The Lesson of the Wheat

In church yesterday, our speaker told the story of Sarah Peterson. Sarah was a member of the LDS church back in the early 1850s. Her husband, Canute, was serving a mission for the church. Back then, the typical mission was not 18 or 24 months, but could last several years. When Sarah’s husband left, she was now in charge of not only caring for their family alone, but raising the wheat that would sustain the family through the long winter.

According to everyone in town, Sarah messed up. She planted her wheat too late and too deep. She had failed. As everyone else’s wheat was growing tall and strong, hers hadn’t even sprouted yet. She was told there was no hope that she would have a crop for her family that year.

But then a rash of crickets came through the area. Everyone’s wheat was eaten and wiped out. It was complete desolation. Soon after, amidst all the damage, people began to notice small buds peaking out of the ground in Sarah’s field. What used to be considered “late” was, in reality, right on time. That harvest, she had enough wheat to sustain not only her family, but the entire town.

This was a testimony to me that sometimes God’s plan is greater than we know. Everything can appear completely hopeless when, in fact, it is all part of God’s beautiful design to teach us (and maybe those around us) an important lesson.

Maybe sometimes we feel like those fields of eaten wheat. Wiped out, devastated with little hope to cling to. But it is important to always remember there could be a miracle waiting just around the corner.

Thank you

For those who have left supportive comments, sent me private emails, or called to encourage me over the last week or so, I just want to say thank you.

I have mentioned it several times before: I never started this blog to receive sympathy or comments. It is a place to laugh and cry about the world of infertility. Someday, I hope my children will read this and know how much they are loved.

All of the support and encouragement that has come my way as a result of this blog has been unanticipated, but gratefully received. I fear I will never repay you for all the times you have lifted me up over the years. Some of you are dear, dear friends, while others I will never meet face to face. Regardless, you have touched my life and I am forever indebted. Thank you!

The Reason Why

For several reasons, yesterday was a long and emotional day. Now, with the clarity of a good night’s sleep and some deep soul searching, I think I have found the primary reason the statements in my post below hurt so much (i.e., ‘Enjoy ______ now, because you won’t get to do it when you have kids.’).

It has nothing to do with the person saying it. It is something inside me that breaks when I hear those things. And while I do, 100%, agree with what I wrote that day, I think the true pain lies much deeper.

I am a busy gal, but with a husband who works nights and most weekends/holidays, there is a lot of time spent alone. There was a time when I would spend most of that time crying or simply sitting on the couch staring into space for hours. During that time, I found no joy in the things I used to love. I was depressed.

Now I feel better, and I have re-discovered those things I enjoy. I have filled up lonely holidays or Friday nights with cooking or baking or writing or scrapbooking or any of the other activities I forgot I loved. I feel like a person again.

So when someone reminds me that I only have time to do these things because I don’t have children, it’s like ripping a scab off an open wound. I would love to be taking my kids to the park on a holiday (or even nagging them to clean their room!) or making pizzas and watching a movie on a Friday night. But I don’t have those options. I am trying to make the best of what I have.

I do enjoy sleeping in on a Saturday, or reading a book on a Sunday afternoon. I am sorry if that makes moms feel jealous. But while they are jealous of those free hours I get, I yearn on an hourly basis for the lives they are living.

A person commented in the post below that things are difficult as a mom. She mentioned that you are now tied to someone else’s schedule, money is tighter, nerves are more raw. What she isn’t realizing is that I am already living that life in my own way.

Have you ever spent six years “scheduling” sex, and seen what that does to a marriage? Have you ever excused yourself from a business meeting at a specific time to go to the bathroom and give yourself a shot in the stomach? And then try to return as if nothing happened? Have you ever filled yourself full of hormones and experienced what that does to nerves? Undergone surgery only to find no answers? Let someone stick needles all over your body as you lay there choking tears back because you feel this is your last hope? Spent thousands of dollars trying to become a mom to no avail? Understood that it will cost $12,000 for a treatment that has a greater chance of not working, than working? Seen friends of yours wait years for a birth mother to choose them for adoption and wonder if that will be you too?

