For Aaron

To my love on his "coming of age." (Yes, I did look that up so that I would have a clue what you are taking about.) I love these past twelve years we've spent together, and all the birthdays we've celebrated from that very first one with dinner out and a bag of rockets. I'm glad I've been the one to help make your birthdays a little brighter.
You've certainly made so many of my days brighter. I love the way you make me laugh, and every step you take towards me when I'm too stuck and stubborn to take a step towards you. I love your dyed hair and your tattoos and how you're always there, no matter how bad a day I'm having and how rough things get. I know you're in it for the long haul, and so I don't worry about our future, because I am too, and I know we'll make it through whatever comes our way. I love how you get excited about board games and fantasy, Firefly and Tolkien and Harry Potter, and the way you can all out play with Dune, reconnect with him and draw him out of whatever hard feeling he's dealing with at the moment. I love how when I've reached the end of my patience, you are there reminding me of the mama I want to be, and our sweet son's sensitive heart. You're a wonderful husband, a full of love father, and a great guy. Don't let anyone tell you differently, even the negative voices in your head that try to keep you from seeing how amazing you are.

You always keep learning and growing, and I've said it before, but it's one of my favorite things about you. This past year, I've seen you grow as a husband, especially as I've needed you more these months. I've seen you grow as a dad, learning more about Dune and how he works. I've seen you grow as a pastor, increasing in compassion and grace towards others, learning new skills, both people skills and practical skills. I've seen you give some of your best sermons ever. There's been a lot of change in you here, and while I think you're already a great pastor, I know that you will continue becoming more excellent in this area. I love seeing you dream (even though sometimes it's a little scary for this non-adventurous gal), gain steadier footing and confidence, and face the future without fear.
The next year certainly holds some major changes for us, but I'm not afraid, because I know we're in it together and God keeps taking care of us. I know we'll have some rough days, stressed days, "I'm so angry I could spit" days, but in the end we're together, learning how to love, how to forgive, how to hold on a little tighter to the hands that keep helping us up and caring for our hearts.

To the one who holds my heart, on your thirty-third birth day, may you know how much you are worth and how much you are loved.

What I'm Missing Out On

I think almost everyone who knows me has heard our latest pregnancy related news, but in case you haven't, go check this out first.

You gotta read it before you keep reading here. It will only take a second.

Ok?

A boy! Another amazing, wonderful boy. We know it's going to be fantastic and we're all looking forward to it, but have you noticed how often pain and joy hold hands? Yeah, I did say pain. I know a lot of people might be wondering what on earth I have to feel pain over at this point. I mean, I'm pregnant! Twenty weeks pregnant and carrying a beautiful little boy. This is a miracle, and I'm so grateful. I get a little nervous that someone might think I'm not grateful, because shouldn't I just be happy with that? I'm going to have a baby after all these losses. What have I got to be upset about? And I am grateful, and amazed, and in love with this little one, and none of that will change.
But I do have grief in the midst of all of this. I will never have a daughter.
Long before we knew for sure that we would have another child, Aaron and I knew that one more would be the end of the road for us. We had just about reached our heartache limit and if we were blessed enough to have another baby, we wouldn't put ourselves through the anxiety of trying, the pain of losses, or the stress of those highly tense beginning weeks of pregnancy after that. This is it for us.
We will be a two boy family, and it's great! I'm so glad that Dune will have a brother, one who will hopefully be a close friend as they get older. But he will never have the baby sister he was so hoping for. Aaron will never have a sweet baby girl to capture his heart, and I will never a dark and curly haired daughter to share everything feminine with. No fluffy tutus or sparkly fairy wings.
When I was pregnant for the very first time, Aaron and I were in a store one day and passed by this adorable, melt-your-heart, soo pretty, baby girl's dress. We stopped for a moment to "aww" over it and dream together about being able to buy something like it for our baby girl when we had one, maybe this baby. It was one of those moments that etches itself in your mind. We lost JJ shortly after, but that memory never left me and I always assumed that somewhere down the road would be my chance to buy that tiny piece of a dream for a daughter of my own.
Now I have to let go of that dream and grieve it, as I lay it at the feet of Jesus as I did so many babies. No, it's not the same kind of loss, but it's heartache all the same, and I cry over the daughter I will never have.
Please understand. Understand that I'm not unhappy to be carrying this precious boy. Understand that I thank God everyday for him. Understand that it's ok that I feel this way. It's ok that I'm sad to not have a girl. It's ok for me to see this as a loss and grieve it. I see families with sweet daughters. I know what I'm missing out on. I assume I will have daughter-in-laws down the road, maybe even granddaughters, and that will be wonderful, but it's not the same.
I told Dune that God knew what our family needed and I believe it, but I know he understands my sadness too.

