an unwelcome guest

I'm kind of an intense person...hyper. I do my best to tone it down, to be chill and professional. But if I get excited about something or if I'm around a group of friends I haven't seen in a while, I turn into a jack russell terrier. I was tightly wound as a kid, and perfectionism plagued me in high school, but I didn't realize I struggled with anxiety til my sophomore year of college. I honestly thought I had a heart condition but it turns out the palpitations were "just" anxiety. A few years later, Andrew had to pick me up from work and bring me to the emergency room. I was super pale, sweaty, throwing up, and my heart was racing. The doctor said I was having a panic attack. I found that really strange because I hadn't felt panicked at the time. In fact, I had felt bored. The doctor said the panic attack was probably my body's way of telling me it was tired of constant, low grade anxiety. He gave me some pills I could take when I was feeling especially stressed. I only took them maybe three times, but it was nice knowing I had them just in case. I also saw a therapist for a few months.

Surprisingly, infertility didn't trigger my anxiety. Maybe the sadness and constant disappointment dampened it. I went several years without experiencing much anxiety at all. In fact, I was so calm that I wondered if I had misdiagnosed myself. Pregnancy after two losses increased my anxiety a bit. It came in waves but it wasn't anything I couldn't handle by taking a deep breath and reminding myself Someone bigger than me was in control.

But recently...my anxiety came back. He didn't call ahead or ring the doorbell. He just sort of slithered in when I wasn't looking. He didn't arrive with a loud voice or a taunting laugh...just a whisper. I didn't even notice him until he had unpacked his bags and settled into a cozy spot underneath my bed. It's his favorite place to hang out because he knows I'm vulnerable at night when it's dark and quiet and my brain is easily hijacked. He knows my weak spots and pokes at them with his bony finger while I'm trying to sleep.

"Harriet's going to wake up," he says. "I wouldn't fall asleep if I were you. You know she'll start crying the second you drift off."

I ignore him, try to think about something else.

"She may never sleep through the night," he tries. "There are kids who wake up several times every night til they're teenagers."

I roll over, do my best to shut him out.

"It will probably hurt her development. Kids need sleep and if they don't get it, they don't learn or grow properly." He's louder now, sitting on my pillow. "And this is all your fault. She probably senses your anxiety and is starting to feel anxious herself. You better chill out or you'll mess her up for life."

Yes, he even uses reverse psychology.

Lately, my anxiety was feeling kind of bummed out because Harriet's been sleeping better and that tactic hasn't worked as well.

Take that, anxiety.

Unfortunately, he found a new weapon and it's a good one.

Weaning.

My anxiety knows that I'm terrified to wean Harriet. It's the last thing I want to do but if we're going to move forward with any fertility treatments, it's step one. Why am I dreading it so much? Harriet is a huge fan of nursing. Even if she had a big meal right before I get home from work, she immediately wants to nurse. She pants. She sticks her hands down my shirt. She latches onto any exposed skin. She acts like a crazy person. Lately, she's so active that nursing her is like nursing a baby otter on ritalin, but it's still a really important part of her day. She likes to nurse when she wakes up, when she goes down to sleep, if she bumps her head, if she's tired, if she's thirsty, if she's hungry, if she sees me changing my shirt, if I've been away for a few hours...she likes to nurse.

nursing, day one 

Upon entering this world, nursing is the very first thing she did. It was hard in the beginning but she and I worked through it and became a great team. I have fiercely protected her right to nurse. My milk supply was abundant and my letdown was fast, making her scared to nurse for a while, but she figured out how to make it work and nursed anyway. Her sleep has been awful at times and people have told us to put her on formula, but we continued to nurse anyway. I went back to work part-time, still nursing. I got engorged and had to stuff my bra with smelly cabbage...didn't give up. I missed out on social stuff when she was tiny because I'd spend half the time in the back bedroom nursing Harriet, but it didn't even tempt me to stop. I HATE pumping but I do it several times every day because it's important to me...to us. People have commented that she's too old or that she doesn't need to nurse now that she gets solid food, so I quote the World Health Organization or the American Academy of Pediatrics, and we keep nursing. When Harriet was a few weeks old, we were in the back corner of Target, a long way from the dressing rooms. I could tell Harriet was hungry and she started having a meltdown. My mama bear instinct kicked in and I pulled my shirt down right then and there, in the toy aisle, without thinking. When other shoppers approached, I just slipped around the corner into another aisle before they could figure out what was going on. It was a bit awkward but it wasn't a big deal. We've worked hard for this, so it pains me to think of giving it up before she's ready. I would love to let her wean in her own time, but she needs a sibling and we don't know how long it will take.

at Target...that's a "now what?" look on my face.

"Chop chop!" My anxiety says. "You better wean that baby or you're never going to have another one."

