On Sunday, one of my oldest friends (we grew up together) had her first baby, a girl. I’m happy for her. I’m thrilled. Really, I am. [Insert forced smile here.]
No, seriously, I am glad for her and her husband. They’ve fought the infertility battle, too. She never told me anything about it for the longest time, until she finally opened up a couple years ago and we started comparing notes. As it turned out, our first IVF cycles were at the same time, everything within a few days of each other. Of course, both our cycles ended in disappointment. While I did an FET last spring, she eventually moved on to donor eggs and got pregnant. Her success story uplifts me, and I know how much this means to her, but when I saw that first picture of her holding her daughter, I felt so left out.
She and I have always been athletic, both pretty good at the sports we played. She was a year behind me in school, and when she finally entered high school, she planned on trying out for the volleyball team. Since I played junior varsity, and planned on trying out for varsity that year, I helped her practice and learn the techniques used by the coaching staff. As it turned out, she lit up the tryouts, made the varsity team and I didn’t make it. At that age and at the point in my life, it was a huge blow. She went on to be a superstar player, make friends with all the varsity girls I thought I’d be friends with, and had the life I was supposed to have (from an athletics perspective anyway). I was left behind. When we started to support each other in our IVF lives, I felt I was again taking her under my wing and working towards the same dream together. Now, she’s having the life I want and I’m still sitting on the bench.
Last Friday, I also became an aunt again (the sister-in-law with the then nameless son-to-be). I’m happy to be an aunt, and I love my nieces and nephews, but I’m tired of sitting and watching from the bench. Several other friends will also be having babies over the next several months, and to them I’ll be “Aunt Lauren” too. How long do I have to warm up in the bullpen before I’m called into the game?
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Sunday, March 29, 2009
When Goals Remain Out of Reach
In the past week, Mike's been on a setting goals/self-improvement kick. For a long time he's been trying to figure out what he really wants to be and accomplish in his life. I'm really proud of the drive he's found in recent days (part of it is the prednisone he's on for graft-versus-host symptoms, but still....) and I know he can absolutely accomplish the goals he is setting for himself.
On that note, it got me thinking about my own goals for my life. Ever since I got married, and even for a long time before, my future goal was simple: I wanted to be a mom. For many women that's a relatively simple and easily achievable goal, so much in fact that they probably don't even think of it as a goal, but as more of an expected and routine part of their young lives. For me though, it's getting to feel like a goal that could potentially go unfulfilled. I'm a positive person, and I truly believe that one way or another, I will be a mother. But do I see it as an expected and routine part of my future? Not anymore.
So much of this dream remains out of my control (and as Mike would confirm, I can be a bit of a control freak with certain things!). I've done two IVF cycles, and have come up empty. The second time I even added acupuncture to increase my odds, but still no luck. When we're ready to try again, I could increase my exercise, change my diet, get more rest, even try a different fertility clinic. But does that mean I'll achieve my goal? Nope.
Trying to conceive is a different kind of goal when you’re faced with infertility. It’s not like setting a goal to finish college or get a certain career or lose 20 pounds or see Australia. It's the kind of dream that means no matter how hard you try, how much time you devote to it or how much persistence you bring, it still might not come true. It’s a dream with such frustration because you know that you can only do so much. Plus, there’s a very real and undeniable time crunch attached to this goal. This isn’t something one can put off until they're 50.
This was supposed to be a simple goal, so why does it seem so out of reach?
On that note, it got me thinking about my own goals for my life. Ever since I got married, and even for a long time before, my future goal was simple: I wanted to be a mom. For many women that's a relatively simple and easily achievable goal, so much in fact that they probably don't even think of it as a goal, but as more of an expected and routine part of their young lives. For me though, it's getting to feel like a goal that could potentially go unfulfilled. I'm a positive person, and I truly believe that one way or another, I will be a mother. But do I see it as an expected and routine part of my future? Not anymore.
So much of this dream remains out of my control (and as Mike would confirm, I can be a bit of a control freak with certain things!). I've done two IVF cycles, and have come up empty. The second time I even added acupuncture to increase my odds, but still no luck. When we're ready to try again, I could increase my exercise, change my diet, get more rest, even try a different fertility clinic. But does that mean I'll achieve my goal? Nope.
