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The Wait

September 17, 2019

Written by AB, Guest Blogger

The wait.

The thing that surprised me most about my (ongoing) fertility journey was the waiting. Something I never expected, and at times it consumes me, and to be honest, makes me feel like I’m losing it.

I got pregnant very unexpectedly in early 2018. I was away in Africa on a humanitarian mission when I figured out my period wasn’t just late because I was traveling. After the shock wore off, I was thrilled. I joined Pinterest. I planned a nursery there. I picked names. I also knew due to my age (39, about to be 40 at that time), that I was at higher risk for miscarriage. I googled the tables, and each day my risk was lower and lower. The day I hit the 8 week mark, and was less than a week from coming home, I started bleeding. Lots of googling ensued and I texted a friend back home who was an OB, who said not to worry if there was no cramping. And then the cramping started. What followed was agony. I had only told one person there for safety reasons. I had to continue working, all while losing my baby. I was in a daze for weeks after.

The miscarriage and the aftermath made me realize how much I wanted to be a mom, and although I had talked about it for years, I was now 40 and I was done waiting to meet the right person and it be the right time. A few months later I tried to make an appointment with an RE someone had recommended. The next available was over 6 weeks away. And so I waited. I did see a different RE earlier due to a cancellation. I did a bunch of tests. And waited for the results. We decided since all the tests were normal, to start with IUI.

My wonderful friends threw me a donor picking party- I felt so supported. And wouldn’t you know it- the first IUI worked! After my 2 week wait, I got a faint double line on my home test and ran to the doctor’s office to have my blood drawn- except it was 3:30 pm. So I had to wait until the next day for results. And when they called, they said it wasn’t clear. How could it not be clear? You’re either pregnant or you’re not. But my beta was 9. Which is over 5, but way under what they would want. So more waiting to go back fro a repeat and it was 19! More than doubled. I was cautiously optimistic.

I then had to go out of town for a trip, so my next beta wouldn’t be for 10 days. On the trip I was exhausted and nauseated. My beta when I came back was higher and we scheduled the OB ultrasound at 7.5 weeks.

And so I waited patiently.

A friend rearranged her work schedule to come to the US with me. My doctor did the ultrasound instead of a tech- I saw something on the screen and got so excited, but the doctor said “wait”, and I knew something was wrong. She called a tech in and they looked at the images and looked around some more. Then she said “I’m sorry, this is not a viable pregnancy”. In her office we discussed the options- D&C (which I didn’t want and didn’t feel I had time for), cytotec (which sounded horrible but fast) and waiting for it to happen naturally. I had a trip booked 10 days later so the waiting and unknown did not appeal to me. Turns out Cytotec didn’t work as fast as advertised, and the next 4 days were miserable to say the least while I worked through the weekend because I was unable to find the voice to call one of my partners for coverage.

Then the wait for my beta to return to 0. Then wait for next cycle. I tried IUI twice more. It didn’t work. Was time to move on.

Little did I know about the waiting that comes with IVF is so much more. Wait for your cycle. Start birth control. Stop birth control. Wait for US and blood work at day 3. Wait for results to see if ok to start cycle (meanwhile you are sitting on a giant box of very expensive medication with scary looking needles that you have just spent a small fortune on).  Start injecting yourself.  More blood tests and US. Wait for the daily phone call telling you whether to change anything or not. Wait for the follicles to be big enough for trigger and retrieval.

Wake up from retrieval and wait to hear how many they got.

The hardest part for me is after retrieval. Is the wait for the calls from embryology.  Because now it is completely out of your hands. My previous clinic (cycles 1 and 2) called on days, 1,2,3,5 and 6 if needed. My current clinic (round 3) only calls day 1 and 5. I remember at the end of the day 1 call asking- what do you mean I won’t hear from you for anther 4 days??

As I write this, I am currently waiting for that day 5 call. I took 3 months off between cycles 2 and 3. I have been doing acupuncture for 6 months. I added every supplement my new RE told me to. I take about 20 pills per day. We changed the protocol and added growth hormone and upped drug doses. I flew out of state. I climbed some mountains to keep myself occupied while I waited between daily appointments.

I am afraid to let my phone out of sight, even for a second as I wait for it to ring. I am afraid to answer it- am so hopeful the voice on the other end will tell me it’s now time to wait for PGS results.

Babe In My Arms, Babe In My Belly, Babe In My Heart, Blogs, Uncategorized

To the Mama who Miscarried

September 14, 2019

Written by Jeanette Opheim, Guest Blogger

Stories of pregnancy loss, infertility, and the pursuit of parenthood are as complex and as diverse as snowflakes; no two are the same. My story is a simple one; it is not the most tragic or the most compelling, but it is my story and I am grateful for the opportunity to share it. There is a sisterhood in the struggle to conceive and pregnancy loss and each time we share our story we are strengthening the bonds and supporting one another through one of life’s most heartbreaking and discouraging experiences. 

My husband Zach and I began our marriage with the mentality that we wanted biological children and adopted children…one day. We spent the first year and a half traveling, growing our careers, and being “the couple without kids.” It was a great time in our marriage and we thoroughly enjoyed it. I knew kids would come one day but for that first year and a half of our marriage the thought of giving up the “glamorous” aspects of our child-free life was something I absolutely dreaded. I lived for our multiple international trips a year. I was traveling all over the country planning and executing event sponsorships for the brand I worked for, attending festivals, concerts, and enjoying the company of celebrities and music industry moguls. I enjoyed a spontaneous social life where I could make plans at the drop of a hat and spend evenings out with friends without a care in the world. Zach lived a similar social lifestyle. For us, kids were a one-day element that we would add in when we were good and ready. 

            During this time I had an immense fear of pregnancy, childbirth, and motherhood. Now that I had a husband, the reality of motherhood was imminent and we practiced Natural Family Planning to avoid getting pregnant. I tracked my cycles and took my temperature each morning religiously because the thought of becoming pregnant was an absolutely terrifying thought. I needed to know when I was ovulating so that we could avoid sex. The underlying calling to become a mother was still there, but the reality of what becoming a mother entailed scared me in a way that was new and real. The way a pregnancy would change my body, the pain that childbirth would cause, the sacrifices we’d have to make to our jobs and social lives with a little one around…all of it was overwhelming and the fear was always lurking. 

            Sunday, May 13th 2018 started just like any normal day for us. It was Mother’s Day. We started our day by attending church with plans to celebrate Mother’s Day with Zach’s family later on. I walked into church with all of those fears of motherhood prominent in my heart and in my soul. I had no idea that I would be walking out of church an hour later a completely changed woman. At some point during the service while I was kneeling and praying a literal wave of change washed over me. I was not asking for God to open my heart or mind to motherhood, I was not praying about anything related to parenthood, I was not preparing myself for change, but God had something in store for me. 

Photo taken by: Lisa Wolfe

            During my time in prayer I began noticing the mothers around me. The young tired ones bouncing infants in their arms and the ones who were not only mothers but also grandmothers and even great-grandmothers. I saw the lives they had created sitting around them and all of a sudden the fears I had about motherhood washed away. They never came back. Like a gust of wind blowing leaves off of a tree God whisked away every element of fear I was using to guard myself from falling head over heels into the pursuit of parenthood. He redirected my focus and instilled a deep desire to be a mother into my heart in a matter of moments. 

            Zach and I left church and walked through the parking lot towards our car hand in hand. About halfway to the car I said “Zach, I am ready to become a mom. I am ready to start trying for a baby.” Zach smiled down at me and simply said “Me too.” I told him about the miraculous experience I had just had in church and we hugged tearfully, smiling and laughing. Just like that our hearts were changed and we had a new focus in life: becoming parents. 

            One day while we were on a walk in our neighborhood with our two dogs Zach and I had a very close-minded and silly disagreement. I call it silly because looking back on that moment from where I am now, it is quite amusing that we thought we had as much control over our family that we did. I brought up to Zach that I wanted our firstborn to be adopted; Zach was adamant that our firstborn be a biological child. We bickered and never really reached a compromise during that walk. A few weeks later I decided it was pointless to be stuck on which child came first and decided I’d be totally fine with our firstborn being biological as long as we could start the paperwork process of adoption shortly after our first was born. We agreed on this and set our sights on conceiving. 

            I was under the impression that conceiving was as easy as pie. I grew up around families with multiple biological children and I never heard conversations about difficulty conceiving. My religious upbringing gave me the impression that just looking at a boy the wrong way would get you pregnant (this is a joke, but I was raised under very strict rules about boys!). I knew that my mother had had a miscarriage in between myself and the birth of my sister but she rarely talked about it. The little I did know made it seem like it was a minor occurrence that was just a small blip in the growth of my family. 

Photo taken by: Lisa Wolfe

            We started trying to conceive that May. My cycle came and went with a couple negative pregnancy tests and I chalked it up to starting mid-way through my cycle. June ended with negative pregnancy tests, too, and I began to wonder if we were missing our mark. After July’s negative pregnancy tests, the fears of infertility began creeping up in my mind. I still had an iron grip on the control of our family’s growth and was having a difficult time understanding why three months of trying to conceive were not generating any positive pregnancy tests. Although the thought of infertility crossed my mind it was not a major fear and in August I took a positive pregnancy test. Life was on track just how we planned it; we were pregnant! 

            I was pregnant for sixty four days. Those days were an exciting time for us! We told our family and close friends and began envisioning what life would look like as a family of three. We went to a seven week appointment and got to see our little one via an ultrasound. It was just a small dot but that small dot became our world. After our appointment we treated ourselves to a fancy dinner to celebrate the life we had created together and giggled like school children as we told our waiter we were pregnant and celebrating. 

            I went to the bathroom at work one morning and glanced at my toilet paper before I tossed it into the toilet; it was tinted pink. My heart and everything around me seemed to freeze. I tried to calmly reassure myself that spotting was normal during the first trimester and for some reason thought putting in a tampon would be the best course of action. I called my midwife and let her know that I was spotting; she reassured me that it was totally normal and to only call her back if the blood increased in volume and intensified in color. I sat back down at my desk and got back to work and eventually the pink tinted toilet paper took a back seat in my mind as I got wrapped up in phone calls and meetings. At some point I had to go back to the bathroom and remembered that I had a tampon in. I pulled it out and again my heart stopped and my world froze. The tampon was covered in bright red blood. 