Stumbling Into Me

Do you ever have those moments when you get an unexpected revelation about yourself? Every now and then I realize something new to me and it feels so enlightening.
I was just in the middle of a conversation and I was about to describe myself as not an energetic person, and it was very much like that light turning on. I'm not. I've never been high energy. But, somewhere along the way, I think I came to the conclusion that that is what I'm supposed to be - high, happy, bubbly, energy. But that's not me, and that's not bad. I'm calm, quiet, peaceful, but occasionally turbulent. I'm not the life of the party, I'm the friend you want to take on a quiet walk. I'm not the spark of electricity, but the steady thrumming of it in the background.
The more I know about myself, the more I can accept who I am. The more I accept who I am, the more I can see and appreciate the design that makes me wonderful, the more I can settle into my strengths instead of striving to be something I'm not, the more I can put forth the beauty I have, instead of seeing failures.
"I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made." Psalm 139:14

His Grace is Sufficient

Trust. I've had a number of people tell me to just trust Jesus as I go through this difficult time of being pregnant after multiple losses. To trust Jesus and not be afraid.
Sometimes I wonder what it is I'm supposed to be trusting him for. Because I trust that he loves me. I trust that he has deep care for what happens to me. I trust that he works all things for the good of those who love him. But my fear - my fear is that my baby will die. And he hasn't promised me that they won't. He hasn't promised me that things will turn out exactly how I want them to. He's promised me eternity and that I will be reunited with my little ones there, but not that I will get to see them grow and learn here. He's promised comfort in grief, but not that I won't go through grief.
I do believe that somehow it is possible to be so secure in his love and goodness that we are unshaken by the ideas or reality of what this world can do to us, but I don't know how to get there from here. The scars of my losses run so deep that they are ingrained on my soul. And he's done a lot of healing there, but the edge of fear remains, waxing and waning with the events of each day.
Here's what I do know: perfect love casts out fear. There is no fear in my heart of punishment, recrimination, shame, or his disappointment in me. He knows my fear. He knows exactly how large or small it is. He knows the form of it, the shape, the intricacies of it. He knows me. He knows my failings, my weakness, my burden, and he doesn't frown on me, scold me, or grow frustrated. He sits with me. He loves me. Even when my fear is at its greatest, overwhelming me, striving to keep me from any semblance of peace, he holds me and refuses to let go. His grace is sufficient for me.

"As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him; for he knows how we are formed, he remembers that we are dust." Psalm 103:13-14