I tell Andrew about my worries. He says something kind and encouraging, but my anxiety gets right up in my face, making it hard to hear my husband.

"Can you imagine how tough it's going to be to wean her!?" My anxiety cackles, "She's going to be a wreck. She's going to think her whole world is collapsing. She'll feel so rejected. You'll never, ever be able to get her to fall asleep without nursing her. She's going to be angry and hurt and confused. This isn't going to work, and if it does, Harriet will suffer!"

He's getting to me now. His weapons are big and I feel very small in comparison. His voice is loud and mine is quiet. I start to feel the physical effects of my anxiety. He's winning. So I pray. I call someone. I distract myself. I know that I can't slow down my heart but I can slow down my breathing, so I breathe slowly, calmly. I stay positive and remind myself that everything is going to turn out just fine.

The anxiety loves to use repetition. He loops thoughts in my head so they play over and over and over again.  No area of my life is safe from his attacks.

Some of the thoughts are reasonable: "Your licensure exam is coming up and you haven't even started studying."

Some are semi-reasonable: "She still hasn't responded to your text. You must have offended her. She's probably so mad."

Some are downright crazy: "Harriet is going to fall down the street drain."

Yes, the thoughts can be that bizarre.

I'm annoyed that my anxiety is messing with me. I'm angry that he thought he could come back into my life when I'm taking care of a baby. I'm furious that he is trying to turn me into an anxious mom, and because I know that anxiety can travel through generations, I refuse to let him get his claws on my daughter.

I'm done with him.

[Deep breath.]

So now, I don't show my anxiety that he's getting to me. When he launches a fear my way, I respond with a bored yawn, "You're using that one again, huh?" He tries something more potent and I reply, "Okay, yeah...sounds good." He starts to get upset and I just become less amused, "Um, are you almost done? I'm kinda tired." I feel like one of those small birds with the colorful plumage that looks like a big, scary face. I hope he doesn't catch on. I fake it til I make it.

I practice controlled breathing and a calm body every day, usually while I'm trying to walk Harriet to sleep because that's when it's the hardest. Sometimes I fail miserably. Yesterday, after 45 minutes of trying to get Harriet to fall asleep, I gave up. (When it comes to fighting sleep, my daughter is straight up UFC.) Andrew took over and I did some writing. That helps too.

If I have an anxious thought, I share it. With Andrew, with a friend, with one of my parents. Sometimes saying something out loud takes away its power.

I think of a time in the future when this worry will have melted into the past and completely lost its potency.

I pray and sing and remind myself of Scriptures that speak hope into my fears.

"Do not fear for I am with you. Do not be dismayed for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will uphold you with my righteous right hand." Isaiah 41:10

"Do not fear for I have redeemed you. I have summoned you by name. You are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you. And when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned. The flames will not set you ablaze. For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior." Isaiah 43:1-4

"Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus." Philippians 4:6-7

I think my anxiety is realizing he's no longer welcome in my home. I've hurt his feelings too many times. I've ignored him. I've recruited others against him. He's getting tired and it won't be long before he packs his bags and hits the road.

He won't be gone for good. I know he'll be back again. But it's okay.

Next time, it'll be a short visit.

no whining

This past Tuesday, I was a less-than-stellar mom. My "no, no Harriet" came out a little firmer than intended and I made my daughter cry a sad, confused, hurt feelings cry. It broke my heart. And for a really lame half hour, the poor girl had to share my attention with Here Comes Honey Boo Boo. I distractedly drove Harriet and I across town, and I'm ashamed to say I even checked my email once on the freeway. I bickered with my husband while we gave her a bath, and even though we tried to disguise our harsh remarks with happy, playful voices, Harriet knew something wasn't right. A major low happened late in the afternoon when Andrew asked me what was all over my face.

It was cake mix.

Not because I was baking some cupcakes for a charity bake sale or mixing up a yummy treat for our new neighbors. The cake mix was covering my face and shirt because I was eating it...straight from the box. With a spoon. I ate so much dry cake mix that I had to get myself a glass of water to wash it down. It was a rough day and the cake mix was my way of getting through it. Plus, it tasted really good.

Harriet had woken up seven times in nine hours the night before, so I was tired. And my husband is recovering from knee surgery, making me his primary nurse in addition to caring for our daughter and our dog, so I was frustrated and feeling sorry for myself.  Was Tuesday my best day? Nope. But if I put it in perspective, it probably wasn't so bad. Some day I will hate myself for reading my daughter's journal or saying "well, you're the one who has to wear it" when she chooses a prom dress I don't especially like. Some day I will criticize her boyfriend, show up late for her swim meet, or mistake her wedding for my own. I will do my very best to be a great mom, but I'm human and these things are bound to happen because parenting is not easy. Parenting is done by flawed people with baggage.