I have experienced all these things and more. I guarantee I have been tied to schedules, money’s been tight, and nerves have been raw. I am not saying my path is any more difficult than anyone else’s. In fact, I know my battle is a small one compared to others I have seen. Even so, just as the commenter said, everyone is fighting their own battle.

I don’t need to be reminded that my life is different than most married women my age. I don’t need to be reminded how my life would be different with children. I have spent hours on my knees begging to experience it for myself. I am trying to move on.

And that is the reason these statements hurt.

Life Lesson

Browsing on a Internet social networking site, I paused on the page of a friend of mine. An acquaintance from high school, we weren't super close, but she was a friendly face who always had something sweet to say.

Recently married, one child, and pregnant with her second, she seemed to have everything I ever wanted. I wondered why everything seemed so easy for everyone else but me. Of course, staring at the computer screen, I only saw the happiness in her life, and not the hidden difficulties she might have been working through.

Never, NEVER compare your life with someone else. Never think things come easy to someone else. Never begrudge someone else's happiness.

This beautiful woman is now going through something I can not ever imagine, facing a horrible situation no one should have to experience. My heart is literally breaking for her.

There is a quote by Plato that reads, Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle. We have no idea the difficulties and, sometimes, full-on tragedies that another person is experiencing behind closed doors.

Be grateful for the people in your life, the blessings you've been given, and the happiness you have. Never forget to look up from your own worries and say a prayer for someone else.

In Pursuit of Happiness

In January 2009, Ryan snapped this picture of me in a hotel room in Costa Mesa. He was in a two-week training course for work and I had come down to visit him. I like this picture because I think it's a fun close-up. I have used it for various 'profile pics' and the like.

But there is an interesting aspect about this picture that only I think about when I see it. These eyes contained a lot of pain. This picture was taken days before I finally sought help from my doctor. During the trip to see Ryan, I didn't really want to leave the hotel room. Here we were together in beautiful SoCal, all expenses paid, and I felt most comfortable in bed in a tiny, dark hotel room. I spent an entire night of the trip crying next to him while he slept. And I mean an entire night. Although I was pleasant towards him, I was miserable inside.

Months have passed since that time.

Recently, a dear friend and up-and-coming photographer, Isa Sabey offered to take some pictures of us. We hadn't had someone do that for us in years. Here is one of the pictures:

This shot is one of those 'candid' ones Isa snapped when we were laughing at something or other (probably at how awkward we felt having our picture taken).

When I look at this picture, I see a woman who is happy. It has been said that the 'eyes are the window to the soul'. Well, to me, I can see a sparkle in these eyes that has been missing for a long time.

People say a result of seeking help for depression is that you feel like yourself again. Over these five years of dealing with infertility, I had forgotten who I was. I feel like the Michelle from years past. I actually like myself again.

In high school, I was told that I 'always have a smile'. My drama teacher would laugh at me because, even in the most dramatic scene, my eyes were always twinkling. She said, no matter what my face was doing, it was impossible for me not to look happy.

I wouldn't say I'm at that point yet, but I am getting there. I find myself excited about life.

Two days ago, I bought myself a designer purse. The significance of that? Well, for years I have told everyone how much I hated shopping. I don't remember the last time I bought myself something nice. I would go clothes shopping, but refuse to try anything on. Looking back, I realize I didn't really like myself. Not only that, but anytime I (or Ryan for that matter) would purchase something, I would feel that it was pushing my dream of motherhood that much further away. I allowed myself no joy in treating myself unless it was directly related to my goal. The only exception was food. Food was now my comfort.

How things have changed! I find joy in so many things now, including the occasional purchase of something nice just for me. Many people talk about 'retail therapy', but it turns out I only like to treat myself when I feel good.

I could go on and on with the changes happening around here. I could talk about the many times I have turned to Ryan in amazement and said, "I just feel so happy". I can say that I have gone from crying several times per day, to twice in 2 months, and both of those were spiritually related.

