Gifts galore and more

Hey, this girl actually looks quite a bit like me... kinda strange to find your doppelganger in clip art!! She has a better fashion sense than I do, though...

Well, the long awaited birthday is quite nearly upon us. I've taken the day off work, because I thought I should enjoy the last day of my thirties by not working!!! Although work was kind of fun yesterday... birthday weeks for me sometimes get a bit slacky. Lots of birthday lunches and cards and fun. One of the people I supervise brought me a chocolate croissant, which is one of my very favorite things, so that was a wonderful surprise. Then my friend K took me out for a lunch, which ended up going 2.5 hours!!!! YIKES!!!! That's a long work lunch, but that's ok for once in a while, right? :-O Anyhow, I love talking with my friend K. She's one of those people I don't get to lunch with often enough, but when we do, we just can't stop talking. We talk about such serious things sometimes, but just are cracking up laughing most of the time, anyhow! Then last night some other co-workers treated me to dinner, and that was really nice. I got a bunch of cards - all of which referenced the good ole, "forty is the new thirty..." or "forty is the new twenty..." By my calculations, that means that forty is the new fifty, right? Yikes!!! Hmm, then again, I never was great at math.

Also, tonight my dearest friend, L, is coming over for the weekend. She lives about four plus hours away, so we don't get to see each other enough! I'm really happy she's coming!! So she'll be here to help us ring in my 40th, which, dumb as it sounds, I just realized will be actually my fifth decade of life!!! Seriously, I only just realized that... I was commenting to someone recently about being about to enter my fourth decade... I mean, I'm going to be forty, right? That's four decades! But as I was speaking, I started to scratch my head a bit, and do a little math... "ok, 10 plus thirty, carry the one.... OH, I've actually already lived four full decades, haven't I? Hmmm. That means I'm entering decade five.... YIKES-a-ROONI!!!!" Yeah, well, I told you I never was very good at math... Good thing they have me in charge of a $5 million budget at work, huh? Ha!

Oh well, so it turns out I've already survived four decades of life. Good job, me!! For such a monumental occasion, I'd like to write about the four best gifts given to me, thus far.


1) My family - this might not be the traditional tribute to one's family, as my family was hardly traditional. We were as dysfunctional as they come!!! Alcoholism reigned over our family; it caused so much grief, and major communication problems that we still struggle with today - to a lesser extent, though. It took Dad away, way too soon, and we miss him. He was a good man, with a lot of demons to fight. But you know, this home, this family - they were a major force for better and worse, during my first two decades. Much of who I am was shaped there. For much of my first two and a half decades, I blamed them for a lot. I had anger about a lot of things. (Believe it or not, back then, I thought I NEVER wanted to have kids because what if I were like my parents? I would rather not have had children, if I couldn't be a good mom... gee, I kinda miss those days of not wanting kids!! Oh well!) But here's the thing... I was loved. I was always loved - and I never doubted that! Yes, there are some trust issues that I have to deal with, and honestly, some of my deep anxieties do clearly stem from that time - and the feelings of fear and lack of security and stability in our home. It was a very, very stormy time! But I see these things clearly, as an adult - I was loved. I was cared for. And I was taught about Jesus and about faith. And about hard work and commitment - even when the going is very rough. I also love my hair color - that comes from dad! So, what can I say, no one is perfect. Things were quite stormy. But I know that my parents did the very best they could with what they were given. They gave all three of us a better life than what they had. We are all happy, relatively successful people in good relationships. So, in the final analysis - my parents did ok. Life is hard and messy and they did the best they could. What more can I really ask for? I'm thankful for them.