I try to offer myself grace, but we previously infertile moms tend to be pretty hard on ourselves. We wait so long to have a child. We work really hard to get pregnant. We skip our vacation, avoid the mall, or take out a second mortgage to pay for treatments. And throughout our journey to motherhood, people are constantly telling us that we will make excellent mamas. The long road that leads to our babies offers us plenty of time to notice the mistakes that other moms are making and solemnly vow that if God will just give us a child, we will parent...perfectly.

But - big surprise - we don't.

The thing is - motherhood after infertility is still motherhood, and it's hard. It's exhausting. And sometimes, we need a break. And sometimes we get lazy. And sometimes we wish we would have enjoyed those childless years a little more.

But we keep all of that inside because the very, very, very, very, very last thing you want to do after infertility is complain. In our old lives, before children, we nearly exploded when other women complained about having toys everywhere, sagging breasts, and a child who wouldn't sleep in his own bed. We shut down our Facebook accounts because we couldn't bear reading flippant comments about stretch marks, baby weight, and being up all night.

But now we are on the other side, and we realize that sometimes those things are tough. And if you don't say it out loud, your exhaustion and frustration will come out sideways...usually at your husband, but that's another post.

Being real about motherhood can also be challenging because many of us have become part of an infertility community. We are surrounded by women who haven't yet become mothers, women whose babies are sick, and women whose babies are in heaven. I know because I was (and still am) one of them. We do our very best to remember what it is like or to imagine what it is like. We strive to be gentle with their hearts. We try to find other people to confide in, but sometimes we slip up. I know I do, and I hate that. I'm so sorry for that.

Motherhood isn't an easy road, and being real about motherhood isn't always easy either. But it is important. Because our kids need to see us at our best and at our worst. They need to know that we are human. They need to hear us apologize. They need to learn that it is okay to be less than perfect and to talk about it.

So on Wednesday, the day after the bad one, I finished the box of cake mix before lunch. Not out of self deprecation or as a way of artificially improving a bad day but rather in the true spirit of cake...celebration.

The celebration of a new day...and a fresh start.

teach me to braid

My mom had been encouraging me to start a blog for years. She knows that I love to write and that I have a lot to say. So during those weeks when the genetic family was considering us as a potential adoptive family for their embryos, I started to seriously consider the possibility. I didn't expect very many people would want to read it but I thought it would be cool to keep track of our future children's story so that they would know how they came to be Ericksons. I wanted them to be able to read about how much their parents wanted them and how hard we worked to bring them here.

After nursing Harriet and climbing back into bed one night, a title for the blog just sort of popped into my head...teach me to braid. The meaning is two-fold. I came up with the idea when I realized that if we have an African American child, I'm going to need to learn how to braid hair. I'm super intimidated by that prospect because I can hardly manage a ponytail some days. But it's part of the culture so I want to give it a shot. "Teach me to braid" has a deeper meaning too - the idea of braiding together cultures and skin colors to create a family. I put the "teach me" part in there rather than calling it "learning to braid"  because I want to acknowledge that I'm going to need lots of help in this process - from other adoptive parents, people who share our child(ren)'s ethnicity, etc. They will all be our teachers and I want to have an open, teachable heart. That's part of the reason I started the blog - to jump into this adoption/infertility community online.

When the embryo adoption fell through, we were bummed. Really bummed. It sounds so trivial but one of the first things I thought about was this blog. Wait a second, I thought, this was my plan. We were going to create a family that blends genes and cultures and skin colors. I was going to chronicle all of this, share it. Now what?

So I stopped writing for a while. What was the point?

When I started writing again, I decided not to change the name. We really hope to have a multiethnic family someday, but even if we don't, "teach me to braid" can mean a lot of things. Maybe all of our kids will be white. Maybe they'll all share our genes and maybe my braiding career will consist of twisting blonde hair into french braids. But that's still braiding, right? And as a mom, won't I need to learn to braid my career with my family life? Won't I need to teach my children to braid justice with mercy, humility with confidence, education with experience, gentleness with strength, joy with sorrow... Won't I need to keep myself accountable to enriching my own life with other cultures and perspectives? So even if my hands never weave a cornrow, a fishtail, or a french...I'll be braiding.

Harriet's godmother sent me this poem a couple weeks ago. The further I got into the poem, the more vividly I remembered reading it as a child. It's such a beautiful piece of writing. I had to share it with you. I think Corrie Ten Boom knew a thing or two about braiding.

The Weaving

My life is but a weaving
between my Lord and me,
I cannot choose the colors
He worketh steadily.
Oftimes he weaveth sorrow,
And I in foolish pride
Forget He sees the upper
And I, the underside.
Not till the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly
Shall God unroll the canvas
And explain the reason why.
The dark threads are as needful
In the Weaver's skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern he has planned.

