearl in here!

Here, Daddy...this is what you do!

Our Last "First" Picture?

Today was the big day.

Several weeks of shots and scans and lots of driving and here we are.

My FIFTH embryo transfer.

I realized that today...as I was driving to Rockville...five.

I've had five bracelets on my wrist for five different days I walked into that clinic praying I'd come out pregnant for the long haul.

I have one little boy that I get to love on each and every day.

Those numbers don't really match well, do they?

Holy tan!!!  Can you tell I live at the beach?  That's with lathering of the sunscreen too!!!!

Today went great!  I always do acupuncture before and after, and even doing so, my nerves apparently could not trick my blood pressure!  It was 152/110 when I went in for the transfer and was only down to 144/99 when I left.

I'm a 90/60 kind of girl, remember?  Even though I was optimistic, I guess my body isn't so easily fooled!

Dr. Stillman did the transfer.  He did the retrieval for Matthew, and is a pillar of Shady Grove, so I was in excellent hands!  Dana was a tech who helped me, and she was also one who helped me in December when I had to do my HSG.  It was a nice and reassuring little sign that I was not alone!

My embryologist was amazing.  She was the same one who did the transfer for Trey in February and she remembered me.  She said some very, very special things before the transfer and gave me the low-down on the blasts after and I cannot emphasize how grateful I was!

Dr. Stillman said he had emailed Dr. K because he wanted me to only transfer one!  ONE?  I told Dr. Stillman that we'd always transferred two and he said, "Yeah, but they were day 3.  You transferred two day fives and had a twin pregnancy that didn't work out."

Ouch.  I know his point was that the blasts with Trey's cycle both took and he would prefer a single pregnancy, therefore he'd prefer only transferring one because he felt the odds of it working were good.  That was encouraging.

But hearing, "A twin pregnancy that didn't work out," just stung.  Can't lie.

He had NO problem getting the catheter in, though I have a crooked uterus, haha.  He said if anything, my cervix was thinner, like as though I'd given birth, vs. thicker and closed or stenotic.  Have I mentioned how much I love Shady Grove?

Anyway, even though he'd prefer one transferred, two were already thawed out, so that's what we did.

And apparently, they looked great!  They looked as good as if they were a good fresh cycle.  Thawing went great, fragmentation was minimal and I was stoked.

I think my favorite part of the whole thing was right when Dr. Stillman shot the embryos out into my uterus.  I could watch it on the screen, and the collective, "Ahhhh!  Perfect!" from everyone in the room  made my heart just leap!

Again, it just couldn't have gone any better.

Just what I wanted...and just what scares me, as usual, as I wait for the other shoe to drop.

Dear Lord, I just feel like I ought to be out of shoes right about now....


I'm doing this all by myself...John has been gone for most of June, so Luke and Grandma are spending some quality time together and I am in Rockville myself.  I checked into a hotel, plopped myself onto the bed, have ordered room service and may or may not have been following a Sister Wives marathon.

Sort of like a mini-vacay.

Sort of.


I've been a bit goofy with the iphone camera since I've been by myself.  Why not, right?

Don't see this shot every day, do you????

Right before they all came in...this is what a blood pressure of 152/110  looks like!

 Dr. Stillman gave me the first pictures of the embryos inside Mommy's tummy!

Praying this is our LAST "First" picture!!!!!!

(Umm, and how great is that sweet little "Good Luck!" with the happy face??????)

The bigger one on the left looks a bit more promising, but they both look pretty great, according to those who know!!!!

I totally get the logic behind this...and do most of them anyway, but have to admit...not fond of using it all as a learning experience.  Yuck.  I'm tired of learning.

Yes, so...relaxing acupuncture followed by a fluffy bed, barbecue cornchips, Harry and David cookies, the computer and some crazy reality tv.  Hmmmm....what to do with myself????? Oh, yeah, stay in bed!