The point is that now I feel I can see infertility for what it is, a hard and difficult trial that I pray everyday will have a resolution soon. But, regardless, infertility doesn't define me anymore.

I am a member of the LDS church. I love to cook and bake new things. I like to write. I am learning to be a financial planner and have the best co-workers in the world. Autumn is my favorite season. I work with the teenage girls at church and love it. My favorite smells are the mountains, chopped cilantro, and freshly baked cookies. I like to go camping and visit big cities. I love my kitties and talk to them like they are people. I like the color green, but I don't look good wearing it. I am a wife, daughter, sister, aunt and friend, who longs to also add "mother" to that resume someday.

I still feel sadness when I think of our empty house. I still have days where I don't want to talk about babies or pregnancy or adoption. I still hear the ticking clock in the background and hope I can start my family before it's "too late" (whatever that means).

But I also feel happy. Every day is a pursuit of happiness now. And most days I am winning.

For the Love of Animals

Every once in a while, I realize another gift that infertility has given me. Yes, in the midst of this frustrating and confusing existance, I periodically pause and think, "Wow, if I never had infertility, I never would have..."

One of these gifts is a love for animals. Now, I've had pets before and I've always loved them, but this is different.

Cosmo (yes my cat) has seen me cry more than anyone else. He lets me hold him, even when I can tell he doesn't like it. When Ryan leaves for work and I look around my big empty house, he makes it not seem so empty.

Recently we got another cat, Bella. It's been fun having her here too. Cosmo has a playmate, and I have another cuddlebug.

Cosmo and Bella have helped fill a deep hole in my heart and made the waiting not as painful. Had I been able to have my family right away, I'm not sure I would have pets, or think of them as kindly as I do. Now I know there will always be a place in our home for them.

Infertility has given me a love for animals. I am thankful for that.

MIA and I'll tell you why (100th Post)

This last month has been quite the battle. I almost left this part of my journey unrecorded because I was nervous about putting it out there. I have seen friends be open and honest about their struggles, this issue in particular. But my pride stopped me from taking this next step.

I questioned Ryan about whether I should approach this topic so publicly. I was somewhat shocked by his response. He made me feel normal, and encouraged me to share this experience.

For the last year or so, I have been going in a downward spiral. Completely stalled in pursuing adoption or fertility treatments for an indeterminate amount of time, I slowly became more and more hopeless that things would ever improve, that I would ever have my family.

It started out as a funk, which turned into sadness, which turned into depression.

I tried everything I could think of to pull myself out of it. I prayed like never before. I journaled my feelings. I read scriptures. I started exercising more, including taking a weekly dance class. I tried herbs and acupuncture. I concentrated on work. I meditated and relaxed. I forced myself to think positively. I planned fun activities with Ryan. I served others at church. I cuddled with my cat. I vented to friends. I tried a new hobby. It wasn't getting better.

So, I turned to a psychologist, who immediately diagnosed me with depression (I didn't know that at the time though - I just knew she said I had 'symptoms' of depression). I worked with her for five months. It was only getting worse.

Finally, at the urging of loved ones and the psychologist, I made an appointment with my doctor. She couldn't see me for three weeks, so in the meantime I forged ahead.

After just one week, I couldn't take it anymore. I was near desperation. I knew this had gone way beyond just wanting a baby. Way beyond sadness. This was a different creature altogether. I called my doctor's office and told them I needed to come in right away.

While I was waiting to hear back from them, I ran an errand to Kinkos. There was a mix-up and the girl behind the counter was frustrated. Once back in my car, I burst into hysterical tears over the incident. This is the place I was at. This had become common behavior for me.

Just then, my phone rang. The doctor could see me right then. I went back to my office, told my boss I would be missing my afternoon appointment, and headed over there.

Through my tears I told my doctor how I was feeling and the thoughts I'd been having. I told her some of the things I had tried to make it better. I asked her what I should do.

She stated there was no doubt I had full-blown depression. She said I had let this go too long before seeking help, but she was glad I finally came in.