—Corrie ten Boom

the teeniest, tiniest babies

This past June, we met with Dr. C to discuss plans for adding another child to our family. I cried in the elevator on the way up to his office. I didn't want to be back there. In some ways, it felt like the happiest place in the world - where Harriet was conceived and spent her first few days in a petri dish. In other ways, it felt so sad. I hated the idea of opening the door to all of the emotions that come along with infertility treatments. I had been enjoying the respite, the celebration, the challenges of having a child rather than the challenges of trying to have a child.

We wanted to talk to Dr. C about doing a frozen embryo transfer (FET) with our one remaining embryo. But that conversation was over before it even started. Dr. C informed us that none of the embryos frozen at our clinic from April to August of last year were resulting in pregnancies. He wasn't sure what went wrong but he did know that our embryo and the rest of the embryos frozen around the same time were damaged beyond repair. Our embryo is still alive and may even survive the thaw but he assured us that it will not result in a pregnancy. They gave us two options. We could have our embryo destroyed and get a refund on our embryo storage fees (at least $1200 so far) or we could continue to pay storage fees and have the embryo transferred to my uterus at some point for free, knowing that barring a miracle, it won't survive. We didn't even consider option #1. Others might disagree, but to Andrew and I, destroying an embryo is destroying a child. So after about two seconds, we told Dr. C that we were going with option #2. 

We will transfer this embryo because when we signed up for IVF, we decided that we were going to give every single one of our embryos the best chance at life. Obviously, transferring the embryo gives it a better chance than destroying it. We only have one embryo frozen but I feel especially heartbroken for the families that had 10, 12, or more embryos. You can make a whole family out of that many embryos. They are having to say goodbye to all of those children. I can't imagine it.


I also feel bummed that I will have to go through all of the shots, all of the monitoring, all of the side effects with very little to no potential for success. I keep reminding myself that it's the least we can do for this tiny baby, and secondly, God CAN do miracles of all sorts. I want to start praying that he will save this embryo but I haven't been able to yet. My faith feels really small and science feels really big in this situation.


Long before we knew that our remaining embryo had been damaged beyond repair, Andrew and I started talking about adopting embryos. When I bring up the idea in conversation, most people say, "I didn't know you could do that!" Yep. You can! I'll give you more information about the process at the end of this post. Back to our conversation with Dr. C...


Andrew and I were both thinking the same thing but he was the one to bring it up. He asked Dr. C if he would be willing to transfer an adopted embryo or two alongside our embryo free of charge. That way, since we had been considering embryo adoption anyways, the frozen transfer wouldn't be wasted. In some ways, it even felt like God was directing our path toward embryo adoption by turning something painful (a damaged embryo) into something wonderful (a free transfer for adopted embryos). Dr. C agreed to it right away and a little bit of hope poked its head into a bleak situation.


Soon after that conversation, I started doing my research. I talked to the agencies, read family profiles, and had a long discussion with Dr. C about the specifics of the process. Then we found the family. They had everything we wanted - a sufficient number of good quality embryos, the desire to stay involved in the lives of the children they were hoping to place in an adoptive home. They had been waiting ten years to find a family for these embryos. Can you imagine? For ten years, these babies have been frozen in time - not living here on earth, not enjoying heaven...just stuck. The sad truth is that part of the reason this family has been waiting so long is their ethnicity. They are African American and non-white embryos can be difficult to place. Ugh. I don't like truths like that.


We wrote our introduction letter and our profile. We agonized over the exact wording and debated which 15 pictures would be best to send. I'll admit that I was overconfident. They've been waiting ten years, I thought, They've got to pick us. Plus, we had everything they wanted.



College degrees? We both have master's degrees.

One child? Yep, Harriet's going to be a great big sister.

Christian home? Absolutely.

Married for five years? Check.

We don't put our kids in daycare.

Our extended families live nearby. 

Andrew's a nurse. 

I'm a family therapist.

Pregnancy, birth, and breastfeeding all went smoothly with Harriet.


On paper, we looked really good. But after three weeks of waiting, the agency called to tell us that the family didn't want us. She said that they loved everything about us and had seriously considered moving forward with the adoption, but the thing that held them back was the fact that we still have an embryo left. They wanted their embryos to be the focus.


I wanted so badly to tell them that their embryos will be our focus, that we had already grieved our damaged embryo and were hoping to move forward wholeheartedly. But we had already said that stuff in our letter. The family had made their decision and it's their right to base that decision on what's important to them. I think I had talked myself into believing that these babies were our babies and that they had been waiting ten years for us. I was wrong. It was tough at the time and because no other family seemed like a good match, we stopped looking for a while.


