Grieving Little Pieces

      

For the girl who plans everything and is rarely deterred...a roadblock such as this has taken some getting used to. It's something that I am somewhat ashamed of, but I'm working on that just as fast as I can. Which is really, very, very slow. We haven't quite grieved the whole situation, but little pieces as they surface. For instance, watching a movie where a wife surprises her husband with the fact that she is pregnant. It will probably never be a surprise for us… hearing from a friend who unexpectedly got pregnant for the fourth time. We will more than likely not ever have an unexpected pregnancy and certainly not a fourth. We have a little collection of "in-faith" gifts: hand-sewn leather infant moccasins from dear neighbors who are Native American, a tiny blue bathrobe with a turtle on it with matching turtle slippers that I bought as soon as we got married, a stuffed Pooh bear we bought last fall after hearing a testimony from my Nonna about faith. The few items are kept in a drawer that we don't open anymore. After 2 years of trying, one miscarriage, and months of medications, we have been told that having children "naturally" can not happen because my body doesn't make the right amount of hormones to sustain a pregnancy. Even with high doses of synthetic hormones, my levels were dangerously low and if pregnant, I would have a 10-20% success rate. The odds are definitely not in our favor. When we were referred for IVF (invitro fertilization), I almost fell off the doctor's table. I had never considered something so radical. I thought a baby would come if I took the right combination of pills…and waited. Patiently. Without stress. Calmly.

Now, we’ve referred to clinics all over the state. What a task…researching fertility clinics in the evenings, making calls on our plan hours, taking notes, comparing costs. Insurance doesn’t cover infertility or anything associated with it (they will, however, pay for Viagra and birth control). One clinic in Overland Park costs $800 just to walk in the door. The success rate is less than 60%. It might not work, there’s no guarantee it will work. My shoulders sank more every day. My futile planning and wasted months “just waiting for it to happen” literally mocked me as I started drowning in information and terminology and conversations with strangers about my ineffective reproductive system…so I took the typical Mare position and started organizing. I have a binder (it is pink), every clinic has a file, everything is color coded, there are pockets and print outs and notes from phone calls made. I’ve always had a knack for making a disaster look neat. Just ask my previous math teachers. The answers may have been wrong, but they looked good. My step-mom found an article about a clinic in St. Louis that operates the same technology and procedures as other clinics but for ½ the cost. We have a consultation there on March 15. I am hesitant to be excited. I am drawn to go without any hope, which feels so foreign to me and is not natural for my personality. I always am hoping for the best; but am genuinely afraid to do so this time.

What am I afraid of? I am afraid that people will judge us, thinking if God wanted us to have kids, he would have given them to us. I’m afraid that if we are blessed with children,  assisted by  technology and petri dishes that they won’t be seen as “real” or “natural”.  I’m afraid some people will look at this situation and somehow conclude that Curt and I deserve this disability. I fear that it won’t work. I fear that it will work. I am afraid of disappointing my family. It’s so nice pretending to be perfect…the world is about to know that I’m not. My life isn’t. My body isn’t (and by body I’m not suggesting I ever thought I was beautifully- perfect,  I’m referring to the fact that my system is broken; thus imperfect)  I fear the twinge of jealousy that takes away from the focus of being happy for other people’s good fortune and blessings will only grow and embitter what I think is a pretty kind and compassionate heart.

Emily Dahmer is a girl that I taught with at Ray-Pec. On one of our many snow days, while playing on facebook, I noticed that she had a blog. Reading further, I learned that Emily and her husband were on the same strange path that Curt and I were on. The Dahmers are a few giant steps ahead of us and have already tried IVF. Reconnecting with her has been the clichéd ray of sunshine in a dark room where I was bumbling around running into huge pieces of furniture, smashing my shins and running out of battery life on a very small flash light. I was afraid to tell anyone I couldn’t have a baby. She is teaching me that it’s all right to talk about. I need to learn that I didn’t do anything wrong, and I believe the heart of Emily knows that about herself.  I wish I could hug her every day.

Curt and I became a family when we married. We desire to come to a place where our souls accept that this little family might always be very little. We are already parents, in ways that most people aren’t. Between the two of us, we have 360 kids. Each and every day we pour some of our love out onto them, whether they want it or not. Who knows how many kids we will “have” by the end of our lives?

“What can we do? What do you need? How can we help?” Pray for us, and do not invite us to baby showers. We’ll send the present. No one wants to sit next to the weeping, un-pregnant girl pouting in the corner, anyway. I really should tattoo 1Thessalonians 5:16-18 to my wrist (Curt says no) “Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, in everything give thanks for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.”

Until then...! Bear with me as I refuse to bottle things up...