2) My time at camp. It is a Christian camp in rural Wisconsin. Much of my second and third decade were spent there. Starting in Jr. High, I started working there weekends and summers. I did that through High School and part of college. Then in between my sophomore and junior years in college, I was held up at gunpoint in Milwaukee. Everything worked out ok, but it made me realize even more, that life is short - try to make the most of it. I was miserable in college and all I wanted was to be back at camp. So I talked camp into creating a full-time position for me. I worked there full-time for five years, as the food service director (i.e., chief cook and bottle washer). It was amazing!!! All my years there were amazing! At some point though, I realized, it was time to move on. I went back to finish a college degree. It was the right decision, but I miss camp every day. I have the best friendships from there. My friend L, who is coming tonight is from there. We met in 1986 and have been together ever since. Camp is the most special place in the world. During so much of the storms that raged in my home, I had camp. The Lord provided, through camp, the safety and security that I so sorely lacked at home. There was the Christian growth I needed. The people who walked the talk.... The encouragement. There was the feeling of accomplishment for my work there as the cook. There were the connections with so many people. The laughs - oh, the laughs!!! The stupidest things, we laughed about. The "Target Runs," which was the big special occasion of "going out." We'd all get dressed up and do our hair and makeup just to go into town and go to the Target store and then maybe for some ice cream. We'd ride there on this big blue bus, singing and being crazy. There was the most special camaraderie on earth!! Silly and wonderful! There was the mission: To know Christ and to make him known. There was the constant discovery of all the many and varied uses for duct tape.... I could write volumes about camp and how special it is. Maybe some day I will, but for now, suffice it to say that it was the best time. There isn't a day that passes now that I don't wish I could bend space and time to combine the best of then with the best of now. I'm thankful for what I had there, and what I carry with me from there.

3) My friends. I am just so grateful for the friends that God has blessed me with. Again, what I may have lacked in stability at home, was given to me in friendships. Those rare and beautiful - true - friendships. I have plenty of more surface friendships as well, and they have their place and they are enjoyable. But it's those rare ones I'm thinking of now. Those friends who have seen you through so very many chapters of your life.... who know you. Who know how stupid and silly you can be, how scared, how ornery and unreasonable - and love you all the same. Some of my very closest friends have been my friends since the early and mid 1980s (since the days of really big hair and blue eye-shadow) and others since the mid and late 90s. These are the people who saw me through those family troubles, through dad dying.... I'll never forget that L found out about my dad's death before I did (because I was out shopping - this was well before cell phones being the norm) - and found a way to scrape together change from her dorm mates in college, to take the bus to my college an hour away... she was there right after I found out. She stayed with me until my brother came and picked me up. These friends have been there for me in so many countless ways over the years.... spanning three of my four decades and counting. I'm thankful for these dear people, who for some strange reason really, really like me - even still.

4) Last, but not least, my Ar. He represents my fourth decade of life, and counting. My thirties were the decade of Ar. And overall, it's been a wonderful decade. He is everything I said above about my friends, but even more so. No one has seen me as vulnerable as he has. No one on earth loves me more fiercely and passionately than he does. I can hardly believe it, most of the time. Particularly in light of the infertility issues, he has seen me at my very worst - my panic attacks, my grief... and he loves me through it all. There is no doubt in my mind that he loves me and will be with me, for as long as he has a say in the matter. By the time I had met him, at 29, I had started to think I might not ever get married. And after much soul-searching and prayer and study, I'd come to feel that that was ok. I didn't need to be married, I'd be ok. But then came Ar. He wasn't at all who I would have expected, had I expected anyone. We have the funniest differences and the weirdest similarities. Somehow we balance each other out just right. On paper none of it would have seemed right. No dating site would have matched us up, that's for sure... yet we are just right for each other. He is indeed the butter to my bread. I adore him. I'm so incredibly thankful for him. (And I so want to have his kids all the more because of all this. If I don't, at least we'll still always be us. And that is pretty incredible, in its own right!)

So there you have it, what I consider my four greatest, of many other, gifts on this earth. Though I did not specify, in this setting, such overarching gifts as God's love and salvation, and the strength that he gives me to face each and every tomorrow, please know that I consider these the mother of all gifts!! There is not a single gift above that I don't, with heartfelt praise, thank my Heavenly Father for, because:

Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change. (James 1:17)

If I stand

Well, in exactly two weeks - fourteen little days - I will be forty years old. There is no turning back and no slowing things down. But on the bright side, in the last week, I've been given some incredibly helpful advice..... I've been told to not worry about forty, that "forty is the new thirty," that the forties are the best years, and that it's really not a big deal. Gee, if only I'd known that forty was the new thirty, I wouldn't have been upset at all. Silly me. Yeah, thanks for the empathy, my well-meaning, but unseeing, fertile friends! Yes, every one of them has kids already.