Strength for Today and Bright Hope for Tomorrow

I wanted to be writing here regularly, but then something happened and it was the only thing on my mind and the only thing I could conceive of writing about, but not something I was ready to share.
The day after I wrote my last post, I found out I was pregnant. I was convinced that we were going to go through another loss. I was sure the home test wasn't dark enough to be a viable pregnancy, much like most of my previous pregnancies. But I called my RE to let her know, and she of course, told me to come in for blood work. I kept doing home tests and saw the line get darker, but I still wasn't convinced that it was dark enough to indicate something good.
Before going in for the blood test, I did some checking to see what were average hcg numbers for how far along I was. I found the range could be pretty much anywhere from 30 to 300. I knew that at 30 I would still be worried, it wouldn't feel safe enough. I sent a half  formed thought to God, "If it's 80, I'll feel like maybe this is good, maybe this one is going somewhere."
After a few very anxious hours waiting for that phone call, we finally heard. "Congrats, you're pregnant!" Um, well I knew that. That's why I called you remember? I need numbers! "Oh, ok, I can get those for you." Yes, please! "81.6." God hears even my unofficially prayed prayers and cares about them.
We did the blood test two more times to make sure the numbers were rising as they should, and irregardless of my anxiety and fear-wracked body, they went up perfectly each time.
The next hurdle was waiting a week and half until we could do an ultrasound. It would be right at the six week mark, so we knew there was a decent chance that we would see the heartbeat, but it could be iffy still. That became my next prayer. When we got in there, I couldn't bring myself to look at the screen, I was so scared of what it would show, and I knew I wouldn't really be able to identify anything anyway. When the tech said, "See that flickering? That's the heartbeat," I'm sure my own heart gave a little jump. There was nothing but a tiny gray oval up in the corner, but sure enough it was flickering away. I cried for probably the zillionth time in this pregnancy, but for the first time they were happy tears.
Our little one was tucked away against the edge making it hard to get a measurement, but when she did, it was six weeks, one day. Perfect.
I'm not sure the second ultrasound was any less nerve-wracking, but again, there was the heartbeat, going at just the rate it should be. This time the tech was having an even harder time getting a good picture in order to measure, and eventually she gave up and just did the best she could. When we talked with the doctor afterward, she had that concerned look on her face as she told us the baby wasn't showing the growth it should. Instead of measuring another week ahead, the measurements were reflecting only a few days growth.  Aaron explained how both techs had had a difficult time getting the measurements, and was calmly confident that was the only issue. I, of course, was not so calm. I knew there was a good chance of this, and that the strong heartbeat was a really good sign, but I struggled a lot that week worrying about how my baby was doing and if they weren't growing properly.
At this point, word had spread a little farther in our church than we had wanted it to, but it also meant that that many more people were praying for us. I was thrilled to be able to visit the weekly prayer group and tell them how our little one was measuring exactly right after our third ultrasound.
Our fourth ultrasound allowed us to see our baby give a full body wiggle, which prompted more happy tears.
Our fifth and last one was this past week. This one was hard. There was a lot of anxiety leading up to it. This one would be after our tenth week - the week in which we lost Sayuri, our only "late" loss. Sayuri left us knowing how easily a viable pregnancy could change. How quickly hope could end. The fear of going through another loss like that hung over us (and still does, to be honest). I went into this last scan so nervous that we would see that stillness again.
The night before, I realized how on edge I'd been through the past several weeks, not constantly crazy scared, but never really able to relax and enjoy this. I wasn't sure if I'd had any truly happy moments in this pregnancy. I poured out my tears to Jesus. I asked that when we saw our baby move around a few times in the next scan that this burden of fear I'd been carrying would be lifted.
Our beautiful little one wiggled. And wiggled. Arms and legs just going, they could hardly stay still. My tears were quiet as I tried to stay still to keep the whole screen from jumping, and I felt the happiest I had since that first positive test. I finally felt like celebrating.

I'm still nervous. The imprint of repeated losses hasn't left me, and there are a few things that keep bringing up occasional anxious moments. Our first scan also discovered that I have a sub-chorionic hemorrhage, a bleed created during implantation between the sac and the lining. It's a pretty common happening in pregnancy and often does nothing at all, or clears up completely, but it can cause bleeding and also raises the risk of miscarriage a little bit, since if it is large or in the wrong location it can interfere with the baby's blood supply. Mine has gotten smaller since first found, which is a good sign, but continues to hang around being annoying.
I'm hitting the stage where the exhaustion and disgusting nausea I've been feeling might start to subside, and while it would be nice not to feel so miserable, I know I will struggle with worrying that it means my pregnancy is ending.
God has been so good to me in this. He has answered my prayers again and again, has given me moments of peace, words of encouragement at just the right time, and many reminders of just how much he loves me. I trust that he will continue to do this, and that every week my fear will keep being overcome by his perfect love, bringing me in and surrounding me with his all encompassing grace.

Please pray with me for this little one, for freedom from fear, and celebrate with me, praising God for the miracle he has brought to us.