 I can't figure out how to use arrows in photoshop, so these are drawn, but the bigger arrow with the fatter head on the left is pointing to where the embryos are.  The thinner one on the right is the catheter...see how it's crooked and sort of has to bend?  Dr. Stillman said that was fun to navigate through the crooked, ha ha!

Nothing Wrong Means Nothing To Fix...

I read those words on another blog tonight and could not have shaken my head more in agreement.

Applicable.

I called the lab today to see if all my loss testing results were in.  They were and i had them faxed to my nurse at Shady Grove.  She was having a crazy day because there were a few nurses out of the office and she was covering, so I told her not to worry about getting back to me with the results unless there was a reason to.

I know that if anything came back as other than normal, she'd have called me.

She didn't call.

My assumption is that all the results came back as within normal limits.

Not that I expected anything to be found, really...but...nothing wrong means nothing to fix.

Nothing you can feel like you have a handle on.

Nothing wrong means there really, really, really was no reason for Trey to die.

I was sick.  Doctors always say the baby will take whatever it needs from you, and that's true.  However, it can only take what you have.  Strep throat, Norovirus and bronchitis back to back for the entire first trimester took its toll on me...so it stands to reason it took its toll on Trey.

I took medications, though pregnancy safe, that could have hurt him.

Who knows?

I'm not blaming myself.  I couldn't have done anything differently.

Guilt never leaves, but rest assured, I don't blame myself.  I tell people all the time that they are no more in control of some of their bodily functions than they are eye color or hair color.

I feel the same about getting sick.  How could I have stopped that?  How could I not treat those illnesses?  If I'm unwell, the baby will be unwell.  Not to mention, I have a little boy that depends on his mother.

I wish things were different, and while there is no way to prove that being sick or taking any medicines is what ended his life....there is no way to prove that it didn't.

And finding NO issues anywhere....backs that up.  Sometimes, all there is to say is that it stinks.

It just stinks.

BUT...it is somewhat reassuring.  If I am blessed to find out in three weeks that I am pregnant again...at least I know what I *theoretically* don't have to worry about, right?

Nothing wrong means nothing to fix, but it also means nothing to fear.

Nothing known, that is...

Diagnosis Code 629.9

You know, people told me to be on the lookout for the words.

Abortion.

Aborter.

I even thought to myself, as people sweetly emailed or texted or called me to tell me, 'Just wanted to give you the heads up....you'll see some ugly language in your records,' "Well, I probably won't see anything like that and even if I do, whatever."

Yeah, not so much.  It's not a, "Whatever," kind of thing.

On Saturday, I got the explanation of benefits for the D&C.

That sucker cost $4634.  Good night.

More, Tricare paid it all.  Tricare is pretty cheap, by most standards.  If they paid it all, that's saying something.

Can I tell you how super fun it is to get an explanation of benefits like that?

Then, putting it in the pile of papers for medical expenses this year, I glanced at my paperwork from Dr. P's the other day.  That appointment was to talk about all the recurrent loss testing that Dr. K wanted, as well as what Dr. Sweeney and I talked about and get Dr. P's weigh-in.  As he wrote up the lab slip, he kept telling me that testing for all of this stuff was pretty much overkill, in his opinion....that to test for all these issues because Matthew died and because I miscarried Trey was kin to a situation where  someone was killed from a gunshot wound, but was tested for cancer during the autopsy.

Totally tragic, but totally unrelated.  He then went on, though, to say that he understood why Dr. K and Dr. Sweeney were interested in testing—for some peace of mind for me about this upcoming transfer—and he agreed.  That said, however, in order for it to be covered and me not be responsible for thousands of dollars' worth of testing, he needed to diagnose it 'appropriately.'  "You are not what I would consider recurrent loss, by any means, Lori, but you've been through a lot of sh*t and you've sadly earned the right to have this testing. I'm sorry for how I have to code it...recurrent loss."

I told him I understood, that it was ok, and I walked out of there not even looking at my slip.