A couple weeks ago, I checked the website again. There were a couple new families, looking to place their embryos in adoptive homes. We're toying with the idea of contacting the agency again to see whether one of these families would be interested in us. We just really love the idea of embryo adoption and don't want to lose sight of that goal.


Andrew and I both felt called to adoption before we even met. We view God’s command to take care of widows and orphans not as a suggestion but as a personal call to action. Why embryo adoption? We firmly believe that embryos are children with souls, just as valuable and worthy of life as a child who has already been born. But most people who are interested in adoption don’t realize that there are so many pre-born children out there, frozen in time and waiting for parents. Because we’ve lost children early in pregnancy, we understand how priceless those tiny lives are, and we want to use our experience to give embryos a chance. 


Want to learn more about embryo adoption? Here's my own quick list of FAQs. I got most of this info from conversations with doctors and people at the adoption agency. I am doing my very best to present this info accurately, but this isn't a research paper so if you want exact numbers and that sort of thing, google away.


Q: What is the difference between embryo adoption and embryo donation?
A: The terms are often used interchangeably but there are important differences. I've read articles saying that embryo adoption is a ploy to make more money off of the adoptive parents and push the pro-life agenda. I completely disagree. We like the embryo adoption model better than embryo donation because it allows the genetic family to choose the adoptive family. If we had embryos that we weren't able to transfer to my uterus for whatever reason, I certainly would want to handpick the family who got to parent them. With embryo donation, the doctor is usually the one to decide which embryos go to which family. Embryo adoption also allows for an open relationship between the genetic family and the adoptive family. Ideally, if we end up adopting embryos someday, we want our child's genetic parents and siblings to be very present in his or her life. We'd like to exchange updates, pictures, and even visit one another periodically. Studies have shown that open adoption is healthiest for the child because it gives him or her the opportunity to know people who share their genes and eventually ask important questions of his or her genetic parents.  I've heard it's possible to have an open embryo donation but this seems to be much less common. When you adopt embryos, you have to complete a home study, a matching period...basically all of the stuff a family goes through for a traditional adoption.



Q: How many embryos are out there, frozen, waiting for families?

A: hundreds of thousands



Q: Why would a family want to place their embryos in an adoptive home?

A: The IVF process can result in the creation of lots of embryos, but in most states, doctors prefer to transfer only one to three embryos at a time. The rest of the embryos can then be used by the couple, donated to science, destroyed, donated to another couple, or adopted by another couple. Some couples aren't able to use the embryos for whatever reason (their family already felt complete, financial issues, mom's health problems prevented her from being pregnant again, etc.) but they don't feel comfortable destroying the embryos or having them used in experiments and then destroyed. So they decide to terminate their rights to the embryos and give another couple the chance to birth and raise them. Genetic families do not receive any payment from agencies or adoptive families. 

Q: How does it work? 

A: After you're matched and all the legal stuff goes through, the embryos are shipped to the adoptive family's clinic (or the adoptive family travels to the embryos) and the embryos are transferred to the mom's uterus. It's called a frozen embryo transfer and is less invasive and complex than IVF. The mom is simply given drugs to prepare her uterus for a pregnancy. The FET is a painless procedure that doesn't require anesthesia. 

Q: What if the adoptive couple doesn't get pregnant?

A: It's a huge bummer because you've already spent the money on the legal fees (about $9000) and the transfer (about $4000). There are a lot of risks that come with infertility treatment. Embryo adoption is no different. 




ivf

Here's how IVF works. They give the "almost mom" medication (both pills and shots) to make her ovaries go into overdrive and make lots of eggs. During a normal cycle, a woman makes one or two eggs. During an IVF cycle, a woman can make several dozen. The shots aren't very fun. Some of the needles are very long and thick. I remember the progesterone shots being the worst. My husband was working full-time overnight shifts and going to school full-time during the day, so he was really, really tired during our IVF process. I would have to wake him up to give me the shots. The progesterone is thick like olive oil so it takes a long time for the medication to work its way through the needle and into the muscle. He would never want me to turn the lights on because he didn't want to fully awaken. It took a lot for me to trust this half-asleep man to give me a shot in the butt with a huge needle in the dark, but when you want a baby, almost nothing stands in your way. Once he was so tired that he only gave me half the medication and we had to start over. After that, I insisted on a little bit of light.

I think I made about 21 eggs but I can't remember exactly. During the egg growing stage, the "almost mom" goes in for several ultrasounds so the doc can count and measure the eggs. They schedule the egg retrieval for the optimal time, waiting long enough for the eggs to mature but not long enough for the ovaries to release the eggs on their own. The ovaries get HUGE. I looked like I was about five months pregnant and my waistline grew a full two inches in less than 24 hours. It's pretty uncomfortable but you live with it because the doctors tell you it's a good sign.