Thing is, I listen with concern as they talk about their motherhood and pregnancy difficulties... I don't understand why they can't try, for even half a second, to understand why I'm so freaked out about this. Oh well. In the meantime, the party planning is proceeding... I will turn forty and we will celebrate. IF is trying its darnedest to rob me of my joy of birthdays, but it won't take me down without a fight. Sigh.

Also in the last week, I've found out about three more pregnancies and two more births. Another will likely give birth any day now. I've literally lost count of all the pregnancies and newborns in my life right now. It's like a regular baby boom, these days - I can't keep track anymore. And good for them!! It's lonely here, but I would not want anyone else to go through this. I'm so grateful for the cyber company I've found in this journey, for the support and prayers - and for knowing that though this is lonely, I'm not alone in these crazy ups and downs. Still, I sure wish we could have all met up under better circumstances!! I do pray that better circumstances are around the corner for all of us!

In the meantime, what's a girl to do?

We're always walking such a fine line, aren't we? That line between hope and despair, trying to keep it all in balance... it takes so little to knock us one way or the other. In my experience, too much hope (who knew before IF that there could be such a thing as too much hope?) is a set-up for certain emotional disaster. But too much despair leads to the same place. So we try to carefully traverse that fine line - never daring to hope too much, but never wanting to give in to despair.

So, what is a girl to do, anyhow?

Besides feel a bit crazy, that is....

I wish this forty thing wasn't doing its best to throw me so far over that despair line? I mean, what is my problem? I love everyone's birthdays!! Hey - we were born! We're still alive - that's super awesome!!! Right!?! So what then - do I now think my reproductive parts know it's almost my big four-oh-no? Maybe there's some actual alarm that will actually go off in my nether regions that will signal them to work even less than they already do? I don't know - guess I'll find out in fourteen days. I'm sure I'll let you all know! Who knows - maybe it'll be so loud that you'll hear it for yourselves... So, I guess if you hear some glass-shatteringly loud screeching sounds on Saturday, July 9, you'll know to just turn towards Minnesota and give a little salute for a fellow comrade.

So then.... what is a nearly forty year old girl to do? Most of the time I just don't know. I guess most of the time, I figure it's best to just keep on swimming.

But as I swim, I'll continue to try to cling to what I know.... that for the past thirty-nine years and fifty weeks, God has been good to me. He has been faithful. I trust He will not stop being good or faithful to me after forty. I don't know the expiration date of my potential fertility, but I do know that there is no expiration on God's love. I do trust in this. So if I stand, I will stand on the promise that He will pull me through.


But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. “The Lord is my portion,” says my soul, “therefore I will hope in him.” The Lord is good to those who wait for him, to the soul who seeks him. (Lamentations 3: 21-25)

4-Oh my

I've been debating amongst myself about whether or not I should celebrate my big 4-O, which is just a couple months away. I've always loved birthdays, but this is a tough one. I never thought it would be tough, I mean, having an issue with turning 40 is so... so... trite. After all, isn't 40 the new black and all that? Yet here I am... almost 40 and the sound of pitter-pattering little feet is nowhere to be found - and I am freaked out!!

I read this past week that the chances of conceiving naturally after 40 go down to five percent. Five percent. 5%!!!! I don't pretend to be a great mathematician, but that doesn't sound real promising.... After all, I didn't conceive naturally when I was 35, nor with the use of acupuncture, herbs, Clomid, or IUIs, since then. In a few short months, my chances apparently will fall even lower. Gee, I wonder why I have a problem with turning 40.

Also, my mom lost my dad - her husband of 22 years - when she was only 40. I knew then that 40 was very young, but now here I am. And though I'm not superstitious and though I know it's silly and irrational, that really freaks me out. I don't know exactly why. It makes no sense. But it's there, another black cloud lingering over my head.