            I called the midwife back. She again reassured me that it was normal; if the volume intensified, I began to cramp, and if I started discharging dark colored tissue, then I needed to call her back. I mentioned the tampon and she told me to avoid using those for the remainder of the day. I had to leave work to go purchase pads, and at that point I lost all concentration. I went to the bathroom dozens of times and the blood was still present and red. I eventually confided in my boss and she allowed me to head home. 

            I tried to keep my mind off of everything when I got home. At this point I had filled Zach in on what was going on and he came home early, too. We were still unsure of what was happening and held onto the hope that this was just spotting. We lounged around for the rest of the day until it was time for bed. By bedtime I had begun experiencing some cramping and that is when I knew deep down inside that I was miscarrying. 

            The night was restless and I spent most of my time in the bathtub. Zach sat vigilantly by my side as I tried to get through the slowly intensifying pain. At this point I was beginning to expel the dreaded “dark colored tissue” and began to shift my focus from being hopeful that it was spotting to being anxious to get to the midwife in the morning for her to confirm that it was indeed a miscarriage that we were experiencing. I knew the baby was not okay. 

            We were at the doors the moment the birthing center opened the next morning. A midwife took my blood and confirmed based on my signs and symptoms that we were indeed suffering a miscarriage and that she would sent over the hcg levels as soon as she got them back from the lab. I broke down and sobbed all the way home. 

            That day was the worst. Losing your child slowly and in pieces is something I do not wish upon anyone. Zach and I got through the day as best we could, and our “best” consisted of a lot of crying. There was a specific moment where the majority of the pregnancy came out and we stood over the toilet debating what to do. There was no manual for how to handle a miscarriage. Should we take the contents out of the toilet and hold an impromptu funeral in our backyard? Should we just flush? We stood in the bathroom and debated our course of action; I could not come to a decision. Eventually Zach took the reigns and flushed the toilet. We watched our baby disappear forever. 

            Miscarriages are traumatic, therefore there isn’t a textbook way to respond to them and to navigate the emotional aftermath. For me I mourned and I mourned hard. I spent moments to myself keeled over in the kind of grief that takes your breath away, the kind that hurts your throat and chest and leaves you feeling physically exhausted. It horrified me that miscarriages were as common as they were and treated so “hush hush.” It wasn’t until I had miscarried that I found out about dozens of friends and family members who had suffered the same thing, sometimes multiple times in a row. It was an unspoken truth that was not revealed to me until I became a member of the unfortunate club myself. Knowing that my story could potentially help others I decided to share our miscarriage story on my personal Facebook. Below is what I wrote:

A little over a month ago Zach and I experienced a loss that really threw us for a loop and knocked us down emotionally and mentally. Writing is therapeutic for me, so to cope with our loss I penned out three letters to three different people. Being this vulnerable on a platform like Facebook is terrifying, but I am ready to share our story and I think the best way of doing it is sharing the letters that I wrote.

First LetterDEAR BABY,

These days I have constant thoughts swimming through my head, yet putting them into words feels next to impossible. You existed in this world for only 64 days but you never got to see the light of day. Your life began and ended inside my womb, and my heart is shattered knowing I will never get to know you.

I will never know if you were a little boy or a little girl. I will never know who you were going to resemble; your father or me. How tall you’d be will forever be a mystery to me, along with what your personality would be like or what color hair you’d have. I’ll never hear you cry, but I cry enough for the both of us knowing that I will never truly know you.

Your little life was passionately celebrated while we knew about you. When I saw those two pink lines on the pregnancy test I sunk down onto the bathroom floor and happy tears would not stop streaming down my face. I excitedly pulled out the “this guy is going to be a dad” t-shirt that I had bought and saved for your father for this exact moment and folded it on the bed, placing the positive pregnancy test on top of the shirt. When he came home and he saw the shirt he started crying tears of joy, too. We hugged each other and laughed and smiled and felt complete. We did it! We tried hard to get pregnant with you, and you were finally real.

Telling your grandparents, aunts, uncles, and our friends were some of the best memories I have so far. Everyone was just so happy. You would have been the first grandchild for both sides of the family, and you had many people praying their hearts out for you to come along for the past couple of years. Confirming that you were finally here and growing rapidly inside of me brought out so many smiles and happy tears. You and your life were celebrated so joyfully.

The day we saw you and your heartbeat on the ultrasound became the best day of my life. Getting visual confirmation that you were real, you were alive, and you were growing gave your father and me such a pure feeling of elation, and we walked out of the birthing center like giddy little children. Your heart was beating at 158 beats per minute, a strong and confident heartbeat, and it was all I needed to fall completely head over heels in love with you.

We never got to show anyone the ultrasound pictures of you or the sound waves of your heartbeat, because the day we got them back was the day we lost you. Something went wrong in the week that we saw your heart beating strongly on the monitor. Somewhere, something happened that snuffed out your little life and forced you out of my body, and it kills me knowing that I will never know what that “something” is. Everyone tells me that it’s a chromosomal malfunction, that you wouldn’t have been able to survive because of something that went wrong with your genetic composition. I hate hearing that generic reasoning. There is already so much I will never know about you, the least I deserve to know is the reason why I lost you.

I am so sorry, my sweet baby. I did everything I could to grow you and bring you into this world, but something about my body failed you. I know that I will never know you or hold you or hear you cry, and I feel completely lost with this knowledge. What do I do? Trying for another baby will not bring you back. Nothing I can do will bring you back. I miss you so much and I love you so much and I will do everything I can to keep your memory alive.

I find comfort knowing that you are in the glory of God’s presence now, and that you were celebrated while you were with us. All sixty four days of your life brought multiple people happiness and put joy in their hearts. I will celebrate you the rest of my life. Whether or not we get pregnant again, I will always make sure you have a place in our family. When we shared the news that we were pregnant with you, a friend gave me a bouquet of flowers. After we lost you, I pressed those flowers and framed them, and now I will always have a visual reminder of you through a gift that was given in celebration of your life.

I love you, sweet child. Thank you for the joy you gave me and the unwavering love that you put into my heart. Thank you for making me a mama. I love you forever.

Second LetterTO ZACH

These past two weeks have been the most emotionally draining two weeks of our lives, I almost can’t believe we’re still functioning. I feel like we’re the last two warriors standing victorious after a long and draining battle.

We lost our baby. That is an undeniable and unchangeable fact that we will have to carry in our hearts for the rest of our lives. I know that you will carry that pain differently than I will, but I rest easy knowing that neither of us will ever forget our first child whom we never got to meet, and we will both do our best to keep its memory alive.

I know life throws married couples challenges, and I feel like one year and ten months into ours, we’ve had our first defining challenge. Sitting here two weeks after our miscarriage, I am confident in saying that I am proud of the way we handled this together as a united front. I may have been the one who had to take on the physical pain of the miscarriage, but you were by my side the entire time carrying on the emotional pain when I was just too exhausted to go on. There was never a time where I felt like I was bearing this burden alone, or that we were misunderstanding each other’s way of processing pain. You stood by my side and we were as equal as we could be during this time.

You were so protective and cognizant of me. Not only did you physically care for me, you were my first line of defense if anything outside of our home tried to penetrate our extremely private time of grief. You became our spokesperson and kept me sheltered. You handled it with such grace and strength, qualities that I knew you had but never truly appreciated until now. You stepped up and became everything we needed you to be. You were brave and I am forever grateful for your courage.

I learned a lot about you in these past two weeks, to a point where I feel like I’m getting to know you all over again. I am seeing the man that you are in an entirely new light and I am very much in love with that man. This miscarriage has brought a lot of pain, but there is also good that has come out of it. Our marital foundation is stronger than it’s ever been and we are learning how to exist as husband and wife during times of heartache and grief.

Life will continue to throw us challenges but I know now that we can take them on harmoniously. I know we might not always see eye to eye but we are always on the same page and will always be a team. Thank you for all that you are, I love you.

Photo taken by: Lisa Wolfe


I am so sorrowful for your loss. I mourn for you and with you. Maybe you’re like me, and this was your first pregnancy that you had been hoping and praying for for a long time. Maybe you’re already a mama of one or more children and this baby was going to be the perfect addition to your little tribe. Maybe you weren’t trying to get pregnant and didn’t want to be, and now you’re sitting here wondering what the heck just happened. Maybe this isn’t the first time you’ve lost a baby. Or maybe you’re none of those women and you’re journeying through a miscarriage in a completely different way. I don’t know who you are specifically, but you and I carry a pain that stems from the same source of loss, and therefore we are united in a terrible but special bond.

Everyone’s miscarriage story is different and unique, and if you’re like me you’re sitting here still in disbelief that it even happened to you in the first place. I don’t know what to tell you. I’m not going to say “one in four” because honestly, statistics mean nothing. You can research and study the likelihood of a miscarriage or stillbirth at any week of a pregnancy but no matter what, those statistics will not predict, include, or exclude you from what will end up happening to you and your child.

I am not going to write to you and tell you how to feel or what you should do to recover, but I will tell you this: stay true to yourself and how you want to deal with your miscarriage. You are entitled to handle it however you want to. If you do not want to see anyone and mourn privately, then keep your door locked and do not feel obligated to check your phone. If you need friends and family around, vocalize that to them. No matter what, understand that this time is all about you. You are not obligated or responsible for walking a family member through their grief of your loss. You’re not even responsible for your partner’s grief. Focus on you and do what you think is best for your body and mental health.

Strong mama, you are a part of a mighty sisterhood, one that is unfortunately still expected to keep quiet and “keep trying.” Don’t keep quiet! When you are ready, share your story in a manner you’re comfortable with. Your story will strengthen other miscarriage mamas and educate those who are unaware of the gravity of a miscarriage and the toll it can take on a woman and her body.

Sweet mama, heal how you need to heal. There isn’t a right or wrong way, and don’t be afraid of it. Healing doesn’t mean forgetting. Take your time, tap into yourself, and do what you need to do to get your body back on track and your mind feeling healthy. Try to love your body again. I haven’t forgiven mine yet, but I know that with time I’ll hopefully come to terms with what happened and give my body the grace it needs to fully heal. Hopefully.

Writing is therapeutic for me, which is why I am writing you this letter now. There’s no textbook way to mourn, so do what you need to do, mama. I’ll mourn my way, you’ll mourn in your way, and with time we will both heal.