I asked her what was going on with me. How did my sadness turn into depression? She compared it to losing a loved one. Most people go through the grieving process step-by-step, but some get 'stuck' at a certain point. She's seen the same thing happen with women who have dealt with infertility for as long as I have. After a while of living in a state of sadness/hopelessness/anger, the chemical balance in your brain can literally change. That's when you might need a little more help.

So, she offered me some help. Swallowing my pride and accepting it was one of the hardest things I have ever done. Even as my ego and stubbornness begged me to say no, the Holy Spirit (through an avalanche of tears) forced me to say yes.

She cleared up misconceptions. Yes, even I, a graduate of Psychology, had misconceptions. I would venture to say that everyone does, unless they've been through this themselves.

Since that appointment some amazing things have happened. Last week, for the first time in months, I was able to get out of bed without two or more hours worth of pep talks. Ryan and I had a disagreement and I got over it, instead of crying uncontrollably until 4am. Not only have I been making dinner again, but I am enjoying it.

Perhaps the most amazing thing is I have hope again. It is small, but it's there. Last night, I pulled the pre-natal vitamins out of the medicine cabinet. For five years I took these pills just in case, by some miracle, I actually became pregnant. Several months ago, I threw them in the back of the cabinet saying, "Why bother?" Last night I thought, "Why not?"

I still have all those emotions that come with infertility: pain, sadness, loneliness, bitterness. I still cry sometimes when I feel these things. But I also found the other side of life again: joy, faith, hope, charity. I feel so much closer to my Heavenly Father, and I can finally see His wisdom again, even when I am feeling hurt or impatient.

When I first noticed I was having trouble conceiving, someone told me to 'humble myself and it will happen'. I took a lot of offense to that at the time. Although it still stings today, I look back and realize that I am a lot more prideful than I thought I was. It took this experience to make me see that sometimes I really have to let go. Perhaps I needed to lose control to truly learn I wasn't in control in the first place.

This is my 100th post. My first post was written when I was starting my first Clomid cycle (in 2006). I ended with the following:

I am cautiously optimistic. Maybe this is all my body needs...just a little push. Or maybe it's just the first step in what may be a long process...

Oh, I had no idea, huh? What a process this has been!

Last summer, Ryan and I hiked to the Lundy Mine. Ryan had been on this hike one time as a child, and I had never been. Needless to say, neither one of us knew the trail well enough to know how far we'd hiked and how much further we had to go. There were no mile markers and no maps along the way. All we knew was the mine was at the end of this trail. If we stayed on the trail, we would get to the mine eventually. But we had no idea when.

About a half-hour or so into the hike, I literally sat down and said I didn't want to do it anymore. I was tired. I wasn't prepared for this. I was too out of shape. It was too steep. This was harder than I thought. This was not what I was expecting. After a few minutes and some tears, I changed my mind and we pressed ahead.

At that moment, had I known we weren't even a fraction of the way there, I would have quit. No question about it. Had I known the steepness and the length of the trail that was ahead, I would have second-guessed my ability to do it. It was the not knowing that was the hardest part, but also the part that kept me going. The end of the trail could be around any curve, and I wanted to make it to the end.

Much is the same with this 'trail' I'm on now. Had I known at Post #1 where I would be at Post #100, I might have sat down and quit. "I'm tired. I wasn't prepared for this. It's harder than I thought." I would have second-guessed my ability to do it.

There may be steeper paths ahead, rocky roads and long stretches. It's the not knowing that is the hardest part, but also the part that keeps me going. The end of the trail could be around any curve, and I want to make it to the end.

Figuring out what really matters...

You have nothing in this world more precious than your children. When you grow old, when your hair turns white and your body grows weary, when you are prone to sit in a rocker and meditate on the things of your life, nothing will be so important as the question of how your children have turned out. It will not be the money you have made. It will not be the cars you have owned. It will not be the large house in which you live…

Do not trade your birthright as a mother for some bauble of passing value.