My mom already had three kids - out of the house - by the time she turned 40. I, the youngest, was a freshman in college when dad died. It astounds me to think now that she was my age when she lost her husband. They were married 22 years, and later this year will mark 22 years since he's been gone. Unbelievable!

Oh, how I want a little Ar pitter-pattering about!! Oh, how I wish I could have known him and married him when I was younger, but it doesn't work that way. I found my prince in my 30s... and that's just the way it is.

I just so want to share that gift, which seems just beyond my reach, with him. It's all such a miracle, and I want us to be part of it. I don't know, I just want it so much that it breaks my heart to see it slipping further and further away. I want my dad and mom to live on, too. I do have a niece and a nephew, but I want to be part of that. Is that selfish? Is it selfish to want to want to see the face of my darling Ar in the child that we create together? Maybe it is - honestly, I'm not sure. But it doesn't go away. When I think of how much I love Ar and how happy I am that we found each other, all I know is that I want to have a child with him. I'll take it all... the good, the bad, and the ugly. Or am I just not equipped properly to be a good mom? That's not true, is it?

Shake it off, girl - it's not true. That's not why.... Right?

Infertility is ridiculously cruel!!

In the meantime, 40.... and all I can hear is the slow, ominous creaking of a door closing. If I'm not equipped now, when will I be?

In other news, I came to tears at the Walgreens a few days ago, upon seeing this adorable little guy in a giraffe rain coat and zebra galoshes. He was the cutest little thing!! There was just something about him that just killed me. I just stared at this little guy. Then I had to hightail it out of there, before I burst into weepy tears right there. Besides, I think the kid's mom was starting to worry I was going to steal him. I assure you, dear reader, I had no intention of stealing him. But he sure was cute! A giraffe rain coat - oh my word... with zebra galoshes! Can it get any cuter?

Oh, how I want a little Ar pitter-pattering about, wearing mismatched mammalian rain gear!!!

Infertile and nearly forty. Who would have thunk it?

Nope, I never thought I'd mind about turning 40, but now I find myself wanting to hide under the covers with a nice bottle of Cab, instead of celebrating the life I've lived thus far... with all the goodness that really is in it. But I won't.

I have made a decision to embrace it as best as possible. After all, hiding won't change anything. I'll still be 40. I'll still be infertile (most likely, anyhow... that pesky hope still hovers around.) And I'll still have only a five percent chance of conceiving.

I'll also still have an amazing hubby, who I just adore. A hubby, who, amazingly, seems to adore me... infertile, fat, forty - me. I'll also still have a wonderful group of friends and a wacky, dysfunctional, but loving in their own way, family. I'll still have a sense of humor. I'll still be somewhat quirky. I'll still love to bake bread and other delicious treats. I'll still care very much about people. I'll still think Juke Box Hero is the greatest song, like --- ever!!! I'll still believe. I'll still have my Lord, who loves me more than I can even fathom.

Also, I'll still have (a little) time to pursue further treatment. I'd have to lose more of this anxiety weight first, though - and be in a better frame of mind. It was the right decision to take a break when we did. I realize now that anxiety really has plagued me longer than I thought. It didn't start with the panic attacks, they were merely an extremely unpleasant escalation of the problem. The panic attacks are what prompted me to get help, but the anxiety was there already, big time - probably since I was a tike, myself. Ah, but that's a story for another day.

At any rate, if I can lose weight and if we choose to try the next treatment steps, I believe I'll be in a bit better frame of mind for it. I don't know if that matters or not for my chances of success, but it matters for my overall well-being. But first things first. I have a 40th birthday to start planning.

Psalm 31: 14-16: But I trust in you, O Lord; I say, “You are my God.” My times are in your hand; rescue me from the hand of my enemies and from my persecutors! Make your face shine on your servant; save me in your steadfast love!

