A Funny Thing Called Hope

(My "good job not dying during surgery" present that I really needed to have.)

Hope is a funny thing. It's strange how crushed you can feel, how completely devoid of it you can think that you are, but how with the right gust of wind, it can all come right back to you like it was never gone. My hope was tucked into storage for the past few months, or maybe even years, and now it's back in the shape of due dates and baby names and nursery themes. It's back in the front of my mind instead of being tucked away in storage for later. And it feels good to have it out again.

We are on the hunt for a home. We are once again trying to get pregnant. (Well, we will be next month when my body is healed.) We have better chances now, our specialist says. She says that before we only had about a 30-40% chance of conception and that now we have 70-80%. She says it's that much more of a distinct possibility now, and all I can do is cry happy tears and mouth the wordless thanks that have been waiting in my heart for this day. All I've wanted has been answers for these past four years, and now that I have them, I am content. This peaceful happiness may be short-lived as we are still on the hunt for something more, but I will continue the search for homes and positive tests with a calm heart, because I have answers and that's really all I need.

They say that Mercury was in retrograde last month and that it could be the cause for many unpleasantries, but I like to take more ownership of my fate. I don't like the idea of something so much bigger holding my destiny in its hands, be it planets or humans or the big man upstairs. I like to think of myself as in charge of my life so much more than I am. But when it comes down to it, my promotion and successful surgery were both things I've prayed about for months but really were completely beyond my control. And it freaks me out a little that so much of my peace of mind rests within the power of someone else, but it is what it is.

One thing that I hope to never forget is a conversation I had with a coworker shortly after she was married in 2009. She asked when I wanted children, and I told her about our five year plan, and she said that it sounded nice but how, in reality, none of us are really in control of that. In the moment, I thought she was ignorant and that I knew best, but that's a moment I will never forget because she knew something then that it has taken me five years to learn: I am not the boss. God is the boss. And no matter how much I fight or want things to be MY way, things will only happen when it's HIS way. I just hope that our wills are finally both the same thing at the same time, because it would be pretty neat to finally start building my family now. And if not now, at least I've still got that hope dug out of storage, ready to use for the months to come.

Yes, hope is a funny thing, friends. But I'm so grateful to have it.

Happy Tears

Oh, hello, beautiful Wednesday. Three days ago, I was working my butt off performing various duties in my new role as supervisor at work. I held girls accountable, trained new staff, and successfully talked a girl into getting out of bed for about thirty minutes before she gave up and laid on the floor in her room again. I also monitored girls as they deep cleaned their home, exercised in their basement, and dealt with the under-staffing that results from a high-stress job with an even higher turnover rate. It was a long day. I was also acutely aware of my intake of fluids and food, as I was not allowed to eat or drink anything past midnight. Had I just experienced my first day of being a gremlin? Nope, I had surgery in the morning!

As you may remember from my months ago post about impending surgery, I was scheduled to have a diagnostic laparoscopy, which is the condensed way of saying getting a couple of cuts in my belly, pumping it full of gas, going through one of those holes with a camera, and identifying and destroying any endometriosis that could be found. This was to be a big surgery for me, since my infertility has been going on for at least the past four years and has been "unexplained" for the past two.

Monday morning came and went faster than even I could have predicted. I arrived at the hospital at 9:15 for a surgery scheduled for 11:40, but the surgery before mine was cancelled and I was able to be fit in even earlier. Seeing the nurse write on the white board that surgery was "NOW!!" had me a bit freaked out to say the least, but I was there and I was doing it and there was no turning back at that point.

After surgery, while in recovery, I chewed on ice chips to soothe my sore throat, and I tried to get any and all information out of my nurse, but she knew nothing about my procedure. It left me feeling frustrated, but the kind of calm, docile, frustrated that you can only feel when your heart is pumping about forty beats a minute and you're too drugged up to really know much beyond what's happening in that moment. I was aware enough, however, to ask the nurse how many incisions I had in my belly, since I knew that there would only be two if they hadn't found any endometriosis. When the nurse answered "three," I might have started crying. There was so much more than three cuts in me in that moment--there was hope.

When I finally got back into my room, where Trevor the nurse ("hey, that's my favorite brother's name too!") wheeled me in, I sipped my water and continued chomping on my ice, and waited for Joshua to come in. When he did, he had pictures and a diagnosis of for real moderate endometriosis, and I suddenly felt so validated and right for all of those times I knew something wasn't right and that there had to be an explanation for why everything wasn't working for us. I cried the happiest tears I could. I called my mom and my mother-in-law and others and cried to them with my slow, scratchy voice. I was relieved and hopeful and happy.

I never thought a diagnosis would make me feel this way, but when you've heard for  years you're probably just not "doing it right" or that you should "just adopt," it feels good to know that you're not crazy. I am not crazy. I have endometriosis. And we removed as much of it as we could find during surgery, and hopefully that's enough so that I can have biological children in my future. And if not? That's okay too. At least I know now what's wrong with me so that I can start dealing with it.

Hey world, I have endometriosis, and while it may not seem an occasion to cry happy tears, there have been many shed in my house this week. Gone are the days of "unexplained" infertility in my house. We finally have answers!!

Happy Tuesday

Hi world.

I miss you.

I haven't been writing in a long time, primarily because there's not much to say.

 I still work full-time at a job I love, I am still married to my best friend, and I am still totally inexplicably infertile.