I am struggling trying to find a way to end this letter, since ending on a hopeful note feels too cliché and ending on a sorrowful note is too depressing. I’ll end by saying this: miscarriages suck, and it’s scary to think that it could easily happen again. I don’t know what the future holds. Maybe I’ll get pregnant “right away” like people keep telling me, or maybe I’ll only ever have miscarriages, or maybe I’ll never get pregnant again. Right now, I have no idea what the future holds. For now I am tapping into the things that make me happy (nature, long hot bubble baths, writing, friends and family…) and trying my best not to let the overwhelming feeling of loss consume me at random moments of the day. For now, I’m just “hanging in there,” and I’m okay with that. From one miscarriage mama to another, I encourage you to do the same. When you’re up for it, tap into your happy, but also allow yourself to be sad or mad or any other emotion that you need to feel towards your loss. Do what you can to keep your body healthy, and above all, unapologetically do what you need to do to heal.

Photo taken by: Lisa Wolfe

I was met with a flood of responses. People who had multiple miscarriages. An acquaintance from college who lost twins due to a recent miscarriage. People who had never experienced a miscarriage themselves but sympathized with my story. Every single person thanked me for sharing my story and it was very easy to recognize how healthy it was to knock down the doors of silence that surrounds a miscarriage. 

After our miscarriage we wasted no time in trying again. Three more months went by and I grew extremely discouraged, thoughts of difficulty conceiving creeping back into my mind. I had been told by multiple people that I would get pregnant “right away again,” but that didn’t seem to be the case for us. I tried my best to be patient and wait for God’s timing, but I began to resent God’s timing. I wanted complete control over our family planning! What did God know that I didn’t? What was the reasoning behind all of our loss and discouragement, and why was it happening to us? What I didn’t know was that God had the perfect plan in store for us, a plan beyond my wildest dreams. All He was asking from me was to be patient, and I had the most difficult time tapping into that request. I felt like my patience tank was completely on “empty” and looking back at that time now, I am embarrassed of how impatient I actually was. 

Around Christmas time Zach and I began talking about adoption again. We knew that an adoption doesn’t just happen in a blink of an eye, that it requires planning, fundraising, paperwork, and lots and lots of waiting. Understanding that conceiving a child was becoming quite the difficult task for us (literally and emotionally), we decided to take a step that we could control, a step towards becoming active in an adoption. The first thing we did was write our close family and friends letters letting them know the exciting news. We wanted them to know that our talk about adopting was becoming an action. Shortly after sending them out in the mail we began the paperwork process of adoption. 

I could write an entire book about the adoption process alone, it’s very complex and extensive. Just like childbirth, it is different for everyone. Some families adopt internationally, some adopt domestically, some adopt via foster care and some adopt family members, step-children, and children in their community who need a stable home. For multiple reasons we decided to pursue the domestic infant adoption route. We began the paperwork process at the beginning of the year and on May 21, 2019 we got the news that we had been matched! This had happened much more quickly than we had anticipated. A mama had carefully chosen us to be the adoptive parents of her child. The joy I felt that day is incomparable to anything I had ever felt before, although it was tinged with sadness for a woman I did not yet know who had just made the heartbreaking decision to place her child up for adoption. I quickly learned that adoption is just that: joy and sadness and loss intertwined like a strand of DNA. A quote that perfectly summarizes the complexity of adoption is one from Jody Landers: “A child born to another woman calls me Mommy. The magnitude of that tragedy and the depth of that privilege are not lost on me.” 

We knew we would fall in love with our child but we had no idea the depth of love we would feel for our birth mother. We met her the day before she was induced and hit it off in a way that left me feeling an abundance of gratitude that she was our birth mother. I had been nervous that we wouldn’t get along, that we’d be wary of one another, or that we just wouldn’t click. It couldn’t have been more opposite. I will forever thank God for the beautiful and incredible woman that our birth mother is and the strong bond that was created the night we met her. 

Our perfect son Barron was born on June 24th, 2019 at 2:24pm. He was tiny and alert and stole our hearts the moment we met him. The first week of his life was miraculous, exhausting, joyful, heartbreaking, and overwhelming all at once. We are very careful and mindful of the details we share regarding those emotionally intimate days since the story is ultimately our son’s and we must protect it and respect it for his sake, but I will summarize by saying adoption is not natural, no matter how often it happens or how much it’s talked about. The harsh reality of what is happening cannot be ignored; a woman is walking away empty-handed and heartbroken while another woman walks away with the other woman’s child in her arms. We are very very blessed that we have such a strong bond with our son’s birth mother and that our son will get to know and love her through an open adoption.

Since July we have been home adjusting to life as a family of three and it has been the most joyful experience of our lives. Barron is the sweetest soul I have ever had the privilege of knowing and it is a miracle to watch him grow and thrive each day. At the time I am writing this he has just recently turned two months old and his personality is beginning to shine through. He is morphing from a newborn into an interactive and inquisitive baby and he is a constant reminder of God’s grace and complex grand design. 

One day in March while we were wrapping up our adoption paperwork I took what had become a routine pregnancy test. I left it upstairs and got distracted with dinner, chores, and the dogs for the duration of the evening. While we were wrapping up dinner I remembered I had a test sitting on the bathroom counter upstairs and mentioned it to Zach. He sighed and reminded me not to get my hopes up. By this point I cried with frustration every time I took a negative pregnancy test and I could tell the negative tests were wearing on Zach, too. We agreed not to allow our emotions to get the best of us as we headed upstairs to check the test. 

We got into the bathroom and glanced down at the test and saw two pink lines. They were faint, but they were there. Thinking back on that moment it’s a bit hazy, but I do know that there was a lot of hugging and happy tears. We were relieved to see that we were finally pregnant again, but I could tell we were still hesitant with releasing our full joy. We knew what happened the last time we were pregnant and we knew it could easily happen again. 

There was no definitive moment that the fear of another miscarriage washed away, but eventually it did because, as I sit here writing this, my 3rd trimester baby bump is in my peripheral vision and I am feeling the baby kick me quite enthusiastically right now. It’s like the baby knows I’m writing about it! We are due in December 2019 and are allowing ourselves to be surprised by the sex of the baby when we give birth. We are humbled by God’s abundance in our lives and excited to meet our fourth family member. We feel extremely blessed that we will have “Irish twins” and that Barron will grow up with a very close sibling. 

Our family bible verse and mantra, Ecclesiastes 3:11 (“and He will make everything beautiful in its time”), is a steadfast example of how God works: mysteriously, wisely, surprisingly, and always always always in His timing. At one point, after our miscarriage while we were struggling to re-conceive, I grew to resent that bible verse. It hangs on a canvas in our kitchen and I used to glare at it as I walked past, a few times very tempted to take it down. Something inside me told me to keep it up, and I think that’s a symbol of my faith in God, as feeble as it was at the time. He knew what He was doing and I weakly trusted Him. 

The same week we miscarried was the same week Barron was conceived, and had we not miscarried he would never have become our son. Our miscarriage lost its senselessness the moment we realized Barron’s date of conception and I have felt restored in my faith in God ever since. I will forever mourn the loss of our miscarried baby but I know that I will meet it at the gates of Heaven one day, and that thought puts a God-given peace in my heart. Our life as a family is a mosaic that God has carefully and intricately designed. I do not know what it looks like in completion but I can feel it’s beauty and wholeness around me at all times.  

If you’d like to connect with Jeanette, you can find her on Facebook or Instagram!

Babe In My Arms, Babe In My Belly, Babe In My Heart, Blogs, Uncategorized

Storm to Rainbow

August 22, 2019

Written by Guest Blogger, Melisa Ellena

After years and years of trying to get pregnant, my husband David and I were finally thrilled to say, “We’re having a baby!” All of those infertility treatments, clomid, letrozole, inseminations, mini stimulation cycles, IVF, you name it, I went through it. Finally, I could put these treatments to rest. I can still remember the morning of my egg retrieval, I could barely put my shoes on because I was so bloated from all the medications. But it was all worth it; to hear that sweet-sounding heartbeat of our baby, knowing nothing could take away my pregnancy glow.

The early weeks of my pregnancy had gone by and being pregnant felt like a dream come true, “How is this happening? How did we get so lucky after all this time?!” I could actually visit the baby aisles in stores and not just look, but buy, I could pin all those cute ideas on Pinterest because I was in fact having a baby. Symptoms of nausea, tender breasts, watching my little bump grow and my bras getting too tight was something that not every woman gets excited for, but I loved it all. Does that sound crazy? I was looking forward to buying those crazy large bras.

During my pregnancy, my younger brother and now sister-in-law were preparing for the most magical wedding in the spring in England. My bump, that was now five and half months along would be traveling overseas and I was so excited to buy a traditional English fascinator, (fancy hat) and celebrate with family. Before I left, I had a couple tasks at work to complete and I had to make sure I was cleared to fly per my OBGYN. Everything was set and ready as we packed up and headed across the pond. While we were going abroad anyways, David and I took this has an opportunity to travel; can you say Babymoon. David is Italian and we thought going to Italy would be the perfect choice to celebrate. The culture, the food and the weather would be perfect.

After my brother’s wedding we traveled to Rome, Florence and Venice. We walked a lot and eventually the heat did get to me. I was six months pregnant after all, and even though I swam regularly with my bump and did the occasional Zumba class, I was tired, almost beyond my normal pregnancy tired.  Venice was lovely but after a day of sightseeing, I wanted nothing more than to return to the hotel, use the restroom like most pregnant women do and kick my feet up and take a big ol’ nap. After my visit to the restroom, I noticed some pink spotting. Initially I thought, “Great, my body hated walking and sightseeing.” We were scheduled to head home the next day, I just need to make it back home, be back at work and check my emails, no more walking for this pregnant lady.

A train, a plane, and a car ride put us right back to England, right near Heathrow airport. This was our final goodbye to an amazing trip filled with even more amazing memories. We had to stay at a hotel before flying out the next morning and all the while, my pink spotting had gone from pink to red, bright red. Trying not to lose my shit, I made some phone calls back home to see what the advice nurses would have me do. After a few phone calls, and a small about of phone tag (a ten-hour difference and all), I was instructed to head into the nearest hospital for a quick vaginal exam. Knowing that I would be boarding a long flight home, everyone, including myself wanted peace of mind that everything was normal. It was exhausting mentally and physically and I just wanted to be home. Don’t think that I didn’t google and yelp the nearest hospitals. Why couldn’t I just be seen at St. Mary’s hospital, oh that’s right, I’m not Kate Middleton.

When we arrived at the hospital, I was taken back to an exam room alone. I figured with all our luggage, I could handle this exam by myself. But after a thirty second exam, the resident doctor, threw the exam backwards that sprung my legs from 180 to 90 degrees and left the room. Carting all of our luggage back to the exam room, a resident doctor and their on-call doctor were staring at David and I, “What is going on?” David said. What happened next was something I could never imagine.  