The Old Rugged Cross

On a hill far away, stood an old rugged Cross
The emblem of suff'ring and shame
And I love that old Cross where the dearest and best
For a world of lost sinners was slain


So I'll cherish the old rugged Cross
Till my trophies at last I lay down
I will cling to the old rugged Cross
And exchange it some day for a crown


Oh, that old rugged Cross so despised by the world
Has a wondrous attraction for me
For the dear Lamb of God, left his Glory above
To bear it to dark Calvary


So I'll cherish the old rugged Cross
Till my trophies at last I lay down
I will cling to the old rugged Cross
And exchange it some day for a crown


In the old rugged Cross, stain'd with blood so divine
A wondrous beauty I see
For the dear Lamb of God, left his Glory above
To pardon and sanctify me


So I'll cherish the old rugged Cross
Till my trophies at last I lay down
I will cling to the old rugged Cross
And exchange it some day for a crown


To the old rugged Cross, I will ever be true
Its shame and reproach gladly bear
Then He'll call me some day to my home far away
Where his glory forever I'll share


So I'll cherish the old rugged Cross
Till my trophies at last I lay down
I will cling to the old rugged Cross
And exchange it some day for a crown...


Thank you so much, dear Jesus! Life seems so challenging to me, these days, but please - please help me to never lose sight of what it's really all about....

For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him. John 3:16 & 17

The days of snow and mothers

This I believe with all my heart: Spring should spring - not snow! It's mid-April and we woke up to snow covered ground... it was almost too much to bear. I certainly couldn't bare my toes, which is far and away one of my most favorite things to do.

Incidentally, I bared my toes four days in a row, this past week. It was a rather summery spring, for part of the week, anyhow. Then back to winter. This past one has been a very long winter. I really need for it to move on. But each time I feel the hope and warmth of spring again, winter laughs icily in my face.

I've never in my life been so obsessed with Spring, as I am this year. I've always loved it, of course, but this year... everything in me aches for it!! Aches for it?? Sheesh, a little melodramatic, wouldn't you say? Maybe, but it's as true as the fact that toes were never meant to be cooped up in socks and shoes! I need Spring to spring and stay sprung!!! Is that too much to ask? I need it as much as I need air!! Ok, maybe I need air a wee bit more... but you get the (snow) drift.

I need to know that at some point, the snow will stop. The cold will stop. The ice will stop. Every time I believe it's over, it just ain't...

But it will come to an end! I do believe that it can't last forever. I say this because it never has lasted forever before - at least not in my 39 Winters.

Even knowing that Spring and Summer will also be temporary doesn't make me want for them any less.

Don't worry, I'm not going to bore you with season analogies relating to my journey with IF and anxiety. Nor will I break out into a rousing rendition of "The Circle of Life...." Ok, it's too late for that, but at least you can't actually hear me singing it...

Anyhow, I wandered around a bit today, running a few Saturday type errands. Ar and I are going to Honduras next month (no snow there!!!), so I was also doing a little shopping for that.

Of course, the one down side to Spring - at least for an IFer - are the constant reminders of Mother's Day. Every store I went to, every commercial I heard... all reminded me that the both wonderful and heart-wrenching holiday is close at hand.

Don't mistake me, I love my mom of course! I think mom's deserve a day. I think they deserve more than one. But for anyone who is walking a mile in my toe-covered shoes, it's an incredibly difficult day. So much so that I don't even want to look through the card aisle, to find one for my own mother. (But I will.)

It's not just all the cards and brunches and flowers that get to me.... it's not just all the jewelry commercials, and it's not just that the pastor always calls all the moms to stand up, gives them flowers, and sings their praises... while I sit in the back, face down, hair falling around my face, trying my best to keep the raw clanging of my emptiness to a dull roar. Yes, it's those things, but it's not just those things. It's that every single Mother's Day, I think... "next year....."

Next year by Mother's Day, that'll be me! I'll be a mom next year!!! Next year! Next year. Next year? Next year.... I'm not even sure I believe it anymore, but that hope comes and goes, like the snow in Spring. (Sorry, did I just bore you with an analogy, after all? My apologies!)

Will it be me? Will it ever be me? I don't know. Unlike Spring, it's not inevitable that I'll be a mom. So that begs the question, how many more childless Mother's Days can I endure?