It could be easy to be down on myself during such a seemingly stagnant period of my life, and while I do have my days where I feel utter frustration at my lack of progression, I'm also totally loving the peace I have recently been able to reach. 

Don't get me wrong--I still want a family. 

I still want to be a mother with every crumb of my soul. 

But I'm on the cusp of turning 26 years old, and while I've been told (for years) to just "enjoy" this time alone with my husband, I feel like I'm just now finally starting to do that. 

Maybe it's the financial (semi)stability. 

Maybe it's the sense of permanence I feel with my husband or my friends or my family. 

Or maybe this peace simply comes from within, from letting go of all of the things I can't control. 

Maybe it's an internal thing that just happens when you're staring your late twenties in the face.

 I don't know, guys. 

This is my first try at life. 

But whatever the reason, I'm so so glad that this peace is here with me.

I love this unpredictable boy and the joy he brings me every single day.

 

I love my imperfectly perfect body.

I love this crazy, chaotic life.

Maybe one day I'll have a baby.

Maybe one day I'll adopt one.

Maybe I won't.

The funny thing about life is that you never really know what's going to happen next, so you really have no other choice but to embrace the now and hope for the best. 

And isn't that all that anyone really needs? Right now?

Happy Tuesday, my friends.

XOXO,

Bryn

Saturday Confessions

I have a confession to make, but I don't really want to. I feel like a big fat jerk for ever even thinking it. But I'm not perfect, and today I'm going to fully admit that. Anyway, here it goes.

Josh and I awoke around 9:30 this morning, enjoying the crisp white comforter warming us, still mulling over last night's dreams and the lingering feelings of sleepiness. We lazily snuggled each other and our furry child and played on our phones and rubbed each other's backs. We were mentally preparing to start packing and cleaning our house for our roadtrip. We were enjoying the rare occurrence of togetherness in the morning. And then Josh's phone rang.

Josh has become a detective in the last month, and he's been a busy bee ever since. It's been amazing on his schedule, but I still work shift work, meaning I still do not have an amazing schedule. That's been the frustrating part. So the fact that we were able to sleep in together was monumental. Meaning we definitely should have known better than to leave all of our packing and readying our home for the Saturday morning that he was supposed to have off.

Anyway, when Josh answered his phone and I overheard the word "echo" from the other end of the line, my heart sank. In cop lingo, echo means dead. If Josh was getting an "echo" phone call, that meant that he'd have to leave and take pictures. And be gone for hours. And have subsequent hours of paperwork. Sigh. He climbed out of bed and put on his uniform. He left in a hurry. And I was left with a feeling of dread.

I then knew that I would then be left with the responsibility of cleaning our entire house. I knew that I'd have to do all of the packing and cleaning out the car and throwing away all of our trash. I knew that I'd no longer have help, and I was sad for myself. I even put a bratty status up on the Facebook page for police wives where I whined about having to do all of the work by myself.

My confession is that, at no point during this entire discovery did I ever even care that someone had died. And for that, I apologize. Sometimes in this life where my husband deals with DUIs, car accidents, overdoses, random crimes, and dead bodies throughout the week, I forget that there are lives intertwined with this mix. Sometimes I forget that while I complain about Josh being gone for a few hours, people are grieving the loss of a person from their lives. I'm a jerk. My paradigm has shifted. I'll quit being such a complainer.

How often in this life do we forget about others in the pursuit of our own interests? How often do we forget about having empathy and understanding for others' situations? How often do we get stuck in the "poor me" state of mind where we're so near-sighted that we forget about how lucky we are? For me, it's far too often.

But now it's really time for me to go get ready. I've got a house to clean and a car to pack. It's a busy day, and I've got things to do. And I'm going to quit having a bad attitude about it, because at least I've got fun things to do and places to be. Today can still be a beautiful day!

xoxo,
B

Eleven Things I Wish I Could Say to My Fertility Doctor

This is a face of infertility.

Dear Infertility Doctor,

I get so flustered and forgetful once I'm in the office where I meet you monthly. These are some things I don't feel comfortable enough to say but feel like they need to be said.

1. Making an appointment to see you has been years in the making, so please take my concerns seriously. It's immensely difficult to admit that I can't do this. It's really hard for me to have come to the understanding that there's something wrong with me. Please remember that just calling you to make an appointment took a whole lot of humility. So please be gentle with my ego.

2. I know that I'm only 25 years old, and I'm completely aware that many of your patients are so much older. I know that I'm technically considered "young." But I also know that my three years of unsuccessful trying have been some of the hardest of my life. Your "older" patients are encouraged to come in after six months, so, unfortunately, I've got a monopoly on the emotional hardship that comes with years of this. Please don't invalidate me because I'm not almost 40. Please don't tell me I've got lots of time because I'm so young. All that does is make me think that you don't value my time and won't work as hard as I need you to.

3. When I ask for more testing, it's because I am not satisfied with your diagnosis. Because, honestly, how the heck is "unexplained" a diagnosis anyway? It's not. It's a cop-out because you don't know what the answer is. You know this. I know this. Let's not pretend that it's anything it's not. You know just as well as I do that next month when I'm not on treatment I could end up pregnant spontaneously, and you wouldn't have any better of an explanation for that either, because neither you nor I understand what's working and not working in my body.

4. There's still about 30% of me that is in complete denial. I still hope that I'm just not timing things right or something. I know that doesn't make sense because we've had like 36 tries to get it right, but that's just part of my denial. Part of me doesn't think I actually have infertility.