I was being admitted into the labor and delivery department immediately for exposed membranes, pre-labor rupture of members. (PROM) My room was at the end of the hallway and actually the coolest room they had. England was having a rare heatwave and everyone assured me that I would be most comfortable in there.  I remember all the nurses and staff in the department. Everyone was kind and gentle when taking my blood samples and wanted David and I to feel safe and well taken care while we were there. Upon seeing our first doctor, she said, “You’re already dilating and your membranes have been exposed. Have you been feeling ill?” Uhhh.. WHAT. What are you saying now? Exposed? My membranes are exposed? Yes, I don’t feel good, you just gave me horrible news, but what is happening to my body? Am I in labor? Is my baby ok? When can we go home? How did this happen? Is my baby going to be ok?” I don’t think I could process what was being told, I just had a million questions in my head and they all circled around, “Is the baby ok????” Panic set in and the crying began… for days, and days. David and I didn’t even know who to contact or what to say when we did eventually call back home. The bloodwork had come back and my white blood cell counts were doubling each time, I had been checking my levels. The answer was, infection. I had an infection in my body and the baby had the infection in the amniotic fluid. The infection was overtaking my body and the baby’s. I would not be able to keep my baby.

When hearing life alternating news about your pregnancy, your body, and hearing it not in your doctor’s office, in the comfort of your own home; your world comes crashing down. What was once a delightful family wedding, turned joyous Baby moon, turned nightmare, no words can describe the dark and awaited outcome.

While we were waiting any possible answers to save both myself and my baby, the hospital staff kept me comfortable, made me feel safe, knowing that I wouldn’t be going home and I would be waiting here, in their care, for my water to break. I wasn’t a candidate for a rescue cerclage (a cervical stitch that is placed to hold in the pregnancy) as I was getting sicker each passing day and the idea of holding the pregnancy with a stitch would only take me so far; maybe one or two weeks. Regardless, the outcome of my baby being born alive and healthy was very, very slim.  David and I didn’t sleep much, and we didn’t eat much, our minds were clouded with thoughts that new parents should never have to face. We were in shock from it all. Amongst our swollen eyes from crying so much, it was hard to find the right words to say each other, except, “I love you.”

Defeat, heartbreak and numbness were the only feelings I could process during our stay. By day 5, my doctor said my infection was reaching dangerous levels that we could no longer passively wait for my water to break on its own. With medical intervention, we began the process of inducing labor. My water broke, somewhere in the night and I was weak, mentally, physically and emotionally. My midwife whom I now refer to as my helping angel, guided me through a birth I never thought I could face, and David stayed strong with me during the entire process. When my brother and sister in law heard of our news and had just returned from their honeymoon, and they wanted to say with us as it was just David and myself in the hospital. We didn’t really know anyone.  Knowing this wasn’t a typical delivery, they had wanted to give David and I our privacy and said they would return when we were ready to see them, post-delivery. God, the thought of negatively impacting my new sister-in-law put more strain on my heart. This isn’t how we were supposed to bond.

With minimal communication to family and close friends back home, I didn’t know nor did I care what hour or what day it was. My baby would come be coming into this earth and leaving this earth in one moment. Why, why was this happening? What did I do wrong?

The birth and death of my son was gentle, quiet and heartbreaking. My midwife had kept insisting that even though I had just experienced something so painful, “You must see him. He’s beautiful.” Some mothers who have loss, want to see their baby, but David and I could not bring ourselves to. How could I look at someone so beautiful and innocent and know I could not take him home? I would never hear his heartbeat or feel his mighty kicks. I felt like a failure in knowing I couldn’t keep him safe. I could only see him in my dreams from now on. I wanted to keep his image of what I thought he looked like in my mind, and in my heart. I am his mother and I know what he looks like.

When the time came for the doctors and staff to witness our signatures for his birth and death certificate, I had to sign and date it, May 8, 2016. I took a long pause and looked at David. A lump in my throat started to form as I forced myself to swallow, “It’s Mother’s Day back home.” I had given birth to my first-born son on Mother’s Day. To say my heart sank would be an understatement of this lifetime.

From the hospital we were instructed to stay in the hotel for another week before we were finally cleared to fly home. Grieving on the airplane, wearing my dark sunglasses and headphones to hide my eyes and keep my tears at bay was a challenge. “Just don’t make eye contact with anyone” I thought.

We returned home and months and months had passed. I had returned to work, was healthy and healing, in the physical aspect. We had seen our families and friends and we were adjusting to the somber lifestyle we were given. There were good days and happy days, but mostly bad days. In the realm of grieving, there is no “correct” way to grieve the loss of your baby and there aren’t nearly enough resources out there that help. The unfortunate part about loss is there aren’t many tools out there to help you with coping and understanding what you went through and what you will be going through now and forever. However, throughout my breakdowns at the gas station, or while shopping at the local stores, I turned to Instagram as my main source of comfort. Finally, real women, couples and families who had their own stories and were brave enough to share them to make me, a girl in Oregon feel not so alone. Their passed-on words of hope, gave me strength to feel like, maybe I could still be a mother again.

In the coming months, David and I found a wonderful counselor through my fertility doctor. She was beyond helpful in navigating us through the crashing waves of emotions and validating my breakdowns. We felt stronger with each session, we felt heard and we had come to terms with what happened to our son.

Flash forward to eight months later, we were ready to meet with our infertility doctor and perinatologist to discuss our plan for another pregnancy. It was soon time for another embryo transfer. David, my driving force of optimism, “You have to believe we will get pregnant again” wanted a transfer sooner that I was ready for. In December we did an embryo transfer and the outcome was negative. No luck. My heart wasn’t quite there and I felt as if I was going through the motions. But I knew I wanted to try again. After the holidays and after ringing in the New Year I was ready for another transfer. I was seeing my acupuncturist regularly, who works miracles by the way, and my mind set was dialed in. This was it. I was going to get pregnant.

Embryo transfer day came and everything went as smooth as it could. I did my usual transfer rituals of eating pineapple core, keeping my feet warm with wool socks, listened to classical music, talked to my embryo and kept my crystals close by. On day 5 post transfer, no symptoms, no signs, no nothing. I headed into work on day 5 trying not to cry every second of the day. I knew it was over. I just knew it.

Superbowl Sunday (day 10) was coming up and I had big plans to pee on a stick, see a negative line, get dressed, get my nails done and cry the rest of the day. That was the plan and I was OK with that. Seven am came, my urine pregnancy test was already underway and after 3 minutes, I would be getting on with this miserable day.

TWO. Two pink lines. Two pink lines on a stick that I just peed on…??!! WHAT. A sight I never thought I would see again and there is was starting at me as if to say, “Of course I’m here.” I got dressed and drove straight to David’s work and showed him the stick. This was the beginning on a tiny rainbow.

I wish I could say my pregnancy was normal and I lived out my nine months in gestational bliss…but that wouldn’t be true.

I lost my son at six months and we chose to see a perinatologist (high risk provider) to have peace of mind that my pregnancy plan would be followed closely. In the hospital back in England, we were looking for more information regarding PROM. Our obgyn clinic had referred us to the perinatology department as they are the experts in high risk situations. Our doctor who consulted us over the phone would soon become our doctor to our subsequent pregnancy. The plan was to watch my cervix and see, would this happen again, or was this a cruel fluke of nature? We also decided to add in progesterone shots to prevent any preterm labor. I had gone through IVF injections, frozen embryo injections, what’s another shot in the backside.

I had standing appointments for cervical monitoring and I was coming up to my twenty-two-week appointment. We had talked about a cerclage, a stitch that could be placed in my uterus to hold the baby in. We talked about risks, benefits, outcomes, all of it. David and I couldn’t decide if there was a need for one, but on that twenty-two-week appointment it was decided for us. My uterus needed one. It was doing the same thing it was doing in Venice, Italy. To have your doctor catch what my body wanted to do the first time around was incredible. This is why we choose to see the perinatologist.

The operation happened on the same day and for anyone wondering, was it painful or scary, I would have to say “not really”. The anticipation of checking in and waiting around was more stressful than the procedure, which only took five minutes. Honest. Recovery was a little tough as its basically bedrest, but you do get to spend the days looking at everything online. A dangerous situation when you’re pregnant.

Soon enough, it was time to meet my rainbow, my daughter. The thought of giving birth and losing her was terrifying and I will admit there was a lot of tears leading up to her birth. All I could think about was “what if this happens again?” what if my body decides to do something it shouldn’t, will everyone survive this time, will I be strong enough if the doctors deliver bad news?” the stakes were high and too emotionally. My past was meeting up with my present.

My due date was 10/14 and on 10/13 we had our last appointment. There was talk about the baby being too big and my options were induction or a c-section. The truth is, I had already gone through the process of a vaginal birth and the anticipation of not knowing how long it would be, would I be reliving any memories, would I be present in this birth…I didn’t have the answers. My heart said no and I accepted the choice of having a c-section. And in the end, I am so happy we did.

Out she came, happy, healthy and crying with all her might. David couldn’t hold back any tears as he proclaimed, “She’s here! Oh, my word, she’s right here.”

Milan Rosalia Ellena had made her entrance in our world and quickly made it known that I was hers and she was mine. For so long my heart ached and worried that I would never hold another baby again, but I was proven wrong that morning; Rainbows do come after the storm and they shine the brightest when you open your eyes.

Milan is almost 2 years old and her spirit is pure, gentle, loving and carries David and I through the wondrous world of parenting. Our tiny tot has taught us so much about love, grievance, patience, and celebration of life. Life is hard without my son here and not a day goes by that I don’t think about him and see him in my daughters eyes. David and I didn’t believe for so long that our rainbow would come, but Milan changed all of that.

 “No matter how your heart is grieving, if you keep on believing, the dreams that wish, will come true.” -Cinderella

Babe In My Arms, Babe In My Belly, Babe In My Heart, Blogs, Uncategorized

No Hard Feelings

August 21, 2019

Written by Lisa Paesano, Guest Blogger

Most women probably can’t remember the exact moment that they decided they wanted to be a mother, but I actually can. The majority of women I know have ALWAYS wanted to have a child one day. Me? Not so much. Babies were cute, but kids were kind of loud and always had ice cream on their faces, so I wasn’t sure. However, the first night of my honeymoon at Disney World on our way to dinner, I saw the sweetest little family – Dad, Mom, and their son, probably around eight years old. Dad was sitting in the middle and had his arms around Mom and his boy, and they were all smiling at each other, laughing and talking and very much happy. That was when I knew I wanted a family. So the ironic thing is this; a year later I got a negative pregnancy test, the first of many, in our hotel room at Disney World again. Thus starting my infertility journey…at the most magical place on earth.