President Hinckley, 2000

29 Things Infertility Is Teaching Me

Yesterday was my birthday. Last year, when I turned 28, I wrote about 28 Reasons to Smile - Things I Am Grateful For.

In celebration of my 29th birthday, I am attempting the ultimate task: 29 Things Infertility Is Teaching Me.

And here we go (in no particular order):

1. Good people say stupid things. Stupid people say stupid things. Forgive the good ones, and dismiss the stupid ones.

2. Holidays aren't a happy time for everyone.

3. Even though people experience different trials, many of the feelings and emotions are exactly the same.

4. Cats make great friends.

5. Patience is truly a virtue.

6. Be sensitive about what another might be going through, but don't treat them differently. They already feel different enough.

7. You are not to blame for your infertility, no matter what people say. You are not infertile because God is punishing you. You are not keeping yourself from pregnancy because you can't "relax".

8. While events like baby showers are wonderful for most, they are painful for some, no matter what precautions are taken. It's a fact and nothing can change it.

9. God never abandons you; you abandon Him.

10. Music can speak louder than 1000 words.

11. Force yourself to look at people's intentions, rather than their actions. It doesn't always help, but it does sometimes.

12. Doctors don't know everything.

13. Sometimes having faith is harder than you'd think, but so worth it.

14. You have the power to choose who you let in.

15. There will always be setbacks. Things rarely turn out as planned.

16. Try to enjoy the time alone with your husband, but it's okay to be annoyed when people tell you to do that.

17. It's acceptable to be angry, even pissed, about the place you are in your life. Just don't get stuck there for too long.

18. Therapy is a good thing, and not indicitive of a lack of strength.

19. Sometimes, you just don't want to be around kids, simply because it's too hard. But that doesn't make you a bad person.

20. Be careful with jealousy. It may seem another person has it all, but they may soon experience (or may be experiencing) something you wouldn't wish on anyone. You don't want to think (or say) something you'll regret.

21. Avoid dreamcrushers.

22. No matter what your current situation, there are people out there that would call you lucky.

23. It is okay to grieve infertility. It is just as much a loss as anything else.

24. You can miss people you've never met.

25. We typically compare our weaknesses to other people's strengths. This is not a fair comparison.

26. Take care of yourself, even if it means being greedy with your time, energy or emotions.

27. Every baby is a miracle.

28. You will never be the same person you were before, but you can learn to love the new you.

29. You will survive this, and be stronger on the other side. The love and appreciation you will have for your babies will be incalculable. Believe it or not, this will all be worth it in the end.

Trust in the Lord with all thine heart;
and lean not unto thine own understanding.
In all thy ways, acknowledge Him,
and He shall direct thy paths.

On My Own

Here is a tip that I have learned over the past five years. When someone is going through a difficult time, never tell them how they should be handling their trial. Believe me, they know, and they are already handling it the best way they can.

They know that they should be grateful for all the wonderful things in their life, but occasionally there are moments that this is clouded with pain. They know that this too will pass, but sometimes this realization is covered by fear. They know that there are worse things in this world that they could experience, but every now and then this thought is crowded out by the magnitude of what they are going through right now.

I don’t think there has ever been a case that someone’s life turned around because they were told to ‘get over it’. There comes a point where you have to let people work through issues on their own. You can be supportive or lend a listening ear, but you don’t have to solve it for them.

I know it may make you feel better to give them guidance and advice. And those things are fine, as long as you have been ‘in the trenches’ with them. But if you are an outside observer, or are not close to them, think hard before you make a judgment. Your good intentions could backfire.

I have been on the receiving end of such casual comments or ‘suggestions’, by people who hardly know me. Just for the record, I realize that there are others out there with problems so massive that mine seem insignificant. When I feel sorry for myself in spite of this, I am fully aware that this is the wrong decision, and I heap enough guilt on myself because of it. I look at someone who has lost a loved one, or is battling a life-threatening illness, and I recognize the magnitude of their burden compared to mine. I know these things, and hearing them again from you only splits open a wound I am trying desperately to close.