Until right after I looked at my EOB for the D&C.

Infertility Diagnosis Code 629.9— "Habitual Aborter w/out Current Pregnancy".

Honestly?

ONE--I am NOT an aborter.  I don't care what the definition is, my baby DIED.
I did not abort him.
I sure as heck did not want to do the D&C, but regardless...I am not an aborter.

TWO—There are many things about which I am habitual—I am an habitual tooth brusher.  I am an habitual laundress.  I habitually attend church and military spouse meetings.

I am NOT an habitual aborter.

Seriously, Medical Profession—you need to take some time and come up with different language.

If you pledge to First, Do No Harm, then you must know how much those words and that language harm my fragile heart and mind.

Really, really, really stings.  Like vinegar on a gaping wound right in the center of me.

Please, for the love of God, come up with something else.

*****Amendment****Janiece, you are SOOOO right.  It IS the insurance industry.  Totally.  My doctors are ALL amazing.  Poor Dr. P kept apologizing for having to classify me as Recurrent Loss.  I guess now I know what that meant...specifically an Habitual Aborter without a current pregnancy, as if I didn't know I wasn't currently pregnant anymore.  Thank you for reminding me—it IS insurance.  It's not the doctors and I really, really apologize for saying it was.  


My transfer for the two remaining blasts is on target for a week from today.  My lining check this morning was fabulous—11.3.  The shots stink, but they are shots, for Pete's sake, so they are not a fun day at the beach.  All in all, another great process for a Frozen Embryo Transfer.

I'd be 24 weeks this week.

Viable.  Trey would be viable.

Instead, I'm transferring again.  The inequity and the surreality of it all is overwhelming enough.

The ugly language is just such insult to injury.

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

Precious friends are with me.  We've had such a great time.  I am thankful beyond thankful for the hearts that touch mine so deeply.  Here's a picture of my Little Love Bug from this week.  That boy is pure joy.

Nothing but joy. (And yes, check out the hair!!!! He has some wild hair like his mama and his Great Grandma Gosnell and I LOVE it!)

It's Only Been Two Months...

Sometimes I just can't express how much a 'random' kind word or thought means.

Especially when it may seem it's not really necessary anymore.  When one seems to be ok with things; maybe even back to 'normal,'; there's really no need to say something, is there?  Why bring up old wounds and stir the pot again?

The thing is, even if one 'seems' great...'seems' like they are just fine and all is well, so often, it's just the face they are putting on because they know it must be worn.

If it's not, people will worry.
People will tell you how you should be (or not be) feeling.
People will worry about how you are interacting with your living child.

You will just worry about what people are thinking of you, so it's just easier to wear the face.


So it is always so nice when there are those who do not do any of that...those who randomly email you and let you know that THEY know it's only been two months.

That two months ago, I walked into Dr. Sweeney's office thinking we might get a prediction for Trey's gender, and walked out with a broken heart.  Again.

It's not that long, two months.  It seems like it's been longer, and yet, it seems like just yesterday we saw him sucking his thumb on the ultrasound at Dr. P's office...wiggling and thumb-sucking.

It's.only.been.two.months.

I am so grateful for that message.  She who sent it knows who she is, and she sent it because she gets it.  I am grateful.  Thank you, friend.



I'm taking the estrogen shots every third day for the upcoming transfer.  The yucky thing about a frozen transfer is that there are so.many.shots.  More than a fresh cycle, at least in my case, and the drugs are in oil, which is always so much fun to inject.  The needles are bigger and I feel the side effects more than I do when doing a fresh cycle, for some reason.  I had my baseline ultrasound on Thursday and it was great.  As they were counting my follicles, the tech said, "Wow.  This is a great AF count for a fresh cycle!"  She mean that if that was an antral follicle count ultrasound, to see how many little possible follicles-to-eggs I had, I'd rock it.  She counted 23, and I always end up with a few more during the course of the cycle, and for my age, that is not too shabby.