My husband Will and I started trying to conceive November of 2015, the night before Thanksgiving, when we had been married for over a year, but together for almost eight. I was very optimistic; a doctor had told me when I was 20 that I had PCOS, but I thought hey, my mother never had trouble conceiving, my grandmother didn’t, and neither did my half-sisters. And I got my period every month, so I must be ovulating! I was 100% prepared to see a positive test. I researched positions, downloaded apps that predicted ovulation, ate fertility friendly foods…I was set. So the negative test at Disney? No big deal. Lots of people don’t conceive their first cycle trying. I read it on the message boards, and I’d heard it from my friends. I work for a large OBGYN practice, so I see girls get pregnant with PCOS all the time. Oh, and the next month when my period came again? No sweat. It takes lots of couples a few months to get pregnant. We’re fine, I said to my husband in the bathroom of our apartment. It’ll happen soon.

And so began the next 24 months.

I consulted the doctors at my job, and started a full fertility work up after six months of trying with no success. Will’s semen analysis came back perfect, my tubes weren’t blocked according to the hysterosalpinogram procedure I underwent, but my progesterone around ovulation time was low. I was started on the fertility drug Clomid in July of 2016 in order to amp ovulation. I was still optimistic, but getting a little frustrated; it was hard seeing those negative tests every month. But lo and behold, after four cycles of Clomid and timed intercourse, I was pregnant.

I was PREGNANT! I couldn’t believe it. 11 months after we first started trying, we were going to have a baby! And we were doubly ecstatic to find out that I would be exactly 12 weeks pregnant on Christmas day. I literally had tears in my eyes thinking about announcing to our families that day, getting to tell my mom she was going to be a grandmother…I fantasized about that for weeks. I made my very first pregnancy appointment on, get this—the day before Thanksgiving, exactly a year to the day that we started trying. It was all coming full circle. It would finally be our time.

Except it wasn’t yet.

According to my last menstrual period, I was seven weeks and three days pregnant, but the baby was measuring small at five weeks and five days. The doctor I saw thought I may have just ovulated late, so told me not to give up hope, and to come back the next week. I was so upset I couldn’t even sleep. I anxiously scoured message boards, reading any post that could give me a little hope, and to be honest some actually did – there were lots of stories of women whose babies were measuring small, and then caught up. But no dice for us unfortunately; the next visit, baby was still measuring five weeks five days. And the visit after that too. The whole “am I pregnant, am I not pregnant” process dragged out for three weeks, and I never saw one drop of blood, never had one cramp. I had a “missed miscarriage”, which made things a lot harder to accept, because I still felt pregnant. They gave me my options, and I chose to have a D&C. It was two weeks before Christmas, my favorite time of year…and I was broken.

But miscarriages are common! My doctors said. This was a fluke! So we got back on the TTC horse, but for me, things were different. I was different. I started wondering what I had done to deserve this misery. I blamed myself, and decided this was the universe’s way of telling me I shouldn’t be a mother. That this was karma because I wasn’t sure if I wanted a kid at one point. Add to the equation that two of my best friends were pregnant, and I was around pregnant women all day at work…two and two doesn’t equal four in this equation. It equaled me not being able to go to my friend’s baby’s christening, me sobbing outside of my cousin’s baby shower, me leaving a restaurant and eating my burrito in the car because two pregnant women came in, and me basically shutting myself off from everyone in my life including my husband. The jealousy ate at me. I could barely breathe when I would see yet another pregnancy announcement on Facebook. I started to hate and resent everyone around me, and most of all, I hated myself.

The worst part? Six months later, we got to do it all again; June of 2017 I had another missed miscarriage. Same scenario, the baby didn’t develop past five weeks five days. I thought going through it already would have prepared me, but it didn’t. It was worse. The first time was supposed to be a fluke, so why do I have to go through this again?? I stopped eating. I took a month off from work because I couldn’t handle seeing yet another beautiful, glowing, happy expectant mother. I refused to speak to any of my friends that had kids. I couldn’t be around anyone except for Will and my sister Laura for months. I wanted to give up.

But luckily for me, my intuitive doctor (who is also my boss), well, this whole missed miscarriage business got his wheels turning. His name is Dr. Vito Alamia, and he is one of the best doctors I’ve ever known, and working in the medical field for the last 12 years, I’ve known many. He convinced me to get testing done on the fetus after my second D&C, and informed me something like 95% of the time that this test comes back saying the fetus has a chromosomal abnormality, and that really is a fluke. So weren’t we all surprised when I was in the other 5%? The fetus came back normal. Even though it didn’t seem like it then, that was when our luck started to change, because that was when Dr. Alamia leapt into action.

He sent me for an extensive round of testing; I’m talking 22 vials of blood here. And, he told me, if nothing came back, that he’d send me for even MORE testing. This is the one time in my life that I’d ever hoped that something abnormal would come back on my bloodwork, because that meant that there might be something that could be fixed. In my head, however, I had already convinced myself that I would never have a baby. I was so sure the test would come back with everything perfectly normal, and that we’d be stuck with even more questions.

But I was wrong. I am now the proud owner of not one, but TWO formerly undiagnosed blood clotting disorders; Lupus Anticoagulant Disorder, and the MTHFR gene mutation. To sum up quickly, Lupus Anticoagulant Disorder essentially means your blood is sticky and clots too quickly. The MTHFR mutation creates a problem with your body’s regulation of folic acid. According to Dr. Alamia, both can lead to blood clots in the placenta, and both can cause recurrent miscarriage. He consulted with an infertility specialist on my behalf, and they came up with a plan; I was to start aspirin and folic acid supplements right away, and was told to come back in the day I got another positive test, so that I could be started on a blood thinner called Lovenox.

Three months later, on November 16, 2017, I stood in my bathroom with yet another positive test, and all I could think about was how unbelievably scared I was. I was started that day on Lovenox, which by the way, did I mention this was an injectable drug?  Meaning that I would have to inject it? Every day?? INTO MY STOMACH?? If that isn’t a testament to how much I wanted a baby I don’t know what is; I was TERRIFIED of needles. I have no pain tolerance. I am a big, giant wuss. But, I told myself, if it works then I’ll do it. And to my surprise, after 24 months, 11 cycles of Clomid, two miscarriages (and two chemical pregnancies sprinkled in between), two D&C’s, tons of negative tests, dozens of bruises from the injections, thousands of shed tears, and a million why me’s, on December 7th, 2017, I got to see my baby’s heartbeat. I’ll never forget that moment. After hearing “I’m sorry, there’s no heartbeat” TWICE, I can never full explain how seeing that little flicker changed my life.

Our rainbow after the storm was born on July 10, 2018. We named him Seth after Seth Avett from the Avett Brothers; we listened to their song “No Hard Feelings” probably a million times while we were struggling, so we wanted to remember that. He just turned a year old, and he is the absolute greatest joy of our lives; he is the sweetest, most snuggly, happiest baby I’ve ever seen. He is always laughing, and people say he looks just like me. His beautiful face is enough to make everything I went through worth it. He is the most amazing gift I’ve ever received, and has healed my heart a thousand times over. Infertility and miscarriages are nightmares, and what we went through to have him was the hardest time of my entire life…but I would do it again 100 times if I knew that I’d get to be his mom at the end. I still mourn those two angels I never got to meet, but I know now that Seth and I were waiting for each other; I was always supposed to be his mom. There were so many times in those two years that I wanted to give up, to stop trying, to just get another dog…but now I get to see my baby boy smile every day. I get to smell his head and kiss his soft cheeks and cuddle with him on the couch and there is no better feeling than that in the whole world. Despite our hardships, I know that I am the luckiest mom in the world because I have him.

Walk through the night, straight to the light, holding the love I’ve known in my life and NO HARD FEELINGS…— The Avett Brothers

If you’d like to connect with Lisa, you can find her on Instagram, Facebook or Twitter!

Babe In My Arms, Babe In My Belly, Babe In My Heart, Blogs, Uncategorized

Worth the Process

August 20, 2019

Written by Jessica Roose, Guest Blogger

I always wanted to have kids. And I think part of me always knew that I would have a hard time having them. I can remember one time after I was married I met with a friend for coffee. I had just accepted a job that would take me from where I grew up in Arizona, all the way to North Dakota! We were talking about the move, how nervous and excited I was for this new adventure. I was finally starting my career and becoming an adult. My husband and I had been married less than six months at that time. So my friend and I started talking about kids. Would I want to wait now that we were moving and starting this whole new life? Of course I didn’t want to get pregnant right when I started my new job. But I also didn’t want to wait too long. I was already 25 at this point and I knew I wanted more than one kid. And I also had a gut feeling it was not going to be easy to get pregnant. My mom had some issues having my brother and I. But besides that, I really had no other reason to think I would have any issues, but I did. Maybe it was God trying to prepare me for incredibly difficult journey that was ahead, I don’t know. But I just had a gut feeling. And I remember telling my friend that while we were having coffee that evening.

Fast forward six months or so and I had made the move and started my job. It was March 2012 and I just found out I was pregnant. We weren’t trying to get pregnant so it was a shock to both of us. But we were excited. I went to the doctor and got it confirmed. But just a couple days later I started spotting. I knew right away that wasn’t good. I went to the emergency room and they took some blood work and ran some tests and sent me home telling me to take it easy. They said I was having a threatened miscarriage. I tried convincing myself all weekend that it would be ok. Friends told me about people they knew who spotted during pregnancy and I just convinced myself that it was normal and I would be fine. But it wasn’t.

The doctor confirmed the miscarriage on Monday. I was devastated. But now I knew more than ever that I wanted to get pregnant, and I wanted to get pregnant now. We started trying after that and I got pregnant very quickly. We were thrilled. But unfortunately it was once again short lived and we had another miscarriage. It happened two more times after that. After the second miscarriage I had undergone all sorts of testing to try and figure out why I wasn’t able to keep the pregnancies. No answer. Everything came back “normal.” Which I think is the worst part of all.

All you want is to have a baby, it’s the one time I can remember hoping and praying that they would find something wrong with me. At least then they would be able to hopefully fix it and we could have a baby. But test after test just came back normal and I was told it just happens. To take more folic acid and “aspirin might help, so take that.” By the time I had gone through the 4th miscarriage, it was 2013. It had been a little over a year and I had been pregnant four times and had lost all of them.