It's Not Normal - Learning about Endometriosis

Alright, people. If your cramps send you home from work, school, or any other normal part of your life, that's not normal. If you feel nauseous during your period, that's not normal. If your period makes you feel like you might pass out, that's NOT normal.
I've been hearing so many stories lately of people living with these things, among others, hating it, but assuming their periods are just out of the average. I lived like that for a long time. I had no idea that cramps that sent me home, bleeding that went on for seven days, feeling like I was going to throw up when my cramps were the worst, and the backache that accompanied it all was anything other than just bad periods.
When I had my first miscarriage, it somehow triggered a pain in my side that wouldn't quit. I saw a few different doctors, but it wasn't until I came across a list of symptoms of endometriosis that I realized that I'd been dealing with this disease for years, and that other parts of my life that I'd never thought about (bowels that were never regular in any way) were actually symptoms of the same disease.
Endo is a condition were the enodometrial cells that are supposed to line the inside of your uterus, somehow find their way to the outside of it. But being cells that are designed to work a specific way, their location doesn't stop them from responding to the monthly hormone shifts and trying to shed when along with the ones that are in the proper place. Since they don't have an exit, I'm sure you can see how this would lead to a lot of pain. These cells continue to grow and spread and can cause scar tissue, cysts and adhesions between various organs, pulling them out of place or damaging them.
It took a few more months and doctors appointments to finally convince my then current OB to do a laparoscopy - the only definite way to diagnose endometriosis. Sure enough, it was the cause of all the crap that went along with my cycle. Since then, I've learned a lot more about this disease, experienced temporary remission from being pregnant, and gained a few new symptoms, like aching hips and legs.
Along with the things I experienced some of the most common symptoms of endo are pain during ovulation, pain during sex, pain during urination or bowel movements, fatigue, premenstrual spotting, irregular periods, and infertility. If any of this sounds familiar to you, I want to strongly encourage you to see your doctor.
Unfortunately, one of the biggest troubles with endo is the simple fact that not a lot is known about it. Despite affecting somewhere between 10-20% of women, it often goes undiagnosed for years, or even miss-diagnosed by many doctors. If your doctor brushes you off or chalks your symptoms up to some other cause, get a second opinion, or even a third. Pursue answers, do research, find others who've been through it and learn from them. Endometriosis is a progressive disease, who's pain levels and amount of damage being done don't always correspond to each other.
Don't keep living assuming what you're going through is just "normal."

Some good places to start with research:
Endometriosis Foundation of America
Endometriosis Resolved
Society of Obstetricians and Gynecologists of Canada - Enodmetriosis

Protective Mode

I think babies are wonderful. I think every baby is something worth celebrating. I think every single one is beautiful and precious and someone to be treasured. I really do.
So I ask you to forgive me if I don't celebrate with you, if I don't congratulate you, or ask about your pregnancy, or coo over your your beautiful bundle. Please forgive me if nothing related to the topic ever crosses my lips.
I've been in a lot of different places emotionally as we've gone through our losses. I've been in places where I've felt depressed, bitter, or jealous when I hear that someone is expecting. I've been in places where I was at peace or even thoroughly, genuinely excited for others when hearing their happy news. But right now, I'm in a place where it just hurts.
Every pregnancy announcement, every expectant belly, every ultrasound picture, every wrinkly newborn creates an ache, a physical pain in the center of my chest and that oh so familiar pressure behind my eyes. I've figured out that this is the moment when my brain hits the off switch. It goes into protective mode and just disconnects from all of this. Instead of progressing over and over to full blown heartache, it shuts that part of me down. I don't comment about your pregnancy, because I can't. I find myself physically unable to utter the word, "congratulations." I avoid looking at your pregnant belly, because if I start "seeing" it, I will stare and stare until the tears are pouring down my face. My brain refuses to engage the topic.
Please know that I'm not asking you to keep it a secret, to avoid sharing, or in any way alter how or when you talk about these things. I'm not asking for you to accommodate me as you rejoice and celebrate something that I want you to have complete freedom to rejoice about and celebrate. I'm just hoping for a little understanding when I don't join you as I wish I could. It's just my brain trying to protect my heart.