5. Another 20% of me really wants to find a natural way to resolve my infertility. I wish that I knew how to get into acupuncture or could enroll in a nightly meditation class or get friendly with a dietician who could help me know exactly what I need. This part of me really hates that I'm going to a fertility specialist and wasting so much money and time on medications that clearly aren't working anyway.

6. About 40% of me is convinced nothing is going to work and I'm barren. (Never say that word. It is the worst!) This part of me is pretty positive I'll either adopt or remain childless. This part of me never expects anything to work anyway and is the "cautious" in my "cautiously optimistic" I feel each month.

7. The last 10% of me is unrealistically hopeful that every single procedure will work and that I'll have the results I want every single month. This part of me starts stressing about the idea of twins or triplets when I haven't even had a positive pregnancy test. This number fluctuates, but it's just shrinking smaller with time.

8. You may have gone through years of school, but I still know my body best. I was ovulating before I met you, and I'll continue ovulating once we part ways. I'm aware that sometime between ovulation and menstruation, something is going wrong. That's really all I know, but I know that there are a million different things that can be going wrong. Not only have I lived in this body my whole life, but I've also done a ton of research in the last three years about my specific symptoms and issues. Don't dismiss my ideas just because I didn't go to medical school.

9. Every month that I get my period, I feel like it's a miscarriage. It is the epitome of utter devastation. Every. Single. Month.

10. IUI's and IVF's may be commonplace for you, but they're really scary and painful for me. If you're in the room performing my procedure, don't talk and laugh with my husband until you're done. Tell me what you're doing. I'm scared and it is physically painful that you're shoving foreign objects into my body. At least talk me through it.

11. All of this having been said, thank you, just the way I say thank you every month. I know that you're trying. I know that you want us to be successful too. I know that you're doing what you can. I'm much more frustrated with our lack of answers and the fact that I don't have a cut and dry case than I am with you. Please don't hold it against me that I'm angry about my situation. I promise I'm not angry with you. Thank you for helping us in our quest.

So Grateful

A wordy thank you from me and a big thumbs up from this hunk!

Holy cow.

I am so humbled.

I feel so blessed.

I am so grateful.

In the two days since we've started our fundraising efforts on gofundme.com, we have raised over $600 and have had almost 40 shares of our page. We've had friends and family from across the country reach out to us and offer to help. We have received so much more support than we could have hoped for. True story, my friends--my heart is full.

This morning, my good friend Anzana reached out to me and offered to set up a fundraising auction where the proceeds will be donated to our IVF fund. Anzana is amazing! She has already raised hundreds of dollars in products and gift cards to a variety of shops and websites through her efforts! Anzana herself is even donating $50 towards the auction--and her shop is awesome! If you're interested in checking out the auction Anzana is setting up, she's going through Instagram and she's periodically putting up pictures of the items and companies going up for auction. If you have anything you'd like to donate, contact Anzana at anzana5@gmail.com and let her know. This is a really exciting time for us, and we'd love to have you all involved in any way you'd like.

Thank you all so much from the bottom of my heart for all of the love, support, donations, and contact. Thank you for helping us get our story out there. Thank you for the encouragement. And most of all, thank you for being here for us when we need you guys the most. You are all amazing.

Love, love, love,
Bryn

How to Be There for Your Infertile Friends

Recently, I've been told that there are too many articles out there telling people what not to say to their infertile friends. My friends have confided in me that they get too worried about saying the wrong things and wind up not saying anything at all. Being forgotten is a scary reality in the infertile's world, as we so often already feel so forgotten by friends, family, society, and even (at times) God himself. So this post is being written to give you all the confidence you need to speak with your infertile friends without being offensive.

1. Just ask about treatment. This might seem weird, but sometimes infertile couples want you to bring up treatment and ask how things are going. They don't want to bring it up themselves, as it can be kind of an awkward bit of conversation to offer up ("Oh, by the way, I got my period again," etc. can be super depressing when initiated by the infertile friend). To bring this up, casually ask about how things are going or ask about future plans. Depending on the day of the cycle, your friend may give you a vague answer. Sometimes this is because she doesn't want to talk about it or doesn't feel comfortable going into details around the company she's with. You can always clarify. And if she gets emotional? (And she probably will.) Be there. It's hard to feel like there's a safe place to just cry and grieve sometimes.

2. Open up the conversation. There are few things more awkward than sitting in a room full of your friends and their families and being completely excluded from the conversation because it's all turned to child-rearing. And even though I've worked with kids of all ages for the past seven years, I'm still not a parent, plain and simple. If you don't want your friends to feel left out, bring up a mutual interest or ask them about something they've been doing in their lives. And if you want to talk about your kids? Do it. Your friends are hanging out with you because they love you. Just don't go crazy and talk about nothing else for hours. That gets super awkward for the childless couple sitting on your couch. I promise.

3. Plan child-free activities sometimes. Your friends love you, and they love your little darlings too, but sometimes infertile couples need a break from all the kid stuff. It already completely consumes their lives, I promise. Invite them out for a double date to the movies or out to dinner or just schedule a sitter and go somewhere to play games or talk. Your friends will appreciate actually getting to visit with you without you sounding like you have Tourette's from how often you interrupt your own conversations to say things to your children. Bonus: surprisingly, parents actually enjoy having conversations with adults too, so it's a win-win!