I hope I NEVER AGAIN have to do that type of ultrasound again.  I'm tired of counting eggs and praying they hatch and I bring home the chicks.

Anyway, just had to get that out of my head—the gratitude for remembrance.  It's just the most supportive thing ever to have people share our excitement at the possibility of these embryos we are transferring growing into sweet little people we get to raise, while at the same time, sharing our sorrow and recognizing that our loss is still so fresh.  Our losses, that is...our losses are still fresh.

It's not even been 30 months since we lost Matthew.

So long ago...and yet still feels like I was just at his grave, shivering in the cold and saying goodbye to a sweet little boy I'd waited my whole lifetime to meet.

Had To Be Said...

My second month's article for Still Standing Magazine published today.

It was not what I originally wrote.  I originally wrote about how I was SO.SO.SO.SO mad at time.

Mad because I feel like it mocks me and steals from me and taunts me and burdens me and drags for me simultaneously.

But in the back of my head, this just kept nagging.

"This is different."
"This is eating at you."
"This could be ugly if you don't get it under control."

"You need to be honest about this."

So, I was.

I talked to John and I was.

If you'd like to read about it, please go here.

And while you are there, be sure to go to the GIVEAWAY page!  Our store is live and we are giving TONS of things away!!!  Who doesn't love that???


One more thing...How much do I ADORE this baby boy?

I tried to get him to nap with me this afternoon for over an hour.  He laughed.  He giggled.  He cackled.  He played peek-a-boo.  He was as cute as cute could be.

But he didn't sleep.

Until this evening after playing in the tidal pools on the beach before dinner.  He was zonked and took a nice nap in Mommy's arms.  Those are more and more rare these days, as he turns into a big boy.

I happily obliged...me and my boy and the ocean.

Sigh....

Small, But Mighty!

Admittedly, I have been sick (literally) to my stomach since Tuesday.

A lot is going on in and around our lives, and frankly, much of what has been going on gives me quite a bit of perspective.

So, while I have been sick to my stomach, wondering what would happen today, I have also been at peace.

It has been well with my soul.


Crazy, right?

But it has.  I am very happy with the life I live.  I am fulfilled.  I am busy.  I have good friends and good family and am seriously thrilled to mother my amazing little Luke on this earth and be the mother to two more precious boys in Heaven.

I ache for what is gone, only because I know what could have and should have been...but I also realize my life is still pretty great.

I devised all my 'worst case scenarios,' and even THEY were livable.

Funny what becomes livable once the shock of death has entered your world, isn't it?

It would not be fun to have a hysteroscopy. 
But livable.

It would not be fun to do the transfer under sedation.
But livable.

It would stink to have to push the transfer off to give me more healing time.
But livable.

It would be heartbreaking if there was just no way to ever transfer them to me.
But livable.

Livable, livable, livable.


I sat on the table waiting for Dr. K to come in and just prayed for mercy.  To just take away my anxiety because no matter what, I'd live.  And be ok.  I don't know if anyone even understands how many back-up plans on top of back-up plans I have...and though some of them stink, they all leave me ok.

Dr. K had not one.single.bit of trouble getting through my cervix and into my uterus.  Not.one.bit.

He said he knows exactly what happened--the other day, the resident just didn't realize how small I am.  How really small my uterus is.

He bets dollars to donuts that poor little guy actually WAS through, but just didn't realize it.  He kept pushing but not because my cervix was stenotic--because he was hitting my uterus wall!!!!!

Dr. K showed me where an 'average' woman would normally mark on the catheter (measuring how far in the catheter had to go to get into my uterus).

Then he showed me where the typical 'small' woman's mark on the catheter would be.

Then he showed me my measurement.

WAY different.  Dr. K bet that resident had never seen anything like it. By the time Dr. P took over, that poor resident had just done quite a job of wrestling and doing things more forcefully than needed, and Dr. P didn't want to make it worse.

