Thankfulness & Infertility

This day, this season, compels us to stop and think about gratitude. What are you thankful for? What blessings abound in your life? I've long believed that, even in challenging times, there is always so much to be grateful for, if you just take a moment to pause and reflect. And, believe it or not, it is actually possible to be thankful for the hard things, like infertility, because oftentimes those hard things teach you more than easy times ever could… You learn and you grow and you’re led somewhere new. 

This time last year, Greg and I had recently started seeing a new reproductive endocrinologist at our second fertility clinic. We were beginning to tackle the list of to-do’s that we needed to complete before embarking on our first IVF cycle. We’d already experienced many ups and downs on our journey to baby, and even with our decision to try in vitro fertilization, the road ahead was uncertain. There were no guarantees.

Fast forward one year and I am holding my precious daughter in my arms. It’s amazing what can happen in a year. It’s no surprise what I am thankful for this Thanksgiving. I am so grateful for my sweet miracle baby, Delilah, conceived with the help of science and a whole lot of love. I am thankful that, although born more than three weeks early, she is healthy and thriving — celebrating one month of life today! I am appreciative of the doctors and nurses at John Muir Medical Center in Walnut Creek who took care of Delilah following her rocky entrance into the world, and I am likewise indebted to the medical team at Reproductive Science Center that helped Greg and I fulfill our dream of parenthood. How immensely glad I am that technology like IVF exists! Without it — and the power of God, no doubt — our girl wouldn’t be here. And I would be remiss if I didn’t give thanks for the community of friends and family who encouraged and supported us throughout the IVF process, during my pregnancy and in the weeks since Delilah arrived. But I am most grateful for my husband, my rock. The eternal optimist, he never gave up on our shared desire to create a family. Even when my faith faltered, he always believed that we would be right where we are now. Greg has been and continues to be an incredible partner, and he is the very best dad to Delilah.

So, am I thankful for infertility? In some ways, yes. As taxing as it has been mentally, emotionally, and physically, and as much as it has cost us financially, this journey has brought Greg and I even closer and made us stronger. Nothing like injecting your wife with hormones to forge increased trust and intimacy! (The "quirks" of pregnancy have a way of further bonding couples, too.) But seriously, infertility was also an effective teacher of patience and powerful cultivator of faith. Faced with the potential of my dream of motherhood never being realized, I was suddenly and surprisingly forced to find the positives wherever I could — to keep my sanity as well as my will to keep moving forward. As a result, I was able to more clearly see all the small, everyday blessings in my life, and to more fully appreciate the people who are a blessing to me.

This time last year, the road was uncertain, but it did lead somewhere new and wonderful. Despite the challenges, I cherish our story, because it had the happiest of endings.

From our little family to yours, Happy Thanksgiving!

My first Turkey Day! Thank you, great grandma, for the cute holiday outfit!

Give me turkey!!! Actually, this is what happens when you take Delilah's pacifier away. 

IVF Update | On Fertilization... and Faith

(Image via PocketFuel)

Since I slept most of the afternoon away yesterday, I didn’t go back to bed until about 2 a.m. this morning. I tossed and turned and although I wasn’t that comfortable, I wasn’t ready to drag myself out of bed when the dogs tried to rouse me around 8 o'clock. Just as I dozed off again, suddenly I heard my phone ring. It was 8:30, and it was the clinic.

My heart stopped. I cleared my throat and I answered the phone, running downstairs as I said hello to the doctor on call. When I reached the living room, I saw my husband sitting on the couch, and I turned on the speaker so he could hear.

At first she just asked how I was feeling, if I was recovering well after the retrieval. I told her I felt OK physically. Any nausea or vomiting? No, I replied. How did the spot look where my IV was placed, how was it healing? Just fine, I said. Was I in any pain, and if so, how much? None, I told her. Other than still feeling bloated, I explained that I felt like my normal self, like nothing had happened. A bit surprised, the doctor said I was recovering better than most and — finally getting to the good stuff — that my eggs were doing better than is typical, too.

Of the four retrieved, all four fertilized.

I could hardly believe my ears. My husband leapt from the couch, up into the air, fist bumping, smiling as wide as could be. As he came back down he grabbed me, as if to shake me into the reality of what the doctor was telling us. I immediately started to cry tears of joy as the doctor continued speaking, letting us know all four embryos looked good so far.

After a moment, I finally managed to squeak out a few words. I can’t quite remember them now, but something along the lines of how grateful I was for the good news.