4. Remember us on the holidays. We are struggling on the holidays, I promise. What's the best time of your life to enjoy a holiday? When you're a child. We are painfully aware that we neither have children nor are children, resulting in some boring holiday traditions alone. Even if you just send a text saying "thinking of you today" or give them a call, your friends will feel better knowing that they haven't been forgotten.

Honestly, the biggest and best thing you can do for your infertile friends is to be there. Your friends are going to either become pregnant or not. If they become pregnant, it can happen through a variety of ways these days, with all the fancy technology and whatnot. Love them no matter what. Support them even if you don't think you'd do the same if you were in their shoes. You never know what you'll do until you're faced with the same situation. If your friends don't become pregnant, they will either adopt, foster, use a surrogate, or choose to live child-free. No matter what, be there. Love them no matter what they choose. Support them no matter how much you think you'd do things differently. That's all we really want. We just want to know that we have the love and support from the people who we also love and support. That's the secret. That's the dream.

Want to know another secret? You're already a great friend for caring. Just keep caring and loving and you won't go wrong. Just be sensitive and use empathy and good judgment before speaking. That's really all you need.

Love,
B

Have any other questions about infertility that you'd like answered? Leave a comment and we may use it in a future post!

IVF Funding

Hi friends. I feel like a jerk for asking, but we need help. Our second IUI did not work, and we are fairly confident we'll be needing IVF in order to build our family biologically. I was initially opposed to IVF because I thought it was just an excuse to feed my own narcissistic need to have babies who look like me, but at our last doctor's appointment, it was explained to us that we'll have a 60% chance of conceiving if we use IVF. And I'm not going to lie to you--I really want to get pregnant. I want to be a part of the biological mom club. I want to know what it feels like to give life. And I totally do want a baby with my eyes and Josh's nose. I want to see our DNA combined into a little love munchkin. I want it so badly. If it doesn't work, that's okay. We can look at our other options then. But imagine if it does work? All of these years of crying and praying and waiting will suddenly seem totally worth it.

The problem is that IVF is pricey. Like $13,000.00 a month pricey. Which is more than Josh and I make combined in three months, to put it into perspective. And we've already got bills because we are adults. And while selling one of my extra kidneys on the black market is tempting (as is becoming a drug dealer or prostitute or begging in the streets), I think I'm just going to throw this out there: we need financial help. We will not be able to afford to have an IVF procedure done for years if we try to save up on our own (which we are also planning on doing). So I set up a gofundme page in hopes that one person will put in $5 and maybe another person will add $5 until we have enough money to make at least one IVF happen. And if IVF doesn't work for us? At least we'll have closure. At least we'll know. Because right now it really stinks knowing that there's technology with much better odds of getting us pregnant that we are missing out on because we happen to be a part of a lower tax bracket.

Remember us? We're just fun-loving folks looking to add on to our family.

Anyway, hi. We need a little help. I won't bug you about it in every post. I won't beg you for it when I see you in the streets. But I'm letting the universe know that we are open to accept financial help at this time. The link to our page is here. Thank you for reading, and thank you for sharing our story.

XOXO,
B

Three Years Ago

One of our last pictures we took together before the deployment. Utah Lake, June 2011

 On this day, three years ago, I kissed my honey goodbye and sent him to war. I sent him to Iraq--to suicide bombers and RPGs and secret missions in secret places he's still not allowed to talk about. I also sent him knowing well that he may not make it home for one reason or another. He promised me he'd come back to me, but you simply can't make promises like that when it comes to war. It is war, after all, where there are people actively trying to kill you, let alone all of the friendly fire and many freak accidents. He's even told me himself that when his base would be mortared that it was a complete lottery: where one man had been standing, he'd be completely destroyed while the man next to him didn't have a scratch. That's the way war works: complete chance, freckled with miracles.

Alex was one of my favorite parts about the deployment. She is amazing. North Shore, Oahu, July or August 2011

 While Josh was gone, I spent six months with his sister. She is one of my very best friends, and we had some crazy adventures together in his absence, with banding together in Hawaii, escaping a crazy lady's house, hiking, swimming, and adventuring, living together again in Utah, and then nannying in Maryland. And being with even just one member of Josh's family made the days easier for me. I still felt connected to him in a way I don't know I would have felt otherwise.

Sunset on the North Shore of Oahu, July or August 2011

I talk a lot about the fun I had while he was gone--and there was a lot of fun--but the truth is that it was really hard too. We'd go for days without even emailing, and I would have no idea how he was doing. I couldn't leave my phone anywhere (just in case he called), and if I missed a call, I'd become so distraught that I would sob uncontrollably for way longer than necessary.I had absolutely no control over our relationship or the communication we shared. Ultimately, I was always afraid for his life. Wherever I was, whatever I was doing, in the back of my mind I was worrying about him. I'd make what-if plans in my head for what I'd do if he never came home, and I prayed every night that I wouldn't have to find out. Josh jokes that I just vacationed while he was gone, and I did a lot of that, but there was always the underlying feeling of dread and the sadness of experiencing so much wonder and beauty without being able to share it with the person you care about the most.

We didn't Skype half as often as I'd have liked, but it was amazing to see him when we did.

 The funny thing is that sometimes I miss it. And I know that it's normal for the soldiers themselves to experience nostalgia for war, but I've never heard of a wife wishing her husband would go back. Not because I want him to be in war, exactly, but more that I really enjoyed being completely independent while he was away, and sometimes I miss not having to tell anyone where I'm going or what I'm doing. Sometimes I miss shopping without the constant criticism of how much money I'm spending. Sometimes I miss having only my own messes to clean up. The truth of it is, sometimes I miss having complete freedom. Maybe that sounds weird, and maybe nobody will understand it, but it's true for me. And I know he misses it too.