Well, I suppose the answer is simply, as many as I must. I'm resilient(ish), right? Well, I used to think so. I know one thing from this journey, I am not as strong as I thought I was. Still, this won't kill me, right. Right? But was Nietzsche right, that "That which does not kill us makes us stronger...?"

Well, I don't know about that, but I do firmly believe that the Lord will sustain me and that He who began a good work in me will carry it on to completion, so I will stand on the promise that He will pull me through even this. But you know, honestly, as firm as my faith in that is, it doesn't make it easier... (I don't think it's meant to.) I have to go straight through the hurt anyhow. There do not seem to be any shortcuts through it. I know this, because I've tried. It's dark, cold, and dense, and it's downright terrifying. And though Spring is inevitable - even in the midst of this dreadful season - it's so easy to lose perspective, if not careful. For whatever reason, though, it's for me to go through. (Note to self: remember, you're not in it alone!) (Oh, and ooops - sorry, I guess another little analogy made its way in there.)

In related news, tomorrow is Day 28. AF usually comes on 28 or 29. I have absolutely no hope this month, even though all signs were go on ovulation and such - and even though there's absolutely no reason why I shouldn't be pregnant. But I know I'm not. My, how pessimistic that sounds... Normally I'm full of anticipation and wild belief, followed closely by, what seems their constant - and unwanted - travel companion, despair. I guess I just don't have the energy for it this month. I don't have the energy for the fall (that one was NOT an analogy.) I just don't. And I really don't want to have to put on socks and shoes tomorrow.

Oh, please, dear Lord... please, maybe by next Mother's Day??

Oh, and one other request...

...Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me.... Restore to me the joy of your salvation, and uphold me with a willing spirit. (Psalm 51:10-12)

The bravest person I know

"It is very hard to be brave," said Piglet, sniffing slightly, "when you're only a Very Small Animal."

I tried another therapist to help me with my new found anxiety and frequent panic attacks. This was not an easy thing to do, especially after my first ill-fated attempt at therapy. Thankfully, my new person is very good, I think. I definitely felt very comfortable with her - and strangely enough, I know almost nothing about her, including the fact that I have no idea how many children she "gave birth to." She really listened. Seems a good quality in a therapist, but my first one was rather deficient in that area.

After going through everything and her asking me a lot of questions, she really believes she can help me and that there are some various techniques I can try. But she strongly believes I should take medication, as well, to help with these anxiety issues. My primary medical doctor wants me to take them, too - I already have the prescriptions from her. But I just don't want to.

Shouldn't I be able to get through this on my own? Shouldn't my faith be such that I don't need medication to help me through? Does this make me a bad Christian? Am I not casting all my anxiety on Him? Or does this mean I'm giving up? Does this mean I can't hack it in this crazy, beautiful, terrifying world?

I have never - ever - felt ANY of those things about any of my friends who needed this kind of help - Christian or otherwise. So why should I feel differently about it for myself?

I told her - and she thought this was "beautiful," (her words) - that I always joke that I'm the bravest person I know because I've always been afraid of so many things, but I always do them anyhow. I've never let (unreasonable) fear stop me from doing something, such as flying. Lately, with these panic attacks happening so often, I've been sorely tempted to let it all stop me... I haven't yet, but it really scares me how close I am to doing just that. How many more panic attacks can I handle before I just give up and stay home?

But I still do not want to take them.

I take other medications, for my PCOS. I took Clomid, I did IUI... I may eventually do IVF. I take prenatal vitamins. I drank raw herbs (aka sludge) from the acupuncture doctor, for Pete's sake... My work is all about the miracles of modern medicine, even... So why is this different to me?

She says it's not an issue of faith. It's not a personal failing. It's a brain chemistry issue. Thing is, I believe that. I do. I just wish it felt like it was a brain chemistry issue. To me, it does feel like just another failing. I can't get pregnant, I can't keep from gaining weight, and now I can't even handle life without flying into nutty panic attacks?? What next? I can't cook dinner anymore? I can't tie my shoes? (Wait, I always wear slip on shoes... sigh.)