Infertility is a loss. It is the loss of a dream, the loss of your identity, the loss of the life you always pictured. With that loss come true stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. Some days, it is a mix of many stages, and I have cycled through the first four many times trying to achieve number five.

So, let me work this out. Perhaps I feel angry? Let me feel that way. It’s good for me to try and work through that.

I could compare this to a chick hatching from its egg. Supposedly, if you help the chick break through, she will die. It is in the struggle of emerging from the egg that the chick finds the strength for survival. I am looking for that strength, and I need people outside cheering me on, or at least watching quietly, not someone yanking my shell away before I am ready to hatch.

I will get there; just be patient. If you can’t handle the wait then move along. I will meet you on the other side.

---------------------------------

I know you said
Can't you just get over it
It turned my whole world around
And I kind of like it

Forgive? Sounds good.
Forget? I'm not sure I could.
They say time heals everything
But I'm still waiting…

I am a Liability.

Recently, I had an eye-opening experience.

A friend of mine, who also dealt with infertility, is pregnant. I was told that I would not be invited to her baby shower. The reason was incredibly sweet and heartfelt. She knew that if I were to be invited I would feel obligated to come, and she knew first-hand what it was like to go to baby showers when you're dealing with infertility. So, she took that dilemma upon herself and decided not to invite me.

I was impressed with her compassion and insight. I will admit, deep down, that I kind-of wanted to go. She has been through so much the last few years, I felt this baby shower was a celebration! I made that argument, but still no invite. I guess it's probably for the best... it's impossible for me to know how I will feel on any given day and, as good-intentioned as I am now, who knows how I would react to the ooohhing and aahhhing inherent in baby showers.

Which brings me to my enlightenment. In the middle of the baby-shower-invite negotiation (as I was making the "I wanna be a part of the celebration" argument described above) something dawned on me. I was so concerned about how I would be feeling at the shower, I hadn't thought about how me being there would make her feel.

She knows how it feels to battle infertility, especially when it seems everyone around you is pregnant or has children. If I came to her baby shower, and she spent one second wondering how I was feeling rather than simply enjoying her day, that would be awful. Not to say it would happen, but it could. That's when I realized that I am a liability.

I wonder if people censor what they say around me because of my infertility. Would they talk more openly about pregnancy, or babies, or children, if I weren't around? I pray that I have never taken away a moment of someone else's happiness because of my situation or, worse, because of my depression or bitterness. The thought of that crushes me.

Needless to say, this realization has opened my eyes to my selfishness. I was so wrapped up in my own feelings that I didn't even think about the fact that my very presence, or my attitude, could take away joy or make someone uncomfortable. If that has happened to anyone, I am truly sorry.

It's just another way that I am different. Can I just say, I hate being different. I long to be like all the other married women my age: to attend playgroups and complain about diapers, to be able to walk up to a group of women at church and join the conversation, to get an invitation to a baby shower and have the only question be which gift to buy.

Five Lessons Learned

Five years ago, I started on this long and bumpy road of trying to start a family. Last year, I wrote about earning my "Bachelor's Degree in Reproductive Science". I was hoping I wouldn't be headed to 'Graduate School' on the subject, but such is life!

Anywho, this year I decided to list lessons learned. Infertility has taught me many things, I will name just five.

5. You can be truly and honestly happy for other people and, at the same time, feel jealous or sad. This doesn't make you a hypocrite or a bad person; it makes you human... and your friends will love you anyway.

4. As long as there are people in the world, stupid things will be said. It can't be helped, so you might as well wipe away those tears and laugh about it. (Still working on this one.)

3. Always pray, even if you feel angry or resentful, abandoned or ignored. Angry prayers are better than no prayers.

2. There is only so much you can do. After that, you have to let go.

1. And above all else, the words of Plato: Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle (even those who's life seems perfect).

Perhaps instead of saying these are lessons learned, I should say they are lessons I'm learning. But I am closer than I've ever been.

So, here's to year 5! (Note the forced enthusiasm - haha!)