One Moment At A Time

The failure of this last cycle was unexpectedly hard to deal with. It left me feeling discouraged and depressed, feeling continually sad and weighed down. I've been struggling with how to come out of it and back to "normal," how to move on and find balance and flow for our days before we head back into all of it again. I felt disconnected from God, not having any desire to sit and have my daily "quiet time" with him, feeling spiritually numb for the most part. I knew that I needed this time, that I needed that connection of my spirit to his, so I did it anyway.
I read, "Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts,... And be thankful." (Col 3:15) Those words broke through the barrier that surrounded me and reminded me that, today, I have a choice. I can choose to stay where I am, in this grey heaviness that pins me down, or I can start choosing peace and thankfulness. I can choose joy. I can let go of the hurt and pain, or perhaps more accurately - I can work on prying its fingers one by one off of my soul.
As I grasped at this hope, I was simultaneously been tugged down, by the thoughts that this was too big, and I couldn't just walk away from it in this minute. It wasn't going to go away as easily as all that. The Holy Spirit responded, "No, but every moment, every minute, you can keep choosing. You can walk away one tiny step at a time. And when you stumble, I will still be here. It won't be failure, just another opportunity to try again."
As I moved on to the Psalms, chapter 84 mentions those in pilgrimage to Zion saying, "They go from strength to strength." So encouraging. It wasn't just one moment that carried them forward, one decision, one oasis, but as strength was depleted, it was replaced - a new word of encouragement, a new flare of hope, a new supply of energy.
So, today I choose to move forward, to rejoice in the hope given to me - the dark ache being lifted; I choose to find the things to be thankful for, to see his goodness around me. And in about ten minutes when I feel frustrated and discouraged, I'll choose it again.

Going Public

Ever since coming to this church, I've thought about sharing our story and asking them to pray for us. To pray for a miracle.
We heard a good handful of stories where the church had rallied around someone in need of healing, and God answered and healing happened. Our previous church had its strengths, but believing in miracles wasn't one of them. Healing wasn't something they did really. Here it's been known to happen and I wanted it.
Problem: First - I would have to actually share some pretty intimate information. Most people don't get up in front of crowds and tell them that they are currently trying to have a baby. Sharing just how many losses we've been through isn't easy either. It's hard to get away from the idea that people will view you as having something seriously wrong with you if you tell them you've lost six babies. Obviously, there is something wrong with you, but you don't necessarily want people to know that. Or to view you as broken somehow.
Second - I'd never stopped believing that God did miracles, that they still happen, but along this hard journey I'd come to a place where I had a lot of trouble believing that God did miracles for me. I mean, every single time we were here I prayed. Sometimes, I contacted all my areas of support and had them pray. It was always the same ending. A miracle healing was just not what God had in mind for me. But, believing that, or more accurately, not having the faith that God would do a miracle for me, how could I stand up and ask them to pray for one anyway?

I've come a very long way through all of this. I've been in a lot of different places with my faith and my relationship with God. Not that I'm in any way certain that God plans a miracle for me, but my trust in him and his love for me has grown.
As Aaron and I discussed and made plans to ttc again, this topic also came up. We talked about whether or not to share, and if so, how? Do we put it in the newsletter? Bulletin prayer requests? Or just get up there and put it all out on display? I was seriously tempted to hide behind the paper options. From what I know of my church, I wasn't worried about some of the horrendous responses I've heard friends of mine receive within their churches, but it's hard to know exactly what "kind" comments might come your way.
We felt that it really was time, that God was prompting us to ask for prayer, and I strongly felt that it should have the personal connection of sharing it all "face to face." So I called our pastor and told him what we wanted to do. After like an hour of working up the nerve just to make the phone call.
Now I had to figure out what I would say, how I would tell my entire church that I was currently... working to... have a baby...!!! What was I thinking?! This was insane. I couldn't do this. Seriously. I can't get up in front of a crowd and share these intimate details.
I spent some time praying(freaking out), and the verse about "bear one another's burdens" came to mind. I was reminded of all the times I'd heard about a Christian friend or family member that had been through a hard time and no one had really known about it. I would always get frustrated with them, wishing they had just shared so we could have been there for them, so we could have helped them. I knew God was telling me that it was my turn - I was supposed to be the one sharing our burden so others could help us bear it.
So I did. It wasn't easy, but I was granted a certain amount of peace as I got up there. I know my voice wavered as I spoke, that some of my weakness was revealed, but as we were surround by people who prayed over us, I knew that this was right. The Spirit was with us, and a tiny bit of healing happened to my spirit.
In the days following, we received voices of support from various friends and acquaintances and I know that many will continue to pray for us. I hope, if we go through another loss that we will be able to share and have some of the support we often wished for in those hard days. I'm so hoping that down the road a little we will be able to celebrate with all of these people.