But Dr. K had no problem.  Didn't even need to really 'negotiate' as he sometimes has to do with me.

He said my uterus looked pristine.  A true testament to the thorough work my OB had done.

I know.

He said it looked fabulous; I was great at making fluffy lining and that he saw no reason whatsoever not to have a transfer on the 25th.

Everything looked and was GREAT.

He told me not to worry about my small uterus. (I wasn't until he said something, ha ha.)  He said, "Lori, I'm sure you've been told you are a unique woman.  Your uterus is no exception.  You have successfully handled two full-term pregnancies in less than three years. Your uterus may be small, but it is mighty."

Small, but mighty.  John usually tells me that I'm small, but scrappy.

I'll take either one, thank you, very much.

Back on for June 25th!!!

One more reason I love Dr. K? When I told him how sick I'd been, he said, "Lori, you know 90% of what we worry about never even comes to fruition."

Then he stopped for a second, looked at me and said, "I'm sorry.  Even though that is true, the 10% you and John have had to endure is awful. It is no wonder you always assume the worst. You live it."

YES.  It is NO WONDER.

So glad that he gets it.

And loves us anyway!

Really?

So, thankfully I got back on track for a transfer last week.  Hooray.  BCP being taken, mock transfer and baselines being scheduled, plans for the end of June ironed out.

And then I went to my RE here in NC yesterday.  To do the mock transfer.  Technically, since we just did one in December for Trey's cycle, I didn't need one, but since I had a D&C almost two months ago, it wouldn't hurt to just have a saline ultrasound and make sure all was well.

It wasn't.

Dr. P's resident started the procedure.  No offense to residents, of course, but the reality is they are just getting into gaining experience, so someone presenting with a little bit of difficulty may throw them.  I have no problem helping someone gain experience; we all have to somehow.

That said—OH.MY.WORD.

This is a procedure that usually is pretty quick and pretty painless.

Not yesterday.  That poor guy was just flustered, and FINALLY, after turning my insides out, he told Dr. P he needed help.

So Dr. P took over.

And discovered that I now have a stenotic cervix.

I try not to Dr. Google anymore.  Too much that just makes me crazy.  What I was told was that scar tissue from the D&C has essentially closed my cervix.

I just cried.  There on the table.  As he's talking about all the things that could be...like I may not even be able to transfer the two blasts we have left EVER, much less at the end of June.

He tried a bit more to get the catheter into my uterus and then I just began to bleed.  A lot.  So much that they wouldn't let me sit up from the table for 15 minutes because they were worried about me passing out.

I was a bit dizzy, I guess, but more in shock.

Seriously?

More insult to injury.

I called Jackie and she said Dr. K wanted me up there in Waldorf ASAP.  He wants to see what is going on.  There are things that can be done, but he needs to assess.  Luke and I are driving up tomorrow and Dr. K is going to try this mock transfer again there in his office and see what he thinks.  Depending on what he finds, he may have me go in for a hysteroscopy on Monday.  Super fun.

Jackie told me that worst case scenario was doing the transfer, but under sedation so they could just 'push' through that scar tissue.

Which presents its own set of problems.  Lots of women have been known to suffer from incompetent cervix as a result of this...a stenotic cervix due to D&C.

MORE RISK.

And at this point, is it worth doing the transfer now?  At the end of June, rather?  If I am still having issues, why exacerbate?  Take a chance on getting pregnant, even get pregnant only to LOSE AGAIN because it was just too early after the D&C?

How would I or doctors even know what the right decision would be?  It's all supposition.

The silver lining is that we found this out NOW—in an office in NC rather than at Shady Grove on June 25 as I have two precious blastocysts all thawed out with no place to go.

I cannot imagine.

So, until Friday...more limbo.  I hate the limbo.  I hate it.

So many people push for 'acceptance' in the grieving process...heck, just acceptance of life in general.

It is what it is.  Bloom where you are planted.  Recognize what you can change and live with what you can't.