I felt like I should have a punch card to the doctor’s office by that point. Free treatment after ten visits. Between the blood work to confirm pregnancies, blood work to test that my HCG levels were going up, blood work to test that they were going down and I wasn’t pregnant anymore after the miscarriages started. And all the tests in between. I felt like I lived at the doctor’s office and was constantly being poked.

It was the hardest time of my life. I was depressed, mad and convinced I would never have a kid. But I had to put on a happy face every day and go to work. I was working as a reporter and anchor at the time. So I didn’t want people to see that I was upset. I would go to appointments before, after, or during work and then go right back to the newsroom and go in front of the camera.

I remember one time after one of the miscarriages; I was at work and scrolling through Facebook. I saw someone I knew from high school was pregnant. And she was having multiples. I lost it. Of course I would never wish harm on her or anyone and their pregnancies. But why NOT ME. I wanted it so bad. Why did I have to go through this over and over and OVER?! I left the office and went in my car and cried. Why was it so easy for everyone else to get pregnant but I couldn’t? It seemed like friends and family were getting pregnant left and right. I was bitter. I didn’t want to hear about their pregnancies. It just made me mad. I hate that infertility did that to me. I feel like I missed out on being able to enjoy and celebrate with my friends. But instead I was just angry and wanted nothing to do with it.

After that 4th miscarriage, I gave up. My husband said it’s up to me, it’s my body and if I don’t want to keep trying, we won’t. I didn’t want to go through it again. I started looking into adoption and talking to my husband about that. I still wanted to have kids but I was going to have to come around to the fact that I wouldn’t get to experience pregnancy. A few months went by and then somewhere around the beginning of August 2013 I found out I was pregnant AGAIN. I wasn’t even excited. It was a surprise, we weren’t trying and I didn’t want to go through having another loss. I called a good friend of mine and she came over right away, with a cake! She was convinced it would be ok even if I wasn’t. In fact, I was so convinced it wouldn’t work out that I made her take me to the store to get pads for when I started spotting.

But I went to the doctor and started the tests I had grown accustomed too all over again. And this time, my HCG levels kept going up. My ultrasounds were good. I had also started seeing a reproductive endocrinologist. He was based out of Fargo, ND and I was several hours away in Bismarck. So every week I would go get blood work done and an ultrasound and then go to my regular OB’s office where they would set me up with a computer and I would basically skype with my doctor and go over the results. Week after week went by and I started getting more and more hopeful.

Then finally, I made it to the 12-week mark, something I had never done in the past. I graduated to just seeing my regular OB and I became just like every other pregnant person and moved on to having the normal tests and appointments. I don’t know why that pregnancy stuck, but it did. It was relatively uneventful, besides the normal morning sickness. Until 38 weeks. My last couple weekly appointments before that my blood pressure had been high when I first got to the doctor. They would test again before I left and it went down and so they just brushed it off. I didn’t really think anything of it to be honest.

Photo by: Julie Heisey Photography

That Saturday I woke up with a sore throat and just felt like crap. I figured it just a cold. I already had plans to get a pedicure that day and I wasn’t canceling that (because priorities when you’re about to go into labor, right ladies?) So I went and got my toes done and then told my husband I was going to stop at urgent care and just get seen so they can give me some meds that I can take to make the cold go away. I didn’t want to go into labor and have a newborn and be sick! When I got to urgent care the first thing they did was check my vitals, including my blood pressure. I don’t remember exactly what it was. But it was so high and I was so pregnant that he told me I needed to go right to the emergency room.

I left and picked up my husband from home and we went to the hospital where I was sent up to labor and delivery for observation overnight. The next day blood pressure still wasn’t going down and they decided the baby needed to come out. So around 4:30pm they started to induce me. The induction itself went well. But overnight, my labs continued to get worse. Until the nurse finally came in and said she called my OB and went over all my labs with him and found out I have HELLP Syndrome. If you’re like I was and have no idea what that is it stands for Hemolysis (which is the breaking down of red blood cells), Elevated Liver enzymes, Low Platelet count. It’s a life threatening pregnancy complication that some consider to be a much worse variant of preeclampsia.

They started me on magnesium and started padding my bed. Which is also about the time I started to have a panic attack when I found out they were doing that because they were worried I would have a seizure. It was the middle of the night, I was terrified, I was in a state thousands of miles away from my family and I lost it. My husband was great the whole time but I was just so scared and mad. Once again I couldn’t just have a normal pregnancy. But eventually (and thanks to an awesome epidural) I was able to get some sleep.

Photo by: Julie Heisey Photography

My daughter, Brooklynn, was born the next day Monday March 31st 2014 at 11:32 am. But during delivery I lost a lot of blood and coupled with the magnesium, I felt like crap. I had to stay on the magnesium for 24 hours after she was born due to having HELLP syndrome. It made me feel crazy. I was hot, bed ridden, wasn’t allowed to eat and had to ration my liquid intake while on it. It also made me hallucinate and have double vision. Because of all of this I couldn’t have my daughter in the room with me unless my husband or the nurse was with me. Looking back, I’m lucky. So many people with HELLP Syndrome end up losing their baby or their own life. But my daughter and I are here and we are healthy. But I can’t help but be mad about the moments we lost. I don’t remember big chunks of her delivery and the day after, and that makes me mad and sad.

After Brooklynn was born, I kind of just figured that I had one pregnancy to term and had a baby so now maybe my body knows what it’s doing and there will be no more miscarriages. When Brooklynn was one, we moved back to Arizona to be closer to family. When she was about 2 or so we decided we wanted to have another. About that same time I accepted a new job and my first week there I found out I was pregnant. Bad timing right? It wasn’t ideal and I was scared to death to tell my new bosses. But I figured I would wait until at least 12 weeks anyway so I had some time.

Photo by: Julie Heisey Photography

Unfortunately, it never got to that because a few weeks after I found out I was pregnant, I lost the baby. I remember sitting in the room with the ultrasound tech when she said she needed to go get the doctor and I knew. By that point I had enough losses to know that when the news is good, they just show you the baby. When it’s bad, they go get the doctor to tell you that you are having a miscarriage. He confirmed what I already knew and I was devastated. I couldn’t believe it was happening again. This time, because I was farther along and my body still wasn’t miscarrying on its own, I scheduled a D&C. The procedure went well, but I wasn’t happy with my doctor. I didn’t feel like he took my past seriously. That ultrasound I had was my first. I was supposed to be 7-8 weeks pregnant by then. With my other doctors in North Dakota they did weekly ultrasounds and blood work from the second I found out I was pregnant until I miscarried or got to 12 weeks.

He also didn’t seem very knowledgeable about the severity of HELLP syndrome. So I went searching for other doctors. I ended up going to IVF Phoenix and seeing Dr. Couvaras. If you’re a woman in AZ and having a hard time getting pregnant, go see him! From the first appointment, I never felt rushed. He took his time to go over every single thing about my losses and the pregnancy with my daughter. He scheduled his own tests and started me on heparin and a series of vitamins and supplements. At the same time I met with a new OB. She also ran a few tests and found out I have MTHFR. Dr. Couvaras also got those results and immediately told me to stop taking a prenatal with folic acid. The more I talked to him and the more I researched I learned that my body doesn’t process the synthetic version of folic acid the way it should. It could have been a contributor to my miscarriages. So he switched me to folate. After months of testing, changing my diet, taking injections and even getting stung by a bee (apparently the dr thought it would help, I stopped asking too many questions and was willing to try anything at that point!) he finally gave us the green light to try and get pregnant again.

One of the things he believed may have been a factor in my losses was that my immune system may have been attacking the pregnancy. So he wanted to put me on an intralipid infusion to suppress my immune system a little to hopefully stop that from happening. I had to do that once right before I hopefully got pregnant, again right after I got pregnant and again a few weeks after that. This wasn’t covered by insurance and was about $400 each time. We did the first infusion and he put me on clomid to boost my chances of getting pregnant. It worked! I got pregnant on that first try. Of course I knew it might not last so I didn’t get too excited. But the pregnancy kept going well, I did the final two infusions and eventually at 12 weeks, I left the office for the last time and went on to see my OB. She was also amazing.

She knew I was feeling a little better about the pregnancy after I got out of the first trimester. But she also knew about my past with HELLP syndrome and how nervous I was about that happening again. She set me up with a Maternal Fetal Medicine doctor and the rest of the pregnancy I was seen by her and that high-risk doctor. This pregnancy went pretty well. I was more tired and sore than I was with my first pregnancy, and this baby was much bigger! Then at 38-weeks, while my OB was doing a check, my water broke. I drove myself to the hospital and my husband met me there. Less than eight hours later our second daughter, Dillon was born on April 25th 2018. Exactly two pounds bigger than her big sister! Her delivery was nothing like her sisters.

It was happy, we were healthy and I remember the whole thing. It was very healing and the perfect ending to this journey. I am so blessed to have the two girls I have. They were worth the six-year process of getting pregnant and having loss after loss. But it still makes me sad I had to go through that. It makes me angry that I don’t have these amazing and happy moments of being able to find out I’m pregnant and be happy from the start.

If you read all this and have never gone through a loss but know someone who is, my advice is to just be there for them. Let them vent, cry and scream. But don’t say things like “it will happen,” “it’s all part of God’s plan,” “Maybe there was just something wrong with this one.” I even had someone tell me that at least I wouldn’t have to go thorough the pain of childbirth. None of those comments are helpful. If you don’t know what to say, then say that and listen.

If you’d like to connect with Jessica, you can find her on Instagram!

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Be Brave

August 18, 2019

Written by Kristin Pierce, Guest Blogger

My husband and I have always known we wanted to have a family. I remember our first Christmas together, when a family member asked “So when are you all going to start a family?” I remembered looking forward to that time with eager anticipation, but also realizing that maybe our family and it’s growth wouldn’t be easy. I had no idea the journey God had planned for us. 

Our journey to parenthood was rather uneventful. One week in January 2015, both my sister and a good friend told me they were both pregnant (and due within days of each other). “We are the ONLY ones not pregnant! Everyone is moving on without us,” I thought. We knew we wanted to start a family in the near future, but didn’t feel “ready.” I know now that you are never ready; there are always reasons to not try if you look for them. Then, one rainy Saturday morning in May 2015, I took a positive pregnancy test. Life forever changed for the better from that moment.