The egg retrieval is done under anesthesia. They use a big needle to extract the eggs one by one.

Not a cute picture. IVF isn't always cute...especially when you're waking up from surgery.

While this is going on, the "almost dad" makes his "deposit." During the IVF process, women have to cope with the lion's share of the responsibility, time commitment and physical discomfort. Men cope with most of the awkwardness. I guess I'm fine with that.

Now the doctors and lab people put the sperm and the egg together in one of two ways. Sometimes they just dump a pile of sperm on the egg and let the fastest swimmer win. Other times they do their best to handpick the Michael Phelps of the bunch and inject that one sperm into the egg. This all depends on sperm count and quality. We did option #1 because Andrew doesn't have any fertility issues, just me.

Transfer day. So excited!

Then you wait. A few days later, someone from the lab calls with an update on the embryos. (Sidenote: Pre-sperm, it's an egg. Post-sperm, it's an embryo.) They told us how many successfully fertilized (I think nine) and how many were growing (I think seven). A couple days later, they called again to tell us that we had three five-day blastocysts. Around day five, embryos change shape. They go from looking like a pile of bubbles to looking like a planet. The planet-looking embryo is a more stable form and they call it a blastocyst or "blast" if you're hip with the lingo. Your chances of success are higher with a five-day blast than with a three-day embryo. They also grade the quality of the embryos. I don't remember our exact grade but I think it was one level below the best.

One of these embryos in Harriet. The other is her twin who implanted in the lining of my uterus but died very soon after that.

We chose to transfer two embryos to my uterus and freeze one. (Embryos can be frozen indefinitely without affecting their quality.) The transfer is super easy. They give the 'almost mom" valium to relax her uterus, put her in the stirrups and squirt those teensy babies into the perfect spot where you hope and pray with all your might that they'll implant in the uterine lining and hang out there for the next nine months or so. Another sidenote: Doctors can't implant embryos into the uterine lining. They can only transfer them to the uterus. I'm sure some doctors somewhere are trying to figure out how to make embryos implant. But as of right now, embryos implant (or don't) on their own.

Then they send you home for two days of bed rest. During this time, you do all sorts of things to "increase your chances." You make this stuff up as you go and read into every little detail. You eat nachos because they are delicious and the baby or babies might decide to hang around to see what other delicacies you serve up. You watch happy movies so the babies don't get scared or anxious and bail. You avoid sitting up, walking and especially peeing to keep them from falling out (even though the doctors and nurses have assured you again and again that no one has ever peed out an embryo). You practice positive visualization. You pray. You try to keep your hope at the perfect level - too low and you might have a self-fulfilling prophecy on your hands, but too high and you might come crashing down if the pregnancy test is negative. I wish they could prescribe hope in the ideal dosage for infertility patients. That would be nice.

Then the real waiting starts. We had to wait about ten days for our pregnancy test. That was tough. Lots of people do pee tests before the official blood draw but we didn't. We just waited ten...long...days. Both Andrew and I took the day of the pregnancy test off. We tried to distract ourselves all morning. Dr. C called around 1:30. We were standing in our garage when he told us he had good news. That was a big moment. We hung up the phone and immediately thanked God, took our first belly pictures and planned how we were going to tell our families that night.

For us, IVF was an answer, a cure, a finish line, a beginning...a miracle. Will we do it again? I sure hope not. We just don't have the funds (our first IVF was about $16,000). So we're hoping something else will work. Something less expensive. But when it comes to infertility, less expensive is often still super expensive. So we'll just have to wait and see. We're just so grateful that we got to do IVF once...and that it worked.

joy of all joys

Late in 2010, we were a couple years and two losses deep into our infertility journey. We half-heartedly tried clomid again. They did an intrauterine insemination to increase our chances but our hope was dwindling. Infertility treatments started to consume our schedules and our energy, sometimes leaving us isolated and drained. We can’t explain why, but God began to restore our joy in February of 2011. Our energy started to return and we began to feel cautiously hopeful again. It was this little bit of hope that led us to pursue in vitro fertilization after a great deal of prayer, consultation, research, and conversation. The financial burden was great. The physical toll was challenging. And the ethics of the process seemed so gray. But we still felt a peace about our decision, an unwavering peace. 

The IVF process itself was quite an undertaking. We visited the clinic several times per week, underwent all sorts of tests, several procedures, and numerous injections. It was like having another full-time job. We feel so blessed to say that it was worth it. Harriet Grace was born on December 10^th, 2011, a day that held more joy for us than our hearts could contain.