Yada yada yada.

I'm so over all the what-ifs.  I am and always have been a planner.  After Matthew died, I realized that the best plans fail.

Miserably.  So, I am a lot more go-with-the flow now.

But this is ridiculous.  I'm about at the top of my load.

And oh, Luke??????

The WORST case of Hand, Foot Mouth his doctors have ever seen.

As was quoted last night, "He looks like Job."

Yep.  He does.  And it's been miserable for him.

Us too.

This is just a little glimpse..I can't keep him still enough to show how bad his hands and feet look.  Thankfully, he's on the upswing as the sores are scabbing over, but God love him.  Poor thing.

Irony Isn't Even The Right Word...

...but I don't know what else even comes close.

I should be 18w5d.

I have been begging...literally on my knees BEGGING God to start a new cycle (sorry if TMI) because without a period, and like YESTERDAY, we are not on target for anything...

So...how ironic that when I should be getting my little Trey's anatomy scan (according to what I wrote in pen in my calendar) tomorrow...

I am thrilled beyond thrilled to have started today?

Thanking God.

Answered prayer.

But so, so painful at the same time.

Sigh.

You'd Think I'd Know Better....

...than to write anything in pen.

Paper after paper after paper with penned signature to bring a baby girl who needed a family into our family that needed a baby.

Didn't happen.

Penned journal entry after journal entry about a baby boy who will never read how much his mother loved him.

Because he died.

A calendar that tells me that this week, I'd be 18w4d pregnant.

With my third baby boy.

Every week, carefully and joyfully marked so that my countdown could be forever memorialized and one day I'd show him how much I was waiting for him.

Written in pen.

Ruined calendar.

Ruined dreams.

Ruined.

I'd like to blame it on the pen.

But I know better.

You'd think I'd know better.

Women's Rights...

We went home this weekend for a few different things.  The main thing was for the Marine Corps Aviation Association's awards dinner and celebration of 100 years of Marine Aviation.  Seriously cool.  How many people get to have dinner with men or women who hold Medals of Honor?  Or meet and revisit with heroes of every war or situation since World War II?

Grandma watched Luke and we had a lovely night at The Gaylord in DC.  There was a super fun after-ceremony party, and John kept coming to me telling me we had to leave.  There were tons of people still left, so I didn't understand why he was being such a party pooper, and then he said, "Hon, it's after 2."

As in 2:00 AM.

I did not believe my body could still do that.

It sure was fun.

We had some things we were to do on Monday, so we spent Sunday taking Luke to the zoo.  He had a blast and I had a blast watching him.  His little personality is really, really starting to come through.

And I am in TROUBLE!

He is so flipping cute.  But...has his mommy and daddy's stubborn will; daddy's daredevil mentality and mommy's "You're not the boss of me!" philosophy.

So, cute as he is, he sure is starting to test his boundaries, but he KNOWS it.  Gives a sly little grin and then watches for our reactions.

Stinker.

On our drive home, we went through a little NC town.  We passed by a small church, not sure of the denomination, and I read its marquis.

"The greatest right a woman has is to be a mother."

I don't know how I feel about that sentiment.

Well, yes, I guess I do.

I do not believe that it is a woman's right to be a mother.

It's my right to pursue life, liberty and happiness.

It's my right to vote, believe and worship as I choose and freely express myself.

But it is my honor and my privilege and my greatest blessing to be a mother.

As I drove by that sign, I thought how much it must have hurt some women as they walked in, seeing that sign, on Mother's Day—as they may have been in the throes of infertility or child loss grief.

How demeaning that is to women who for whatever reason BUT their choices are not mothers.

How there are some mothers I am aware of that I want to literally SLAP SILLY because in my opinion, they sure as heck don't 'deserve' to mother the children they do...but that's not my call.

Saying that the greatest right a woman has is to be a mother just really rubs my skin raw.

If it was only that easy....