So, she talked about how hormones influence brain chemistry, and how all the issues I've had over the last years, between infertility and PCOS - both of which are obviously very hormonal – plus, the major stress (cortisol hormone) of some very difficult financial issues we faced over the previous few years, have likely affected my brain's ability to make serotonin. While I would love to fix myself with faith, bravery, and trying to change my behavior, she says that the problem is that my brain chemistry is likely just off balance... I could take the meds to get that back in balance, and then it should help my brain produce its own serotonin again. In the meantime, we'll work on better coping strategies. She thinks I should only need the meds for maybe 6 months to a year. Not forever. I suppose, theoretically, this all means I can maybe be more back to normal, whatever that means for me...

Anyhow, it does makes sense. I get it. I just don’t like it. She said that for me (the bravest person I know), the brave thing to do now is take the medicine - get the help I need, even though it scares me and I don't want to do it. I think she's playing me now... using my own words against me. That's only a fair maneuver when I do it! But I do think she's probably right.

Ar and I talked it through last night, over some delicious Mexican dinner. Soooo. I guess I'll just start taking the meds tonight. I hope they help. I hope they don't make me crazier. I hope that I don't need them forever. I hope this doesn't make me more of a failure...

I hope, I do hope. Infertility, anxiety, and panic have not taken those away. They also haven't made Ar look at me any differently, he loves me all the same. I am certain that they also do not make God love me any less. For these I am so thankful.

“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”
(2 Corinthians 12:9)

That three-letter word

Yesterday  was a fine day; I was productive and felt mostly happy.  Today was rather the opposite; I'm not sure why.  I was supposed to see my friend, who has four children.  Four.  And frankly, I was a bit nervous about it.  I hadn't seen her since she told me she was pregnant with number four.  On a side note, why people feel the need to tell me in person is beyond me...  They probably think it's the proper way to do it, but it's so not.  Please write me an email.  Send a carrier pigeon, hire a skywriter - I don't care, but don't put me through the incredible conflicting emotions I have about all this in person, especially not in public.  Let me just write back to you the words I know are right and good, but still feel the way I feel.  Don't make me put on that smile and say those right and good words with my mouth, all while still trying to choke down my lunch without bursting into weepy tears.  And above all, please don't yourself break into weepy tears about how guilty you feel for getting pregnant numerous times, when I can't even get pregnant once...

When this same friend told me about number three, it was at our favorite restaurant and she started sobbing inconsolably...  how unfair it was that it was her and not me and so on... and how she feels so guilty.  I appreciate that she cares, I do.  But it was a nightmare for me.   Sure, make infertile girl sit there and comfort you about you being pregnant with number three.  It was absurd.  Now, I'm sure that anyone who's had children feels more for her, than me.  You'll say, "oh, that poor thing - what with all the pregnancy hormones and what not."  I know, because I've heard it.

But really, if you're reading this and feel that way, just put yourself in my stirrups, for just a moment...  At the time, I was 37 years old, going through more invasive testing, following more than two years of heartbreaking infertility - that's:

• 24 failed monthly cycles, 
• coincidentally, 24 binges on chocolate cake and ice cream,
• 730 basal body temperature readings,
• 168 ovulation predictor sticks,
• at least 24 big fat negative pregnancy tests - more on hopeful months,
• countless tears shed, and
• was just starting twice weekly acupuncture appointments.

Plus there had been a major set-back in my treatment plan. And I was just starting Clomid.   And there was no child to show for all this.  No product of our marital bliss, no pay-off for determination and perseverance.  Nothing.  And I was handling it all relatively ok, but to sit there and comfort her about this, was almost too much to bear.  But I did it.  And she wasn't just sniffling and moving on - no, she was weeping.  Weeping!  Inconsolably.  And I was stoically comforting her.                  

Did she have any idea how often I weep inconsolably?   Did she have any idea how incredibly sad it makes my dear hubby to have me so incredibly sad, and not be able to "fix it," not be able to comfort me?  Not be able to give me this one thing that I want so much? Shouldn't this comforting  have been the other way around?  Did she care how much I actually hurt, or just how guilty she felt?

It's not that I'm not happy for people with children.  I truly would not want her or anyone else to have to deal with this constant pain of infertility, this particular brand of emptiness.   But it always begs that little three-letter word...