He's a pretty cool guy, that Joshua.

The past three years have been filled with school and work. They've been spent trying to start our family and moving and beginning professional careers. They've been filled with laughter and love. They've also been filled with depression and heartache and the longing for something more. And, for six months, the last three years also consisted of my sweetheart being gone, training, fighting bad people, and our own separate independence.

Hottest steely-eyed killer I ever saw.

 And really, this post is just about saying thank you to my guy for being brave and coming home and putting up with me in the meantime. I know that I've had my imperfect moments all along the way, but I hope that the love I've got for you can at least cancel some of that out. Thank you for serving, and thank you for coming home to me.

-B

Stop Telling Me I'm a Mother

Okay, so before I begin this post, I just want to say that I am writing this from a place of love. I am not a bitter person. I have bitter days about this whole infertile journey, but I'm not bitter. I had my IUI a week ago and I'm currently just riding the monthly roller coaster that I've been on for three years. In short, life is good around here right now.

That having been said, all of these blog posts floating around about how "all women are mothers" really need to stop. And here's why: these posts have some fallacies in their arguments that inevitably leave someone feeling left out or in disagreement. Really. Stop patronizing us non-moms. We still have plenty of self-worth and identity in other areas. Don't tell me I have to be a mother when I'm still not part of that club yet. I get it that you're trying to make us feel included. I understand that it's just because you love us and don't want to be sad. But really. Just stop.

Does this mean adopted children can never truly understand their mothers' love for them?

My beef starts with how mothers are wonderful for carrying their babies for nine months. I mean, of course this is a selfless sacrifice that many mothers make, but what about all of the women who become mothers through adoption? They don't carry their children in their wombs, but they take care of every other aspect of a child's life. Are they not also true mothers for their late nights cleaning up vomit from their child's bed or poop in the tub? Are they not mothers for the love they have for their children? Should they not receive credit for the hours of helping with homework or the boo-boos they kiss or the time and finances they invest in their children? Of course they are real mothers. They love their babies just as much as the next mother. And it would be ignorant to argue that adopted children do not truly know their mothers' love because they were never inside of their moms. While women who have fulfilled these qualifications are definitely mothers, even if their children have not survived to be mothered, I don't buy this argument in its entirety. This isn't the only path to motherhood.

The next issue I have is with the argument that all women are mothers because all women nurture and love. This article here was undoubtedly written from a place of love, but it leaves much to be desired in its argument. While I agree that most mothers are, by nature, nurturing and loving, motherhood is a club that not all of us women are a part of. Some women choose not to be mothers by choice, and others are in the same boat I'm in where we're stuck at the mercy of medical professionals and the grace of a higher power. In short, we aren't all mothers. We can be teachers, fun aunts, family, friends, or a myriad of other roles within a child's life--but we have never been handed a baby and been able to gaze at it lovingly with the knowledge that we will never have to give it back. We've never delivered a child or adopted one and known that we were mothers, ultimately responsible for the little life in our arms. That's what so many of us want. That's a key aspect of motherhood. We don't have that. That's another reason why we aren't mothers.

These articles have been written from a good place. They've been written in hopes to make some of us left out women feel included on Mother's Day. These don't make us feel included though. It feels fake, hollow, and incomplete. And, here's the thing: we aren't mothers on the other days of the year either and we tend to get along just fine. If you'd like to ease some of the sadness (that some of us may be experiencing) on Mother's Day, ask us what we need. I don't like to have gifts on Mother's Day because I feel like I don't deserve anything. I am not a mother! On Mother's Day, I like to spend time with my own mother. I like to go hiking. I enjoy reading. I'm even working tomorrow. It's not a special day for me this year. Maybe next year I'll have a baby and be in a different place. But this year I'm not. The attempts that everyone makes to have us feel included are sweet, but they make me want to simply remind them that I am not yet a mother and do not need any Mother's Day reminders. End of story.

So, if you gather anything from this post, please remember that those of us without children do not need to hear condescending half-truths. We don't need to be told that we actually are part of this club that we aren't a part of any other time of the year. And it's okay. Birth mothers? You rock. Adoptive mamas? You're amazing. Biological moms? I salute you. Step-moms? Thank you. Foster moms? You make so much more of a difference than you'll ever know. And to any other sort of mother who I've forgotten? I'm sorry. You're raising the future. Thank you for taking the extra time with your little ones and loving them a little more for me. All of society thanks you for taking your role seriously and doing such a good job raising your kids.

Happy Mother's Day.

An Untypical Saturday

An old wives' tale says that if you surround yourself with babies, your body will be irresistibly fertile. Does it count if I'm looking at pictures of baby myself? TBT (except it's Saturday...) to infant Bryn, circa 1988 AD.

My typical Saturday is spent either a) working, b) recovering from working the night before, or c) hanging out solo while my guy works. This is an ongoing thing, and I've come to accept that weekends are not always the times that I will see Joshua. And that's okay. But that's not what happened today.