"Hey!  I invoke my right of motherhood!  Bring on the baby!"

Yeah, right.

That statement implies that we get to choose whether or not we get to be mothers.  While that is often true, to the extent that we choose whether to attempt or accept motherhood or not...it is all, all too much more often that we don't.

More often, I think we beg God to allow us to finally see two pink lines...get the phone call saying our HCG was off the charts...let us bring the baby home...let us keep the baby...

Let us be mothers.

It's a permissive issue...motherhood.  Not something we are automatically granted by our citizenship or our existence.  Something that we are allowed...or not.  However it is our families are created and built, it's certainly not something we just click our heels together for and get.

(Well, most people.)

Now, don't get me started on why some are allowed it and others aren't.  Please.  I have no answers and won't even attempt them.  Still asking lots of questions myself, thanks.  Just have come to the conclusion that it's not mine to reason.

Just like it's not my right to be a mother.

Because really...it's a miracle I do not take for granted.

The "R" Word

Something on my heart.

The other day, Grandma and I took Luke down to the little playground a few houses down.  There were two little girls I didn't know swinging on the swings.

"Ing!  Ing!  Ing!" happens to be the newest and best thing Luke has to say to us, and so I was pushing his gleeful little self in the infant swings.  It was a really pretty day, and Luke was flirting with Grandma and cackling with joy and I just took in just how precious those little simple joys are.

And then I heard the one little girl say to the other girl, "Don't be so retarded."

I couldn't help it.  I'd love to say it was the teacher in me, and maybe a bit of it was, but the mother in me couldn't hold back.

"Oh, that's not a very nice word, sweetheart."

I threw the girls off, I think, by even talking to them, much less sort of chastising them.

I went on, because they were both looking at me as if I should.

"I'm sure you don't really mean it to be not very nice, but it's not a nice thing to say to someone."

"Why not?" asked the little girl who was being told NOT to be retarded.

"Because a lot of times, people use it in a mean way to talk about other special people who can't protect themselves or defend themselves.  Some people mean it in a really mean way because it makes fun of people who are different than we are.  I know you and your friend don't mean it that way, and you probably didn't even know it could be meant that way, but I wanted to be sure you knew so you don't hurt anyone's feelings when you don't mean to."

"Oh," they both said, sort of in unison, and continued to swing.  Then the one little girl started to tell the other she could speak French.  In an accent and with enunciation that makes me instantly think of National Lampoon's European Vacation, she mangled the phrase, "Parlez vous Francais?" and they went on with their conversation, punctuated every few minutes with making goo-goo eyes at Luke.

Lesson noted.  They moved on to a new topic instantly.  Without any hesitation.

As a teacher, I've seen my fair share of children who would be dubbed with the "R" word and I can tell you that there are few experiences more rewarding than working with special needs children.  I've NEVER allowed my students to bully one another for any reason, and CERTAINLY not children with special needs because their needs made them different.

My great Aunt was a precious woman I adored...she lived to be 70 and had Down's Syndrome.  Born in 1919, her family was basically told to institutionalize her and be done with her.  Thank God I come from a line of people who would sooner eat raw alligator eyeballs than dismiss ANY life.

John's uncle has pretty profound Asperger's.  He has had some rough times in his life, due to ignorance and ridiculous treatments, but again, his family would never allow anyone to discount the importance of his life simply because it was so, so different.

I am heartbroken when I read (far too often, I might add) about women who have persevered through fertility treatments, only to get pregnant and then find out their child had Down's Syndrome and they decided to abort.  Please know I am not judging...I cannot imagine what the thought and heart process must be to come to that decision.

But seriously???

Had Matthew lived, we would be looking at some really, really profound issues.  SERIOUS issues.  The kind where you walk by the kid in the chair or whatever, watch his mom as she is drying his chin from all the drool, and you think, "Poor, poor kid."