In January 2016, after 39 weeks of praying and anticipation,  I was induced and we were able to meet our perfect son, Camden that I’d been feeling kick for the past 9 months. In the weeks and months that passed after that, our sweet Camden grew and developed from a newborn to a baby to a toddler. 
I LOVED (and still love) being a mom! I vividly remember feeling so enamored with my new sweet son. I gushed to my sister-in-law “I want to have 100 babies!” I knew I wanted to parent more kids and for Camden to have a sibling. After adjusting to being parents, we entered a season of contentment with our little family. 

When Camden was about a year, we started thinking about having another baby. We were excited to see how God would move and bless our family. After several months of trying, on a cold December day, I took a pregnancy test and it was positive! Jacob and I were ecstatic and couldn’t wait to meet our baby in August. We decided to wait until I went to the doctor in early January to tell our families.

On New Years Eve, I started showing signs of miscarriage. We were crushed. We prayed. We wept. We called my doctor and she told me I could either let it play out or go to the ER. Because the doctor didn’t reopen for a few days and we wanted closure, we decided to go get it checked out. We took Camden to my parent’s house and sped to the ER. We got confirmation of what we dreaded…I was having a miscarriage. We were devastated. I was diagnosed with a blighted ovum, meaning a fertilized egg implanted and a sac formed, but the baby never grew after that. I remember sitting in the ER with Jacob…heartbroken and eating our free hamburger (or the world’s most expensive hamburger considering our ER bills, depending on how you look at it) and saying “Is this God calling us to adopt?”

Adoption is something that had been on our hearts as a couple for years. We prayed about it but never seriously pursued it, and weren’t sure how that passion might play out in our lives.  We decided to pray about it as we grieved, and ultimately decided that we would try again. Although we were heartbroken, I am thankful for God’s timing, because that evening, when we picked Camden up from my parents house, was the last time that I saw my dad before he passed away from flu complications. My last memory of him is him giving me a big hug. He gave the best hugs and, although it was to comfort me, I’m so grateful that is my last memory of him.

 As we navigated through the grief of the loss of our baby and the loss of dad, I found comfort in knowing that dad was holding our baby in heaven, and that made me smile. We continued to be open to growing our family and were excited to learn that I was pregnant again in April and due on Christmas day! We handled this pregnancy completely differently and told our families so that they could be praying for us. I dealt with a lot of fear this pregnancy, having lost not long before. I prayed and felt Him so clearly saying “you might not meet this baby on earth, either, but I am still with you and I am still good.” 

Things appeared to be going well until I was 8 weeks and, again, began showing signs of a miscarriage. I frantically called my doctor and they worked me in that afternoon. The sonogram showed that there was a baby, but it’s heartbeat was very slow and the baby was measuring small (about 6 weeks gestationally). The baby did not appear to be developing normally. The doctor told us to go home and come back tomorrow. My symptoms got worse and I miscarried the next day. 

We felt completely sick with grief. How could this happen? Again! We cried and we prayed. We felt confident this time that God’s plan for our family was not for us to grow our family through pregnancy but through adoption. As we continued thinking and praying about adoption, a supernatural peace came over both Jacob and me. I felt more like myself than I had since we started trying to have a baby. 

It seemed like adoption was suddenly everywhere… the new show we started watching on HGTV had adopted children, students and clients were talking about it. God was so clear with us, and, although we were sad for the loss of our baby, we felt humbled and honored to follow God’s will for our life and pursue adoption. We realized quickly that God’s ways and plans are much superior to ours. We spoke with an adoption consulting agency on the phone and continued praying. As we stepped out in obedience, God began providing financially for us through new jobs for both Jacob and me. God was so clear with us, and we were so grateful.

About 6 weeks after we announced we were adopting (the week our adoption fundraiser t-shirts came in), I realized I was late. “Surely not,” I thought. You see, after our loss in May and decision to adopt, I passionately felt that I DID NOT want to be pregnant again, EVER. The week went on, and still nothing. I bought a pregnancy test. I waited until Friday afternoon, when I was home alone to take the test.

I’ll never forget how quickly that pregnancy test turned positive. Those two lines appeared faster than I thought they could. I’ve never felt more fear in my life. I remember saying out loud, “God, I don’t know what you’re doing here. “ I panicked. I didn’t want to be pregnant again. Ever. Yet here I was, against all odds. I called my husband (and made sure he was sitting down). We were both in disbelief. I think God has a funny sense of humor.

The day I took the test was the day was the day that the “Be Brave” shirts came in the mail. I sat at home so overwhelmed and scared, as friend after friend texted me pictures that said “Be Brave.” God knew that was exactly what I needed to hear at that moment— to be brave and trust Him. Being completely honest, while adoption is hard, it felt like the safer choice after recurrent losses. It would require courage that could only be found through Him to ride out this pregnancy, no matter which direction it went. 

I called my doctor the following Monday. The nurse was shocked to hear that it was me and my news. I went in the following day for bloodwork. The nurse explained that, if my HCG numbers were under 10,000, I would come back on Thursday for repeat blood work. But,  if they were over 10,000, they would perform a sonogram. The next day was Wednesday. I was at work and anticipating the call all day long. Late in the afternoon, the nurse called. My numbers were over 20,000, so she told me that they would do a sonogram on Thursday.

I wasn’t planning to tell anyone for a long time, but I had plans with my mom and sister the next day. I told them both and my sister told me that she was also pregnant. While I was happy for her, my heart sank, knowing that it would be difficult to watch her raise a baby due at the same time as the one I had lost.I was shaking as the doctor entered the examination room. She began to perform the sonogram. I tried not to look at the screen. She quickly found baby, measuring exactly 6 weeks. There was no heartbeat yet (this can be common at that point), so I set an appointment to come back on Monday. On Monday, the baby had grown substantially, measuring 7 weeks and had a healthy, strong heartbeat.

Although I felt overjoyed, I also was consumed by fear. What if we lose again? I honestly didn’t think I could handle it emotionally. I was seeing a counselor at the time after a bout with postpartum anxiety. As I told her our story, I remember her saying “You know God will carry you through it either way. He’s carried you through a pregnancy and given you a healthy baby, and He’s carried you through your miscarriages. Find comfort in that.” It was easier said than done, but I spent a lot of time praying for His will to be done, not mine. 

With each passing appointment, God eased my fears. The baby was growing and developing. We soon learned that she was a girl. We chose to name her Caris, meaning ‘grace and kindness,’ as we felt she was God’s grace to us in this season. As we prayed for her and my pregnancy, my husband and I continued to pray about adoption. We felt God clearly continuing to lead us down that path, but not until after our family had adjusted. We made it to both due dates for the babies I lost (August 10 and December 25).  Each one felt like a milestone in my pregnancy.

I continued to grieve, but felt so humbled and blessed to be able to do something I didn’t think I’d ever do again– grow another baby. On March 18, 2019, our sweet rainbow baby arrived! She is the most laid back and happy baby- a perfect addition to our little family, and further confirmation that adoption is still in our future. The love I feel for Caris is different than that I feel for our son, as I think is normal when you have multiple children. I appreciate the beauty of the journey in a different way and am so tangibly able to see that our prayers didn’t go to waste. God was never saying “no,” He was simply saying “Not yet. My plans for your family are bigger and more beautiful than you can even imagine.”

Our faith has been stretched, but the promise and faithfulness He’s shown us through our sweet rainbow baby are greater than we could have ever asked or imagined. The road to get us here, to grow our family, has been anything but easy. It’s had many tears and many doubts. We’ve experienced our highest highs and our lowest lows. It’s been immensely different than we expected, but it has been so beautiful.  

We continue to pray that our family can be a blessing to a birth mom who maybe feels overwhelmed and who has more love for her unborn baby that she can even fathom. We are so grateful to be able to see how God is using our heartache for good through His continued call to adopt. We know that if He hadn’t led us through the journey of infertility, we would have missed out on knowing Him more deeply, His provision of our rainbow girl in addition to His call to adopt have allowed us to truly taste and see His goodness. 

“The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me, because the Lord has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners, and provide for those who grieve in Zion—to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord for the display of his splendor.” Isaiah 61:1, 3

If you’d like to connect with Kristin, find her on Instagram, Facebook or her website!

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Why Us?

August 13, 2019

Written by Guest Blogger, Ginny Helmer

“Why Us?”

Have you ever asked yourself this question?

I will never forget sitting in my reproductive endocrinologist’s office, fearful  yet hopeful, when he told my husband and I our fertility odds:

“All things considered…there is less than a 5% chance that you two will ever conceive naturally.”

You can imagine that hearing those words being only 23-years-old and married just under 2 years, we were absolutely devastated. My husband and I are both from big families and it was our desire to also have a decent sized family. Now, there was barely any hope that we would biologically conceive children. We were healthy, young adults, who were pure until marriage and loved the Lord. Where did we go wrong?

My husband and I began trying to conceive in November of 2017. We were newly married but decided to stop preventing pregnancy like we had previously been doing. We didn’t panic when a few months passed without a positive pregnancy test. Around January, I started tracking my ovulation, basal body temperature, the works. A year soon passed, and I found myself sitting in my OBGYN’s office faced with an infertility diagnosis. None of it made sense. This was never supposed to be our story. 

Two weeks after our appointment with our reproductive endocrinologist, I was waiting for my cycle to begin so I could schedule my laparoscopy and hysteroscopy procedure for suspected endometriosis. It didn’t start. Not abnormal for me whatsoever, but the sudden onset of nausea sure was. Three days later, I finally broke down and took a pregnancy test in the middle of the afternoon, just to see the negative test and reiterate to myself that I was NOT pregnant. Funny story, though….I was.

Those two pink lines showed up so fast. I’ve taken a LOT of pregnancy tests that have turned up negative, so believe me, I know when one will be negative. This time though, it was different. I was almost 5 weeks along, according to my calculations, and I couldn’t contain my emotion. I was weeping so hard as I called my husband immediately and said, “COME HOME! I’M PREGNANT!” 

I loved every moment of pregnancy. Even the not-so-fun moments of heartburn, food aversions, and fatigue were overshadowed by my joy of being a mother after a year and a half of trying. We were undoubtedly thankful for that little life growing in my womb day by day. 

At 8 weeks gestation, we had our first OB appointment. There, we heard our baby’s strong, precious heartbeat. Baby was measuring right on track. Our hearts were so full; we were sure that our luck had changed, and that this would be our big break.