Since we are currently moving on to the next cycle, I know it wasn't an instant healing. No big miracle happened, and I don't know what will happen down the road. While I hope for something that I can point to and say this was clearly an act of God, maybe some modern science will end up being the route he uses to grant us another child. Maybe, at the end of it, we won't have a baby at all. I don't know. I know that I am not alone, and I know that God continues to draw my heart to him, tiny step by tiny step through all of this crap and pain that the world holds for me.

My Story

I've been writing for a while now, not regularly, but here and there, and I decided it was time to share some of my writing, and therefore my heart, with some of those around me. I'm not always a frequent writer, although I would like to be doing it more often, so we'll simply see how this goes.

A lot of my story right now, revolves around Aaron and I trying to add to our family. It's all really a long story, and someday I may share more of the details here, but here's a slightly shortened version. Six years ago, we found out we were expecting, but our world crashed when I miscarried at six weeks. We named him Joshua Jared. Four months after that, I was diagnosed with endometriosis, and given the advice to "get pregnant." Fortunately, that turned out to be easy and put the endometriosis into remission for a few years.
Even though I was terrified through much of being pregnant with Dune, there were no issues through those nine months, he was born strong and healthy, and now an cheerful, imaginative four year old takes up much of my time. When we decided to try for a sibling, we were expecting/hoping that things would continue to go along "normally." Even after losing Anastasios at five weeks, I placed my hope in both loses being "one of those things." After a missed miscarriage at nine weeks (Sayuri), it really started to settle in that something wasn't working the way it should. We began the process of talking to doctors. There was a lot of waiting, and in the meantime, we lost Tacey and Aliento.
After a particularly horrendous waste of time with my OB, I finally knew I had to put in the effort to talk with a Reproductive Endocrinologist (RE). Seventeen vials of blood and a few fun tests later, we were left with "undiagnosed infertiity." The only help the RE could offer was thyroid medication to bring thyroid function to a more optimal level.
After a year and a half of waiting for answers, it was time to try again. Getting pregnant hadn't been hard for us, so after a month we found ourselves with a positive pregnancy test. Unfortunately, our problem hadn't gone anywhere and we lost Nima. Somehow, this loss was especially hard to take and ttc (trying to conceive) was put on hold for a while.
As the new year came around, Aaron and I decided that this year would be it for us. We'll put whatever effort we can into this, and hopefully by the end of the year, we'll have or be expecting a new baby. But if not, we need to be done. Our hearts have almost taken all they can hold.

At the times my mind and heart aren't being consumed by this part of my life, I'm focusing on being a mom, slowly learning to parent with purpose and always with grace. I'm figuring out how to teach a little human about everything - manners, self-discipline, dealing with emotions, responsibility, communication, kindness, healthy habits, dinosaurs, outer-to-space, and what's inside his body!
It didn't take long to realize that many of things I was learning about how to be a mama - responding to emotions, dealing with my own, assuming good intentions, allowing space for mistakes, having appropriate expectations - also transferred to my marriage. We're almost ten years in, and sometimes I feel like we're still newlyweds with all I have to learn. There are many things I'm working on, but I rest knowing that our love runs deep and our relationship is strong. We've seen each other through a lot of heartache and we hold to each other through it all.

My little family currently lives in a small village at the edge of a big city. Aaron is the assistant pastor at the church we see out our front window, and Dune and I love having him so close by. Coming here was one of the best things to happen to our family. It's not been perfection without flaw, but I'm often reminded of how this is the place God has brought us to, and how well it fits our family right now. Living here is a constant reminder of his grace.