We would have taken that in a HEARTBEAT.  We would have cherished every single second we could have had with that precious boy, regardless of the condition he was in, and I would have defied a soul to count his life as anything less than the miraculous life I know it to be.

So I get really, really upset when kids today so callously throw that "R" word around...because it is up to US...PARENTS...to stop it.

To stop our children from bullying others because they are different.

To prevent our children from being ok with being hard-hearted.

Stop them from finding joy in hurting others with their words and actions.

Now honestly, those little girls really didn't seem to even know what they were saying.  Their innocence in understanding why it was an ugly word was soooo apparent.

And proves how easy it is to just instill in our children (and in us, really...think about any time you've made a joke about the short bus, or someone being a pancake short of a stack, or whatever...you know what I am talking about) how to be kind.

How to accept.

How to eradicate that word and others like it that imply that mental/physical deficits make one a lesser person.

Less human.  Less worthy of love.

Because I'll tell you this...I'd give my eye teeth to have had my little boy live.  My boys live.  No matter what conditions they may have had.

And that words like 'retarded' are still used the way they are just makes my stomach sick.

Just had to get that off my heart.

His Name Was Trey...

So.

Tuesday will be 5 weeks since I had the D&C.  Just over 5 weeks ago, I was carrying another sweet baby boy.

Yep.
A boy.  ONE MORE REASON I HATE MY GUT.

My gut told me girl.

But he was a little boy.  A little boy with normal chromosomes.

Perfect.  Healthy.  Great lining (so thick it was noted in my placental report).

And gone.

My sweet, sweet, sweet friend and doctor let me know this evening.  I know a lot of people think that was really crappy timing.  I understand that and think their concern for me is so precious.

I think this information is an amazing gift, though. I have been praying, praying, praying for some certainty.  I mean, yes, I had my 'gut' feeling, but people can always refute 'gut' feelings.

Not give them merit because maybe they are just what our hearts want to believe.

No refuting the science of DNA analysis, though.

A perfect little boy with normal chromosomes.

Normal chromosomes.  A lot to digest for me right now, but for another time.

For tonight, I am grateful to be given such amazing information.  To go to sleep saying the names of all three of my boys.


Before we lost him, John and I were having a really hard time coming up with boy names.  We sort of felt like we'd 'used' all the 'good' boy names (that we could both agree on, ha ha!).  We had a little girl's name.

But were having a hard time with boy.  I had several.  John kept negging them.  He really only offered one.  Alexander Jay.  I like Alexander, thought Alex and Luke sounded nice together, but Jay wasn't screaming at me and Alexander means Defender or Protector of Men.  This mama was not thrilled with the thought of my boy having such a responsibility before he was even born.

So, I told John he needed to come up with some more.  One afternoon, I took a nap while Luke napped and John looked into baby names.  When I woke up, he had a few (some were really interesting, I have to say) but the one he liked best was Trey.  He said, "It means three.  Third."

I laughed.  Really?  John Matthew—a gift from a gracious God.  Samuel Luke—God heard and brought us light.

Trey?  Hey kid!  We've run out of boy names, so since you are third, you get Trey.  Ha ha.

We joked about that a lot.


And yet....how appropriate right now????  What name will cement his place in our family and our hearts MORE than one that tells exactly who he was?  THIRD.  Real, perfect and precious...our THIRD child.  THIRD boy.

Third in birth order, but equal in placement of our hearts.

And, like his brothers, he will go by his middle name.  His name will be Alexander Trey, and he will be called Trey.

His name, with Matthew's, will be spoken.  His existence was real and does not get erased because he died before he was able to be born.

He was a healthy, perfect little boy and he was a miracle and he will always be known as our third child.

As a teacher, whenever moms came in at Open Houses or events like that and I found out the child I was teaching was one of their THREE sons, I always joked about how strong that mom must be!  How busy that house must be!  How there must be a very, very special place in Heaven for the mom of three boys!!!

Guess what?  There sure is.

And two very loved little boys are holding mine for me.