Hearing the emotion in my voice, the doctor sympathized about how hard it must have been getting just four eggs yesterday and how worried I must have felt. Nevertheless, all four were mature and fertilized. They had beat the odds. She cautioned that we still have a ways to go and as relieved as I feel, I don’t want to get ahead of myself either.

And yet, I want to celebrate today. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring but today we received the most wonderful news. The best news we could have gotten after yesterday.

The doctor and I said goodbye and as I hung up the phone, Greg and I embraced. I weeped happy tears in his shirt, big gulping sobs. I felt myself begin to release every worst fear, every bad thought, that clung to my heart and mind before the call. I laughed and cried simultaneously.

My sweet husband, whose optimism always helps to light my way, offered more reassurance.

“We have babies,” he said. “And they’re strong. They’re fighters, like mommy and daddy.”

Yesterday, I felt like my body was betraying me. I had so much doubt. But God is bigger than my doubt. And maybe He gave us just four eggs because they were the best eggs.

“You’ve done so good through all of this, babe,” Greg continued, rubbing my arm. 

Those few words were the validation I desperately needed to hear. As a woman struggling with infertility, I put so much pressure and even more blame on myself. I have been trying to do everything right and yesterday I kept thinking: Maybe I hadn’t done enough.

But my husband says I’m enough. God says I’m enough. And four eggs can be enough.

My prayer now is that our precious embabies will continue to grow and develop in the lab. That the embryologists will take good and careful care of them. And that God would be the guiding hand in all of it, providing His protection as they continue to form into what we so sincerely hope will be our miracle baby, or babies.

(Image via PocketFuel)

Not Alone

(via In Everything)

My current line of work as a bridal stylist has me meeting and connecting with women of varying backgrounds and experiences every day. And often, we bond in the most surprising of ways. (She’s in her skivvies, I’m measuring her bust and her booty… Suffice it to say, we get close fast and intimacy just can’t help but develop!) Wedding talk sometimes turns to real life talk and that’s exactly what happened a few nights ago.

Heidi was actually a walk-in appointment that we managed to squeeze in at the end of my shift when another bride didn’t show. An older bride (41, I later learned), she came by herself and was seemingly shy and soft-spoken for most of our hour together. Then, at the end of the appointment, when I went to get her waist and hip measurements, she noticed a big blue bruise on her belly.

“Oh no,” she said, grabbing at her stomach. “We must have hit a blood vessel.”

“Right now?” I asked quizzically.

“No, no,” she replied. “It’s from my injections.”

I caught my reflection in the mirror — my mouth gaped open in shock. I instantly knew what she meant. And yet, there was more to the story.

She went on to tell me that she was diagnosed with breast cancer; that she underwent a lumpectomy, and was then faced with deciding whether or not to undergo a mastectomy or radiation. Heidi decided on radiation but, somewhat against her doctor’s wishes, opted to retrieve some of her eggs first. That’s what the injections were for, in preparation for her egg retrieval.

As she shared her story, it took everything in me not to let the tears welling up in my eyes fall down my cheeks. Here was this woman, literally standing in a fitting room in her bra and underwear, confiding in a perfect stranger. One who is also struggling with infertility and yet, her situation is even more trying than mine. I kept thinking, she is so strong.

“Well, you know, my husband and I are actually starting IVF next month,” I offered.

My words opened up the conversation even further, and we traded more information: 

She only has one ovary and, despite how “young and healthy” I look (to Heidi, anyway), I actually don’t have “tons” of good eggs either. I told her I was a nervous about the injections and she advised that my husband treat the needle more like a dart — fast with a flick of the wrist. Inserting the needle slowly hurts more. (Heidi bought her fiancé clementines to practice.) The hormones make you gain weight, she also informed me; I laughed and said I’d heard that fun tidbit of information before and wasn’t looking forward to it. Heidi asked if my clinic is also RSC (the Reproductive Science Center of the San Francisco Bay Area) and I replied that, why yes, as a matter of fact, it is. 

The whole exchange left me stunned and, strangely enough, exhilarated. I couldn’t believe the connection I’d just made in 15 minutes in a dressing room. It felt a bit like kismet. We hugged goodbye and wished each other luck on our respective TTC journeys, and I spent the rest of the night marveling at the unexpected turn of events.

Moments like these remind me how important community and connecting is, especially when going through a trial, of any kind. Knowing that there are others who understand and are walking a similar path can give you the strength to continue on — not to mention valuable perspective. 

You are not alone. We are not alone.