Trying to conceive is a different kind of goal when you’re faced with infertility. It’s not like setting a goal to finish college or get a certain career or lose 20 pounds or see Australia. It's the kind of dream that means no matter how hard you try, how much time you devote to it or how much persistence you bring, it still might not come true. It’s a dream with such frustration because you know that you can only do so much. Plus, there’s a very real and undeniable time crunch attached to this goal. This isn’t something one can put off until they're 50.
This was supposed to be a simple goal, so why does it seem so out of reach?
Monday, March 16, 2009
The Name Game
Even though we don't have our kids yet, Mike and I still sometimes talk about them and what they might be like in the future. It's usually a casual mention, like, "I hope little so-and-so doesn't have your stubbornness," or "Someday we'll come here with little so-and-so." But we don't say "so-and-so" -- we say their names. Mike and I have had our kids' names picked out since before we even got engaged. We had our first girl name and first boy named all set pretty easily. We even got our second boy/girl names picked, just in case either of our cycles yielded twins. The names were the easy part.
Within just a few weeks, Mike's sister will be giving birth to her third child -- their first boy after two girls, ages four and three. Although all she and her husband want is a healthy baby, of course, they're thrilled to know they are finally having a boy. One would think they'd have had their boy name all picked out and waiting in the wings. But it looks like the choice is coming down to the wire. For months they haven't been able to agree on any name. Last I heard, there were two finalists -- both nice names -- but no definite decision.
Here they are waiting for a kid, and have no name for him. And here we wait, ready with names, but with no kids. Our little "so-and-so's" exist and live in our hearts. We talk about them like they could arrive at any moment, but we don't know when that moment will be. We have no estimated due date, no countdown, no "X more days until...." We don't yet know what our children will look like, whose eyes they'll have, the color of their hair or the sound of their voices....
But we know their names.
Within just a few weeks, Mike's sister will be giving birth to her third child -- their first boy after two girls, ages four and three. Although all she and her husband want is a healthy baby, of course, they're thrilled to know they are finally having a boy. One would think they'd have had their boy name all picked out and waiting in the wings. But it looks like the choice is coming down to the wire. For months they haven't been able to agree on any name. Last I heard, there were two finalists -- both nice names -- but no definite decision.
Here they are waiting for a kid, and have no name for him. And here we wait, ready with names, but with no kids. Our little "so-and-so's" exist and live in our hearts. We talk about them like they could arrive at any moment, but we don't know when that moment will be. We have no estimated due date, no countdown, no "X more days until...." We don't yet know what our children will look like, whose eyes they'll have, the color of their hair or the sound of their voices....
But we know their names.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
One Can Dream.....
I don't really dream about infertility or having kids -- at least, not in a way that leaves any lasting impression or pain. Friday night I had a quick, but interesting dream. I was by myself (not sure where Mike was at the time) in the second-floor bedroom of some house. I was holding an infant, I think a newborn, and my impression was that the baby was my cousin Alex (who is actually 22 years old now). It was just the two of us in the room, and even though she was a baby, she could talk to me. I was holding her, and then I put her down on the bed and laid down next to her. I think I was crying a bit, and I just said to her, "When you see Jesus, please ask Him to bless us with a baby." The next thing I remember in the dream was my uncle, her dad, walking back into the room (which was what made me think this baby was my cousin).
That was it. It was very brief, but I was struck and confused by what I said to her.
I haven't prayed for a baby, specifically, in a while. Most of my prayers have been focused on Mike's healing, and the usual general health and safety of my loved ones.
Should I be praying for a baby? Is that God's way of speaking to me and reaching out to me? He says to bring all our concerns and petitions to Him, but this is one concern I've kind of given up on lately. Plus, I keep telling myself that we will never have a "miracle baby" outside an IVF clinic. It just can't happen. So until we're ready for IVF again, how can we be blessed with a baby?
Maybe I'm just over-thinking things.
That was it. It was very brief, but I was struck and confused by what I said to her.
I haven't prayed for a baby, specifically, in a while. Most of my prayers have been focused on Mike's healing, and the usual general health and safety of my loved ones.
Should I be praying for a baby? Is that God's way of speaking to me and reaching out to me? He says to bring all our concerns and petitions to Him, but this is one concern I've kind of given up on lately. Plus, I keep telling myself that we will never have a "miracle baby" outside an IVF clinic. It just can't happen. So until we're ready for IVF again, how can we be blessed with a baby?