We are so grateful to everyone who helped bring our daughter to us – reproductive endocrinologists, lab technicians, doctors, nurses, a doula, an acupuncturist, a support group, and especially all of our friends and family who stormed the gates of heaven on our behalf and prayed Harriet all the way into our arms.

Almost eight months later, we still have a hard time wrapping our minds around the fact that Harriet is real, that she’s ours, and that we have been given the opportunity to raise her and delight in her. Several times since Harriet’s arrival, we have pictured God, looking down on us over these past couple of years and saying, “I know it’s hard. I know this burden is really heavy. But Harriet’s coming and she’s going to be so, so great.”

God was right. Harriet is so, so great. She’s full of energy and joy. Her face lights up when she sees other babies, and our hearts jump in our chests as we imagine introducing her to her little brother or sister...someday.

So what's next? We talk about it all the time. We've discussed doing clomid again, adopting, adopting embryos, pursuing another round of IVF.... We keep hearing about those people who get pregnant on their own after having trouble conceiving their first. We sort of hate those people. We don't think we'll get to be part of that club. But maybe they didn't think it would happen to them either. Because I'm nursing, fertility drugs are out of the question for the time being. Part of me is grateful for that. It gives us a chance to fully enjoy Harriet and be present with her. But another part of me is itching to get started again. So we talk...and talk...and talk. We weigh the finances, the timing, our history of loss and success. And we keep a little bit of hope in our back pockets, knowing we're going to need it soon.

what helped

I'm often asked what helped us heal after our miscarriages. Nothing helped a lot but lots of things helped a little. Here's our list of hope givers, memory makers, smile igniters, and hurt healers.

We gave our babies names because they were real people. We named our little boy Ethan Andrew. Here's where I get vulnerable...Ethan wouldn't have been Ethan if he would have been born alive. We had a different name picked out, a name that Andrew and I have loved for a long time and still love today. Someday we hope Ethan will have a little brother with that name. I sometimes feel guilty about that, like we devalued him somehow by not sticking with the plan. We told ourselves he didn't look like the name we had picked out. Well...of course he didn't. He didn't look anything like what we had expected because we were awaiting a healthy, full-term baby. He was the size of my hand. His skin hadn't yet taken on that beautiful baby pink. And he wasn't breathing. We didn't stick with the plan because the plan went out the window when they couldn't find his heartbeat.

The even deeper truth is that I had planned on seeing the name we had chosen in the church program on the day our son was dedicated. I had planned to see it written in perfect, first grade teacher printing, laminated and stuck to a six-year-old-sized desk on his first day of school. I had planned to see it on a hockey roster, in a high school yearbook, on a wedding invitation. I had planned to call that name from our front door to get him to come to dinner. I had planned to say it in a certain mom voice when he was being a little too rowdy. I couldn't stand the thought of not being able to do those things. We needed a new name. I picked it and Andrew liked it and then our baby was Ethan. Andrew hadn't wanted to name any of our children after himself. But everything had changed and I think he liked the idea of sharing something so sweet with his boy. It was, after all, about the only thing they'd get to share on this earth.

We didn't give our second baby a regular name. We refer to him or her as Little One or as our August Baby because he or she was conceived and lost in August. Sometimes I feel guilty about this too. Maybe we should have picked a "better" name. But we didn't and I think that's probably okay. I'm sure God had already given both of our kids new names in Heaven, names I can't wait to hear when I get there.

A dear friend shared this quote from Jenny Schroedel with me after she and her husband lost their child, Gabriel.

"The act of naming the child is a powerful way to bring light to the reality of that child's existence. Naming is a holy thing - it was the first act that God trusted Adam with. I have heard that there is an Eskimo legend that a baby cries because it has not yet been given a name. We all ache to be fully known, to become who we were meant to be, and a name can be our first guidepost along the way. Naming a miscarried baby not only makes the loss more concrete - it also allows the parents to bond with their child, to claim him/her and to prepare for reunion with them - even as they offer their child back to the one who is Life." 

Another important step toward healing was our decision to plant a tree in Ethan's memory. We chose a flowering tree whose petals last a very short time. We thought the brevity of the blooms was fitting. Ethan's grandparents and aunts and uncles joined us at Andrew's mom and dad's lake home to plant the tree together. We had a short time of reflection beforehand, reading aloud a few Scriptures and quotes about Heaven. We played "Glory Baby" by Watermark while we put the tree in the ground. My mom brought a lovely birdhouse to hang on one of its branches. I love seeing that tree and I make a point to spend some time nearby it whenever we visit the lake.