Today was ultrasound day. So I dragged myself out of bed at 7:30 after working sixteen hours yesterday (and driving two more) and took a shower. And shaved. Because I think it's common courtesy to be presentable for the medical professionals that will be looking around down there. Whatever. Beside the point. Five minutes before go time, I had to wake His Highness up since he "just needs to throw pants on" (his words), and we were out the door. By 8:30. On a Saturday. I think we're growing up. Gross.

Everything at the ultrasound went well. I've got a big egg in each ovary, and neither of them had ovulated yet, which is good because I was on cycle day 14, and this is usually a day 12 kind of thing, and I had been worried that we'd miss our window. I was prescribed my Ovidrell again and told to administer it "right away" so that I'd be able to have my IUI done on Sunday (since I don't have to work). So, we drove over to the pharmacy and picked up the prescription. We administered the shot in the car, all "meth-style," according to Joshua. I don't know much about meth besides my extensive viewing of Breaking Bad, but I'll take my popo's word for it. Anyway, yeah. That happened.

 And then we decided to go and get some breakfast, because by now it was 10:30 on a Saturday morning, and we were in Salt Lake where our options were endless. While we were stopped at a traffic light, Josh saw an older gentleman walking with a cane and carrying a big, heavy box. Josh told me I needed to get in the driver's seat because he was going to go help the man. I drove around the block, since we were in a left turn lane, and when I found Josh and pulled over, he told me we were going to give the man a ride. It turns out he was trying to get downtown (and was way up by the University of Utah). He was new to the area and was returning a Christus (*spelling?) statue to Deseret Book because his church had told him they'd reimburse him for buying it, but because he just moved he needed them to do it right away since he'd skipped buying furniture in order to buy this statue. It was a really sad story, and I was happy to drive (Jack from Friendship Manor) downtown. And when Joshua had walked him inside to Deseret Book and helped him with his statue, we set off again in search of breakfast.

We ended up at the Corner Bakery, which was amazing. Eat there. Maybe not every day, since their french toast is like coffee cake, but at least once. It was so good. Afterwards, we were on our way over to the Gateway mall so I could show Joshua the Urban Art Gallery when I witnessed a drug deal. It was ridiculously obvious. (Who the heck literally buys drugs off of the street corner??) Part of me wanted to yell at the drug dealer and buyer and just let them know I'd seen them, but mostly I didn't want to get shot, so I just told Josh about it. We laughed. Because when you're married to a cop, sometimes that's what you do when you see a drug deal go down at 11:00 on a Saturday morning. Seriously, the kid must have woken up and though I could sure go for some heroin right about now. I just don't get it. Anyway, the gallery was awesome, and Joshy and I got to share some fun moments. Tomorrow they're opening a Star Wars exhibit, and I'm pretty sure Josh is going to talk me into breaking the sabbath to check it out. Whatever. #yolo #AmITrendyNow ?

Let's end this thing, because it's late and I'm a little old lady who should go to bed at 10:00 every night. Anyway, I'm going in for my IUI tomorrow. And then I won't know anything for two weeks. And I think it's kind of rude and tortuous that that's how it works, but whatever. I hope this works, because it's been three LOOONG years of trying, and it's getting old. I'd like to move on with my life or freaking start my life, but I don't feel like I can as long as I'm holding my breath to see if I will ever have a family.

So here's to answers and self-discovery and random acts of kindness and laughing at the things in life you can't control or change. Here's to sunny Saturdays and naps and new sheets of 800 thread count Egyptian cotton heaven against my skin. And here's to tomorrow. May it be even more wonderful than today.

My Corner of Crazy

 Hey amigos! Long time no see, eh? I've just been a crazy worker bee to bring home the money to my honey so we can stay afloat. (I actually think it's working right now too!) That therapeutic boarding school where I work? It's amazing. I love my job every day. Each day is an adventure preparing me for who knows what that I can only assume I'll have to deal with once again when I have teenagers of my own.

But that's not what I wanted to talk about today. Actually, I have a confession I really wanted to make: I don't know how this story is going to end. I don't know if I'm ever going to be able to build my family in a biological way. I don't know if I'll ever adopt a little baby to be mine forever. I don't even know where this story is going right now. And if I had to guess? I wouldn't be able to. I have no idea. My life can still go a million different ways. And you know what? That's okay.

Yup. I said it. I've finally gotten to the point where I'm okay with the fact that I may not be able to control my future. I don't know if I'll have children. I don't know what I'm going to do when I grow up or who I'm going to be. And isn't that its own kind of wonderful?

I've had three events cause some pretty significant paradigm shifts for me this week. Though small on their own, they've each impacted me significantly and reminded me of a few different things.

I had a friend tell me the other day that she is jealous I get to peek at my eggs once in a while, and while I was initially bugged (because I'd much rather be fertile than have monthly vaginal ultrasounds), it gave me a little perspective. Huh. My situation isn't really so bad. I mean really. At least my ovaries are producing eggs. At least my ovaries work. At least I ovulate. And my husband has sperm that are usually able to come hang out around the right time of the month for our three or four day long dance party. And maybe I'm not getting pregnant. But I am getting closer to figuring out why not. Because as the months progress and the treatments don't work, I have fewer and fewer causes it could be. This whole infertility thing may last the rest of my life, but at least I have a Reproductive Endocrinologist who listens to me and isn't rushing me into anything. Seriously. This could be worse.