Maybe I'm just over-thinking things.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
I Have Returned
Yes, I'm still alive. And no, I haven't quit blogging. Busyness followed by laziness has been the reason for my absence.
The short summary of the past few months is that Mike had his transplant and did very well. He's home recovering and, although he still has a long way to go to get things totally back to "normal" (whatever that is), things are looking up.
Now, backing up, it was wonderful to get to enjoy the holidays together, but Christmas still ended up being a holiday with a loved one in the hospital. My grandpa took a spill and broke his hip a week before Christmas, so it was a very different and whirlwind holiday this year.
Mike caught the awful stomach bug going around during the holidays, so his admission to the hospital was delayed by a week. He finally went in January 8 and thus it began. The chemo started that same night, and for the next few days things were business as usual. The following Tuesday is when it started to hit him, but he still came through like a champ. He was given the donor stem cells on Friday, Jan. 16, and while he had no real reaction to the stem cells, the chemo, meds and everything else started hitting him at that point. Those next few days were terrible. He was drugged up and mostly out of it, but when he was awake he had terrible headaches, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea and an all-around miserable feeling. At one point he was vomiting so much (and he had nothing in his stomach to throw up) that he told me he felt like he was going to hemorrhage. I was in a panic. Another time during those few days he told me it would be better to "go to glory" than to endure this. I barely ate during that time, and I only left his room to use the bathroom or to leave for the night. Luckily I had gotten a hotel room down the street for several nights, so I didn't have to make the 45-minute drive home every evening.
Around the early to mid part of the following week, Mike was starting to become more alert, and was trying to use the pain meds a little less, but it was still at least another week before he really started to seem more like himself.
Once his physical state started to improve, the mental toll of being locked up in a room started to show. He wanted to get out of there so badly and didn't know how he was going to stay sane. But soon the light at the end of the tunnel started to shine.
The hospital stay for a matched-unrelated-donor (MUD) transplant is typically four to six weeks, and they told him he should plan on about five weeks. Mike was released four weeks and one day after his admission. He was the poster boy for transplants.
The day Mike was released, my co-workers were throwing a surprise baby shower for our manager, whose wife was pregnant with their first child. Luckily, I got the call to come get Mike that morning, and got to skip out on the shower. I had to bring my baby home from the hospital.
The short summary of the past few months is that Mike had his transplant and did very well. He's home recovering and, although he still has a long way to go to get things totally back to "normal" (whatever that is), things are looking up.
Now, backing up, it was wonderful to get to enjoy the holidays together, but Christmas still ended up being a holiday with a loved one in the hospital. My grandpa took a spill and broke his hip a week before Christmas, so it was a very different and whirlwind holiday this year.
Mike caught the awful stomach bug going around during the holidays, so his admission to the hospital was delayed by a week. He finally went in January 8 and thus it began. The chemo started that same night, and for the next few days things were business as usual. The following Tuesday is when it started to hit him, but he still came through like a champ. He was given the donor stem cells on Friday, Jan. 16, and while he had no real reaction to the stem cells, the chemo, meds and everything else started hitting him at that point. Those next few days were terrible. He was drugged up and mostly out of it, but when he was awake he had terrible headaches, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea and an all-around miserable feeling. At one point he was vomiting so much (and he had nothing in his stomach to throw up) that he told me he felt like he was going to hemorrhage. I was in a panic. Another time during those few days he told me it would be better to "go to glory" than to endure this. I barely ate during that time, and I only left his room to use the bathroom or to leave for the night. Luckily I had gotten a hotel room down the street for several nights, so I didn't have to make the 45-minute drive home every evening.
Around the early to mid part of the following week, Mike was starting to become more alert, and was trying to use the pain meds a little less, but it was still at least another week before he really started to seem more like himself.
Once his physical state started to improve, the mental toll of being locked up in a room started to show. He wanted to get out of there so badly and didn't know how he was going to stay sane. But soon the light at the end of the tunnel started to shine.
The hospital stay for a matched-unrelated-donor (MUD) transplant is typically four to six weeks, and they told him he should plan on about five weeks. Mike was released four weeks and one day after his admission. He was the poster boy for transplants.
The day Mike was released, my co-workers were throwing a surprise baby shower for our manager, whose wife was pregnant with their first child. Luckily, I got the call to come get Mike that morning, and got to skip out on the shower. I had to bring my baby home from the hospital.
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