Here are some of my favorite passages from Ethan's tree planting:

“Those we love are with the Lord, and the Lord has promised to be with us. If they are with Him and He is with us, they can’t be far away.” - PeterMarshall  

“Young women will dance and be happy. Young men and old men will join in. I'll convert their weeping into laughter, lavishing comfort, invading their grief with joy.”  - Jeremiah31:13  

“Heaven is the finish line, the ultimate prize. The God of all the ages will be there, and I want to go.” – Janet Paschal 

“Those who sow in tears will reap with songs of joy.” – Psalm 126:5

“I used to think, loving life so greatly, that to die would be like leaving the party before the end. But now I know that the party is really happening somewhere else. That the light and the music escaping in snatches to make the pulse beat faster and the tempo quicken come from another place. And I know, too, that when I get there, the music and the love and the praise will belong to Him. And the music will never end.” – Bob Benson 

“But now, this is what the LORD says— He who created you, O Jacob, He who formed you, O Israel: "Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze. For I am the LORD, your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.”– Isaiah 43:1-3 

“Thank you Lord, for the privilege of walking through this passage. As hard and sometimes agonizing as it is, I wouldn’t miss it. To touch eternity so intimately, to hand off the hand I am holding to the very hand of God changes me. The glitter of glory lands on my face, too, and changes the way I see things. We are now sending Heaven a treasure we have held dear, entrusting our loved one to other arms, other hearts.” – Gloria Gaither 

“To grant to those who mourn in Zion— to give them a beautiful headdress instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the garment of praise instead of a faint spirit; that they may be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the LORD, that he may be glorified.” – Isaiah 61:3

I wear two necklaces with the babies' names. I don't wear them every day but when I wear them, people sometimes comment or ask questions. I love that. When our daughter was born, our friend took a picture of her holding one of the necklaces in her tiny hand. I treasure that image - our sweet girl honoring her older siblings. We also had Christmas tree ornaments engraved with "Ethan" and "Little One."

I'm a reader, so it was very important for me to read lots of books about miscarriage and infant loss during that season of grief. It helped me feel less alone and isolated. Some of my favorites are:

Safe in the Arms of God: Truth from Heaven about the Death of a Child by John MacArthur
Losing You Too Soon: Finding Hope after Miscarriage or the Loss of a Baby by Bernadette Keaggy
I Will Carry You, a beautiful memoir by Angie Smith
Hearing Jesus Speak Into Your Sorrow by Nancy Guthrie

Here are some children's books that I like even though I don't believe their claim that babies who die become angels:

We Were Gonna Have a Baby, But We Had an Angel Instead byPat Schwiebert

Someone Came Before You by Pat Schwiebert 

My Brother, He’s an Angel by Savannah L. Leyde

Sharing our story has been hugely helpful in our healing process. Whether through writing or conversation, with family members or complete strangers, every time I recount our journey through infertility and miscarriage, I feel a bit more whole, not so damaged. It's such a great feeling to help someone else, too. Our story takes on a whole new meaning and depth when we share it with someone who's grieving a similar loss. It's such a privilege to be able to walk alongside others in their grief, to be allowed into that vulnerable place.

My brother-in-law, a carpenter, built a beautiful cedar memory box for storing Ethan's stuff. I rarely open it. It just feels really sad but I'm still so glad we have it. The baby blanket and teeny tiny hat we got from the hospital are in that box. His ultrasound pictures are in that box. All of the cards we received from people after his death are in that box. Some onesies and a blanket used to be in that box. We went back and forth about whether or not to use those things when Harriet was born. We thought about leaving them in the box. They were Ethan's after all. But it made me sad to think of those precious little baby clothes sitting in that box forever, never to be worn. So before Harriet was born, we folded them and set them in the dresser in her nursery. I think she'd be proud to know she got to wear her brother's hand-me-downs.

Every year on Ethan's birthday, March 23rd, we try to do something fun. The first year, we went to the Science Museum. And on his second birthday, we had a delicious lunch at a restaurant we'd been wanting to try. It's still such a sad day but having something to look forward to adds a little sweet to the bitter.

Letting others in has helped so much...letting others serve us, visit us, pray with us, grieve with us, ask questions, tell us about the children they have in Heaven. Those little moments, quick conversations and kind gestures have meant the world to us. It isn't fun to be friends with someone who is infertile or with someone who is grieving, but so many have stuck with us through the awkwardness, through the discomfort, through the deep sadness, through the waiting times. It wasn't always easy to let others in but we are so glad we did.

So that's what has helped us, what has healed us. Nothing fixed it. Nothing brought our kids back. But that's the difference between fixing and healing. Our sadness will never go away but I do believe in complete and perfect healing. I believe that God can meet us in our sorrow and with a gracious, loving hand, rescue us from it. So that something that was once so hopeless can become a beacon for others to follow as they walk through their darkest nights. So that something that was once so ugly can become a beautiful picture of God's transforming work in people's lives. So that something that was once so painful can become part of our story...part of His story.