I just switched houses at work today (we have three locations) and had a chance to work with a co-worker who I'd never worked with before. We were talking about ourselves a little bit since the girls were in a cycling class (that I am really excited to do next time!) and she mentioned the fact that she was pregnant when she and her husband got married. She said they'd already been engaged for a while when they found out and that their little buddy just hurried their wedding along a little. And then she talked for a little bit about how it's been a struggle to get married and become a new parent in the same year. She encouraged me to enjoy my time with my husband while I can because children can be their own kind of challenge when they come around. And, since this was our first real conversation, I didn't really feel it appropriate, so I didn't mention the fact that I am infertile and I've been trying to get pregnant for three years or the fact that I'd give pretty much anything to have a baby these days. But you know what? She's right. I haven't really been enjoying this time with my husband because I've been stressing about the impossibilities that I face and the what-if's and the maybes and the worries that accompany all of that. And I forget that my guy really is as wonderful as they come and I'm creepy borderline obsessed like crazy with that boy I call mine. And sometimes I forget it. How can anyone forget something so great? Maybe life just makes you forget sometimes.

This weekend, in Pleasant Grove, UT, very near where Joshua and I shared our first basement apartment after being married in 2009, an infant's corpse was discovered in a woman's garage. Upon further investigation, six more infant corpses were discovered by police. This story makes me sick. So so sick. For some reason, a woman decided that her only option seven times was to hide her pregnancies and murder her children immediately following birth. What a crazy crazy world. And you may be thinking, what the heck could you have learned from this? And I swear to you, under other circumstances, who knows? I could have been that woman. My life could be so much worse. I cannot even fathom being in her shoes, but I can sure try. And I'm telling you, the only thing that could ever drive someone to do that is complete desperation. And while I feel personally affected by this story (because, for freak's sake, I would gladly have raised every single one of those babies), I can't judge. I'm currently the crazy girl who tracks everything that goes on in her bedroom, and I used to be the freak who took her temperature every morning in addition to charting her cervical positioning and cervical mucus along with any other "pertinent" information, most of which was about my moods and breast sensitivity. And while this may seem like comparing apples and oranges, we're all our own kind of crazy.

And what do I want you to take away from this today? Embrace your little corner of crazy. Because perspective is a powerful thing. Today I'm the girl with headaches who's wearing pink jeans, rocking her bandaged arm from having blood drawn again, snuggling with her mutt-pup, and listening to Arctic Monkeys on repeat. I'm enjoying my wavy long hair and the fact that my bangs are close to being grown out again. I'm the girl who drives too fast with her sunroof open and always gets conned into the "upgrades" at Jiffy Lube because those dang mechanics are so convincing. The one who's watching all of the "kid snippets" on Youtube and laughing hysterically at Season 3 of Bob's Burgers that recently arrived on Netflix. I'm the one who works with troubled youth and loves it more than any other job because I'm making the world a better place one girl at a time. I'm the one with the stoic stare and the logical argument, the one who plans out everything she does, strategically, deliberately before doing it. The same one who wants to write novels and live on the beach for the rest of my days. Yup, that's me, in a nutshell. That's my recipe for crazy. And, do you know what? It's all good. Because my kind of crazy is okay for today.

What does your little corner of crazy look like today? Are you free as a bird or a worker bee? What's your soundtrack? And how does it look? Because for me, my kind of crazy is looking okay.

Random Thing: If you are pregnant and not sure of what your options are, please consider adoption. Because I know I'm not the only mama-to-be with no baby-to-be yet. And if my little corner of crazy doesn't seem right for your impending bundle of joy, there are so so many other families who are looking to build their families through adoption as well. Open, closed, whatever. You can pick. But please, if you're thinking about pretending it didn't happen and whatever goes along with that, please choose life. Please think about the future for that little baby.

Fertility Drugs, Ultrasounds, and Unsinkable Hope

Hey all!

I had my ultrasound on Friday and wanted to update anyone who was curious. So, here's the deal: Femara=Awesome. At least, I liked it way better than Clomid. Femara's worst side effect was that I felt a little goofy after taking it. Like my equilibrium was off. So I just didn't drive within so many hours after taking it. That was a pain because my work hours vary, so I couldn't take the medication at the same time every day. Eventually, I moved the time I took it to right before bed, and that seemed to help. And the longer I took it, the less weird I felt after taking it. So that was that.

At my ultrasound on Friday, I got to take a peek at my eggs and saw that I have two mature ones (one was WAY mature, measuring something like 30mm), and there were three little ones, one at a 16 that may have had time to get big enough for fertilization, but it wasn't likely. In a nutshell, everything looked great!

Then came the freaky part. My doctor gave me a prescription for Ovidrel, the HCG shot that makes your body ovulate. The rationale behind the shot is that because it boosts your body full of hormones, it causes an increase in your progesterone production as well (and makes you ovulate). And if my issue is low progesterone, it may help that. Also, we were already planning on using it for my IUI. But if you missed it, my IUI was cancelled for this month because of our work schedules conflicting too much. Our schedules and hours really are terrible. It makes it very difficult to plan appointments in advance. But that's shift work for you! If infertility has taught me anything, it's that flexibility really is a necessity in life.

So, on Friday night around 9:00, I gave my stomach a good ol' alcohol cleaning, took a few deep breaths, chickened out, and made Josh stick me with the needle. I was too scared to do it myself. Surprisingly, the needle itself wasn't the part that hurt. It was preloaded with my prescription and everything, and the needle was really tiny. The injection hurt when I could feel it pushing into my stomach, but it wasn't terrible. The injection site has been sore and feels bruised, but that was it. I haven't felt any different or weird, but the insert for Ovidrel has the funniest side effects (gas, hiccups, uncontrollable bladder, etc.).