Why?

Why them and not me?  Why can't we each have this?  I'm a win-win kinda gal, why can't we each have two?  Why not me?   Am I so awful?  Did I do something so wrong?   

Why, why, why, why, why!?!?!?  

So why try to get together with this friend?  Because she's my friend.  I've never been someone who gives up on friendships, so I won't let infertility make me a person who avoid friends, just because it hurts so much to be reminded of my own constant failure.

And why am I constantly failing, anyhow?  I don't know. What I have is "unexplained infertility," as they say.  And so I really don't know why.

Maybe I'm too fat.  And maybe I shouldn't have eaten that brownie, just because I had made a whole pan for my friend that had no place to go, because she had to cancel our get-together.  But at least I didn't eat the whole pan.  I only had one.  Big one.  But I shouldn't have.  What if it makes me more infertile?

It's so hard to get past looking for the reason why and scrutinizing my every action and thought. 

And maybe there just is no why.  Maybe not everything happens for a reason.   And would it hurt any less, even if it could be explained. 

Anyhow, my friend had to cancel at the last minute because of an ear infection with one of her four kids, and I understand - I do.  And she's now dealing with a new health issue, herself, and is having a rough time.  Her children are a huge comfort to her.  I'm so happy that she has them to be a comfort to her.   

But I wanted to see my friend, even knowing it would hurt me.  And it also hurt to not see my friend.  Because everything hurts.  Why can't I have kids to completely inconvenience me and take precedence over my plans?   Isn't there deep meaning in that inconvenience? 

So there I was, darling hubby out of town on business, my plans for my Sunday gone, and the pan of brownies I'd baked for her and her family still lingering...  And that new, familiar feeling struck once again.   That loneliness.  Those feelings of anxiety.  The feeling of being just a bit completely out of control.  That why.

Why do little people, who were never there, create such a hole? 

So, after my friend canceled, I checked Facebook... a nice diversion, right?  They should just call it Fertilebook.  Another pregnancy announcement and two more sonogram pictures of other very fertile  friends.  And I'm happy for them.  I am.  I think.  But why does it also make me so sad?   Why is it so hard to be at work, when 10% of my department is pregnant?  Why can't I just be 100% happy for my friends?  Am I the world's most awful person?  I think it's possible that I am. 

Do I think there are a limited number of children in the world and they took mine?

Is it the old green-eyed monster?

Is it that I hear the creaking of a door closing?

So all this to say, it ended up being a very rough day. 

There are a lot of whys in this world.  I certainly don't hold the exclusive rights to the word.  Or to these feelings of emptiness.  But I need to learn how to keep going.  How to hope, without letting the constant monthly let-down slowly gnaw away at my entire soul and being.   How to stop asking why all the time, looking for a place to lay blame.  How to accept whatever the outcome may be.  How to say in faith, without knowing the outcome, "It is well, it is well... with my soul."

I was recently reading again about how God promised Abraham that he would be a father by his wife Sarah.  And how Sarah laughed, because she was so advanced in years.  Much more advanced that I am - at least there's that... And I think, "I wouldn't laugh, Lord... I wouldn't disbelieve, just give me that promise."  I wouldn't laugh.  If I had a promise from God, I would believe it.  I would.  So, why not me?  Why don't I get a promise?

But the truth is, I do.  I do have a promise from God.  Lots of them, actually.  Sure, maybe not a direct promise that I will be blessed with children, but I do have promises-a-plenty.  Do I truly believe them?  Maybe I'm not laughing, but maybe I'm not truly believing them, either.  Aren't the promises He's already given me good enough for me?  Is He truly my ever present help in times of trouble, or only in times of trouble that don't include my infertility?

I spent nearly four weeks in Siberia, eleven years ago.  I remember sitting on a cement wall by the Angara River.  Our Russian friends would tell us to not sit on the wall because they (truly) believed that sitting on cement would cause infertility.  We laughed.  Hmm, I wonder if that's the reason why....

Luke 6:21: Blessed are you who hunger now, for you will be satisfied.  Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh.