What to Expect when You're Not Expecting
I really need to find a more uplifting desk calendar.
It's been a few days since my last post, and that's because I haven't been feeling too hot. Just when you think you're past the negativity and in a good place, it seems to come screaming back when you least expect it.
Friday July 31 was our Day 10 ultrasound, and Phil came with me for the procedure at the crack of dawn. This was my second internal ultrasound, so I felt like an old pro. We counted follicles (potential eggs), measured uterine lining, and all that fun exciting stuff. The results indicated that there were two really great follicles about to release eggs (measuring 19.5mm and 19mm--thank you baby pills!) and two smaller follicles that might release eggs but probably wouldn't (both around 10mm). At the time of the ultrasound, I was elated (yay! Quadruplets!) but now, almost a week later, my grumpy cat side has completely taken over. I am so serious when I say that if this works, I will be the most surprised I've ever been in my life. That's how little I'm expecting.
Later that day I got my orders from Dr. Armisen that everything looked good and to go ahead and trigger. So then this happened:
48 hours later, Phil and I were back at the clinic for the IUI. Phil had to go in an hour before me to do his part, because the lab needs time to "wash" the sample (a process that removes the dead or deformed swimmers and leaves only the healthiest boys in a very concentrated environment). I dropped Chel off at church with my family, and decided to stop at the Starbucks to grab a couple breakfast sandwiches for me and Phil, since we hadn't had any time to eat that morning. I waited in the longest line ever only to have them tell me that the oven was broken and that there would be no breakfast sandwiches, and that, my friends, is what sparked the beginning of a bad mood that's lasted almost an entire week.
I left Starbucks in a huff and when I got to my car, I randomly thought about one of my amazing cousins whom I hadn't seen in a while, and I shot her a quick text to ask her to pray for us. Months ago, she'd made me promise that she would be one of the first people that I told when I got exciting news, and I wanted her to know that I was planning to keep my promise, and that my silence was only because there has been a complete lack of exciting news. She texted me back instantly and was so sweet and supportive that I immediately burst into tears. I completely and utterly lost it in the Starbucks parking lot. (I hope the baristas couldn't see me because mine was not a rational reaction to "sorry, we can't make you a breakfast sandwich.")
There were a lot of reasons why I broke down, besides my lack of sandwiches. The HCG shot makes you feel pregnant, and the baby pills can make you emotional as well. I was about to superovulate possibly more than two eggs. I was nervous for the IUI. I saw a construction truck that said D&C on the side driving out of the parking lot (serious shivers all the way down my spine.) Could there have been a more perfectly timed bad omen? No. No, there could not.
But the real reason I was crying was because I was thinking about my sweet cousin, and hanging onto her at that moment for comfort. I wanted her to know what I was going through because she is going through something terrible in her own way. I was thinking about me and her and us, and I was really, really sad for both of us in both of our different situations. I'm not the kind of person who asks God why, because God's reasons are His reasons, and who am I to question Him? Also, I don't think God inflicts pain on his children. It's not His fault that the world is broken. Instead, I'm the kind of person who accepts bad news like a new winter coat. I wrap myself up in it and disappear. From the moment I put it on, everything I do is burdened by it, and it's with me everywhere I go.
Phil's numbers were extraordinary (again) that morning. His washed sample had 44 million healthy boys, while the average guy has between 10-20 post wash. We prayed together during the procedure, which was only a little uncomfortable. My temperatures the next day showed that I had ovulated at the exact perfect time. Now I have the pleasure of taking Crinone progesterone supplements (don't look it up) to help with implantation, and waiting at least 12 days to test. If you test before 10 days, you might see a line due to leftover HCG in your system from the trigger shot. By combing through online forums, I discovered that some women like to "test out the trigger" by taking a pregnancy test every other day and watching the line grow lighter until it's gone. Then you know for sure that if the line comes back it's from a baby and not from something that you stabbed into your stomach.
Friends, I know I should feel good about taking our first assisted steps toward parenthood. I know I should feel hopeful. I know I should be excited for the journey. But I'm not. I'm angry and sad and I feel worse than I ever have, maybe ever in my whole life. I'm not only angry about what's happening to me, but I'm angry about what's happening to all of the women on the forums I'm reading. I'm angry about the abandoned and abused babies my nurse friends see every day at work. I'm angry about the people who are suffering miscarriages after years of infertility treatments, hundreds of shots in the stomach, painful procedures, etc, while healthy, normal babies are crushed and their organs sold to the highest bidder.
I've put that coat on and I'm completely lost in it. I'm sad and angry about what is happening to me and I'm livid about what is happening to my cousin. She is incredible and stunning and hilarious and she doesn't deserve any of it. If ever there was a time that I am tempted to ask God why, it's now.
I'm almost too depressed to end this on a positive note, but just in case I wanted to ask Him why, He sent me the answer yesterday on my news feed. Someone posted about the story from John 9, when Jesus cures a man who was born blind. The man was born blind and endured years of unimaginable torment before Jesus came along and cured him. People who knew the man his entire life and had seen him begging every day still couldn't believe that he'd been cured. They thought it was some kind of trick. The heads of the temple even had to ask his parents if he was who he said he was, or if he was an imposter!
Why was the man born blind? So that everyone in his world could witness the miracle of Jesus restoring his sight.
The next logical question is: what about all the other people who were born blind, the people Jesus didn't fix? (That's my next logical question anyway. Typical pessimist.) The answer came to me instantly: those people weren't where Jesus was. It sucks for the ancients who lived at the same time as Him but were blind in Alaska instead of in Jerusalem, but it's not that way for us today. Those of us who are "blind" today have a choice. We can remain far away in Alaska, or we can go find Jesus.
I'm trying to be where Jesus is, so that when he walks by, he can take this horrible coat off of me, and everyone in my world can witness a miracle.
As he went along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” “Neither this man nor his parents sinned,” said Jesus, “but this happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him." John 9:1-3
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