And that was it. And if you're wondering, having a doctor prescribe you with timed intercourse is about as sexy as it sounds... But, until next month, we'll do what we've got to do...

In other fun news, Josh's Clomid prescription has been upped to every day instead of every other day, and his mood swings remind me of my own. I feel bad that his pain causes my happiness, but how many women can honestly say that they know their husbands understand hormone-induced mood swings? I know mine does. And I feel for him because I get it too. We're a hormonal mess around this house right now, and that's okay. Somehow it works out.

And if this month doesn't work, guess what? We'll just try again next month. And we'll keep on trying until we decide to do something different. Right now I'm mentally prepared for three IUIs and no in-vitro, but we'll see. The crazy thing about this human existence is that we are always changing and growing and it never stops. If you're lucky enough to have a little baby, please give it a tight squeeze, kiss those chubby cheeks, and remember how lucky you are--how there are millions of people like me who would do anything to be in your shoes. Don't forget it. Your worst day is someone else's daydream. I'm just going to keep doing whatever I can to make my daydream a reality. And in the meantime? Please keep praying for us. We feel it in our lives every single day that you do. We love and appreciate all of it. Let's cross our fingers and toes and hope I have some good news in a few weeks!! And if I don't? Next month is still a blank slate and we'll figure it out as it goes. But I promise to keep you updated, as always!

-B

Femara, IUI, and Livin' on a Prayer

Oh, hello world! It's been forever, hasn't it? Well, hopefully that hiatus will be the last one I take, because I sure miss writing! Life has been crazy and weird around here. All of our friends are pregnant or have newborns, I've been working like crazy with my crazies, and I totaled our 4Runner. Haha, all in a day's work, really. I'm fine--absolutely no injuries--but I am in the market for a new vehicle. Hopefully within the week I'll have a shiny new car.

In infertility news: absolutely nothing has happened--yet! My sweet Josh and I went to the doctor for a second opinion a couple of weeks ago, and we learned that we probably won't be getting the answers we seek. That was a bummer, to put it lightly. To put it heavily, I might have cried into a cheeseburger and embarrassed myself in a restaurant. Infertility will make you do that sometimes.

We are three years in. Three years of infertility is so so hard. And going in to see a specialist, hoping for more answers and then being told that you may never get any is its own kind of heartbreaking. And so, in typical Moody fashion of taking our time, three years later we're finally making some grown up decisions. This next month, we're going to do our first round of intrauterine insemination. Intrauterine insemination (or what we infertile couples call it, IUI) is intimidating because I feel like I'm admitting that I really can't do this--that I really do need help. And I don't want help. I want to be able to do this with just my husband and me, the way it's supposed to work. But without any more conclusive answers, this is the next step. And I want a baby! So that's that. It was IUI or a laparoscopy to decide if I have endometriosis, and I opted for this one first. We'll get to the laparoscopy later if it's needed, but hopefully it won't be.

What is IUI, you ask? Well, let me break it down for you. Here's how the procedure will work for us:
Cycle days 3-7: I take Femara. Yup, no more Clomid for this girl. I had some uncomfortable side effects from Clomid and would rather not go back on it if possible. Femara is very similar but hadn't been around for quite as long as Clomid. It's not supposed to have as bad of side effects though, so that's a plus!
Cycle day 12: I go back in for an ultrasound. Anyone want to just write my clinic a check for $250? Because for the 5 minute long probe session, I really feel like the clinic should be paying ME! Anyway, they're going to check my eggs and all that yadda yadda, just like they did while adjusting my Clomid dosage last year.
Cycle day 13-ish: I get to have a shot! This shot will force my body to ovulate within 48 hours. Sounds like a party, right?
Cycle day 14: Josh will deposit semen at the clinic where they'll "wash" it (meaning they separate the sperm from the proteins surrounding it) and then deposit it directly into my uterus via a catheter. Not the most romantic way to do it, but I've tried the romantic way long enough. Obviously that doesn't work for us.
Cycle day 15-?: wait. Maybe tests to find out if it took? Probably just wait. And overanalyze everything. ;)

Fun facts:
1. We will be using Josh's sperm. This child still be biologically be both his and mine, if I conceive.
2. The trigger shot to make me ovulate also causes my body to produce more progesterone. So if that's our big issue, it should be helped with the shot!
3. I won't know right away if this worked. Just like every other month, I'll be waiting to find out, just like everyone else. And when I do find out, please be considerate and let me elaborate when I'm ready. It's all right to ask, but if I'm vague, it's probably on purpose and I don't want to talk about it right then.
4. Twins are a very real possibility with this.
5. There's only about a 10% success rate of IUI working at this clinic. I may be a lucky one, but I may not. Please don't tell me you "know this will work." I love your enthusiasm, but no one really knows.
6. If you're the praying type, we would love to have a prayer said for us. If you're a temple goer and have a chance to add us to the prayer role there, we'd really appreciate it. Not the praying type? We always accept good vibes. Keep 'em coming, please!

Anyway, this is really happening! I'm stressed and heartbroken and worried and scared, but mostly I'm open and hopeful. I'm receptive to the fact that this may work, and I'm accepting of the idea that it may not. I'm trying to focus on the positive, and I'm hoping that with all of our family and friends praying for us, maybe we'll get our own miracle. A girl can dream, right?

-B