When I was 11 weeks and 6 days pregnant, my husband and I were about to get on an airplane to go see my sister graduate high school. The entire plane ride, I experienced cramping and some light bleeding. I was a little bit scared, but tried not to think much of it. When we got to our destination, I checked immediately to see if there was more blood. Yep…there was definitely more. My cramping was slowly becoming more intense. My husband and I began to worry and prayed that it would all subside.

I fell asleep that night, hoping that I would wake up the next day and be just fine. Instead, I woke up at 3am to severe contractions and a dilated cervix. I barely made it into the hotel bathroom before it got really bad and I began to go into full force labor. 45 minutes later, I delivered my sweet, beautiful 12 week old baby. I will never forget that moment…I truly did not know how to breathe. I couldn’t look. I couldn’t fathom the idea that my little lime-sized miracle was gone.

Two days later, my OBGYN confirmed what I knew to be true by ultrasound. It was supposed to have been my “12 week appointment” where he was going to use the Doppler to hear our baby’s heartbeat. Instead, I stared at the emptiest ultrasound screen and blinked back tears in an attempt to be strong. Heartbreaking doesn’t even begin to describe what it felt to see my uterus, once so full of a new, precious life, so empty and without much hope.

The weeks following were immensely difficult and I was nowhere near prepared for what my body would have to endure. That night after my ultrasound, in the middle of Lowe’s, my body went back into labor. I struggled to make my way to the store’s bathroom because of the excruciating pain. In that restroom, I delivered the large amount of remnants leftover from the loss. I then bled for two straight weeks, and was in labor for 3 and a half days total. My body has not been the same. Our hearts cannot be repaired. We miss our baby, with everything we have.

We chose to name our baby Noah Amos. Noah means “rest” and Amos means “carried by God.” We knew that our son was in the arms of Jesus now. As much as we miss him, that is the assurance that gets us through. He is safe, he never felt pain, and never had to endure anything in this cruel world.

When we got our infertility diagnosis about 9 months before our miscarriage, I cried that night in my husband’s arms and asked, “why us?”

When we were told that we had a less than 5% chance of ever conceiving naturally, I spent that car ride home praying and asking God, “why us?’

When I sat in that hotel bathroom, crying, hyperventilating, scared, and in total shock from what had just taken place, I whispered loudly, “WHY US?!!!!”

Truth be told, I don’t have a good answer to my own question. In those dark, dark moments I spent time being LIVID at God for the things that my husband and I had to walk through. There were times I wondered if He really cared, as much as I hate to admit it. 

I still struggle with this question. My husband and I still pray that maybe one day, this side of heaven, we’ll know why we have been through these trials. But, truthfully, we may never know and we are choosing to do our best to be at peace with that.

“Behold! I am doing a new things; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.” Isaiah 43:19

“Jesus answered him, ‘What I am doing you do not understand now, but afterward you will understand.’” John 13:7

If you are reading this and you are struggling with the same questions and hurts, I want you to know just a few things that I have come to learn:

*Your story is not finished. Good things are coming., even when it doesn’t seem like it.

*The pain will, over time, become more manageable. You’ll never be the same, but you will be able to keep going.

*God is not punishing you. He loves you. Know that He has a grander plan in the works that we cannot comprehend.

*Use your pain and experience to help others through it, too. 1 in 4 women experience miscarriage and 1 in 8 couples will go through infertility. Come alongside them and understand in ways that many can’t. Whether or not you realize it, God often uses our pain to help others down the road who experience similar situations. 

“For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, to give you a future and a hope.” Jeremiah 29:11

For now, my husband and I will be taking some time to, hopefully, get my body back to somewhat “normal.” (My HCG has still yet to return to zero). We continue to pray that our rainbow is coming. 

Feel free to reach out to me on Instagram. I’m always here for you, regardless of your story or who you are. 

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The Sting of Infertility

August 8, 2019

Written by Guest Blogger, Ashley Peck

Ever since I was little, I wanted to be a mother. My husband and I struggled with infertility and could not seem to get pregnant. We pursued adoption and after three long years of waiting, we were chosen by our son’s birth mom to become parents to the sweetest baby boy.

Over the past year our infertility has been pushed to the side. Adjusting to parenthood and caring for a baby will do that. But in April, a month before our son turned one, it began to creep back in.

I have always wanted a big family, and seeing Milo interact with other children makes me long for him to have a brother or sister. It took over 5 years of struggling and waiting before we were brought to Milo. I do not want to wait that long again.

In May, my husband and I decided to figure out what was causing our infertility and committed to trying to conceive once again. After a month of tests and lots of money spent, we were told we have “unexplained infertility”. Everything looked and seemed to be working better then good. They could not find the root cause as to why we could not conceive, but they also informed us that we only had a 2% chance of conceiving naturally.

A year ago, I also received a preliminary diagnosis for endometriosis. It can only be officially diagnosed with a laparoscopic surgery. Our fertility doctor disagreed with the diagnosis causing infertility, and highly advised that we immediately start IUI treatments (artificial insemination).

Will and I agreed that we would wait on treatments and try to conceive naturally. At the end of the day, all life is a miracle and, statistic or not, we felt that we needed to wait and at least try again.

So here we are, three months into trying to conceive. No missed periods, no positive pregnancy tests. Each month passes and Milo gets older and the pressure to conceive begins to build.

We have talked about our options; another adoption (which we cannot afford again so soon), surgery for my endometriosis (which has a long recovery and no guarantee it will help infertility) IUI treatments (uncomfortable for both of us and time-consuming), embryo donation (costly and not guaranteed) and fostering (our plan when Milo is older).

Infertility does not define me, but it is woven into the fabric of every aspect of my life.

It is in my son’s blue eyes that he got from his birth mom.

It is in the cramping and fatigue each month when I get my period.

It’s in ovulation tests, and temperature charts and scheduled intercourse. 

It’s in the pregnancy announcements, the gender reveals, and the baby showers.

I am grateful for our infertility. It has brought us our beautiful son and an amazing relationship with his birth family. It has taught me to trust in God’s provision and plan, and to have patience in the waiting. But the path of infertility is hard. It is isolating and so terribly devastating. And the sting of infertility does not go away with motherhood.

We endured most of our friends who got pregnant successfully and have grown their families without any problems. And now the next generation of women, the girls I grew up babysitting and knew as children, are getting pregnant as well.

Most of the time I am ok. I would never wish infertility on anyone, and am so excited for those who get to experience the joy of motherhood the way it was intended. But sometimes I see a pregnancy announcement and I get hit with a wall of grief. It washes over me like a tidal wave I did not see coming.

The grief rarely lasts long. It’s often interrupted by an active toddler who reminds me that I am loved and so incredibly blessed. It’s in looking at my son, that I am given hope.

I have come to terms with the reality that I may never have a biological child. I know that the man Milo grows up to be will resemble Will and I because we are raising him. He will have our quirks and mannerisms, our phrases and lifestyle. But his genetic markers come from two different people that are not us.

I know deep down that Milo does not have to share our DNA to be our son. He doesn’t have to have my ginger hair or Will’s broad shoulders for us to love him. There is a tension that exists in not needing biology to love a child as your own but also acknowledging that the reality of our infertility makes me sad.

Milo is our miracle, the boy who made us parents. In wanting the fullest life for him, we know our family is not complete. And we are trusting that it will grow in the way its meant to for us.

If you’d like to connect with Ashley, you can find her on Instagram, Facebook, or her Website!

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A Rainbow of Hope

August 6, 2019

Written by Beth Gildea, Guest Blogger

Sean and I tried for several years to have a family. We expected it to be easy for us, like most people do. An unexplained infertility diagnosis hit us like a brick wall.

We completed two rounds of IVF, one of which ended in miscarriage at 6 weeks. It devastated us, and we abandoned all thoughts of trying IVF again. We knew we did not want to face the anxiety of possibly losing another pregnancy, so we explored adoption.

It renewed our hope, and after over a year of waiting, adoption brought us to our son. We are so grateful that his first family picked us. We started to settle into life with a newborn, grateful to be a family of 3. People immediately started asking if we’d adopt again, but we knew how lucky we were to have one child. We were set with a table for 3.

Two days before my maternity leave was over with our son at 3 months old, I was looking at two pink lines on a pregnancy test. And they were dark! I had NO clue how far along I was, so I went to urgent care (totally normal, right? ?). They drew blood to confirm HCG levels, and sure enough, I was “at least 6 or 7 weeks along.” Mother’s Day was in a week. Could I bear it if I miscarried? My first Mother’s Day with our son was looking to be another heartache. The doctor got us in for an ultrasound as soon as the blood work came back, and we saw a baby’s heartbeat on the monitor.

And that baby stuck. Rita was born 10 months and 1 day after her brother Jack was born in the same year.

They say that after every storm, there is a rainbow of hope. In our home, we know after every storm, there is a rainbow of hope. A double rainbow is a miracle.

If you’d like to connect with Beth, you can find her over on Instagram!

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There is a Way

July 31, 2019

Written by Devon Baeza, Guest Blogger

“Doesn’t look good”

These were the words ringing in my ears as I laid on the table, about to transfer my one and only embryo. “What does that mean? What are the chances it’ll work?” I asked the Dr. “Our embryologist says you have a 25% chance of success” he casually replied.

IVF had not gone as well as predicted. By day 5, only one embryo had survived. I had known about my endometriosis since I was a teenager, but the low AMH came as a shock. Because the embryo “didn’t look good”, they told us it would not survive a freeze. A fresh transfer was our one and only shot.

That was it, I was certain our journey was over. We had endured so many expensive treatments, 6 IUI’s, 2 surgeries, and a miscarriage. For years, every dollar of my paycheck had gone to treatment. We sold our home (at a loss) and moved into a small apartment to save money. My husband had been driving around a car with no A.C. in the AZ sun for 3 summers. We rarely ate out, certainly not without a coupon. We had spent our entire life savings. All the shots, countless tests, and endless tears had come down to this, a complete waste.

Two weeks later, on my birthday, I sat in the bathroom trying to talk myself out of peeing on yet another stick. All the at home tests had been negative, and I didn’t want to ruin my birthday. I told myself to just wait until the official beta, so I could postpone my grief. I couldn’t do it. I took the test…and 2 lines stared back at me…I was in shock. I dropped to my knees, crying and thanking God. FINALLY. Maybe, just maybe, I’d be a mom after all.

The pregnancy had a few scares early on. My HCG levels were low, there was spotting and a feared miscarriage. Every week that passed, I would Google the odds of miscarriage at that stage. It wasn’t until I heard my daughter’s first cry that I could finally breathe too, and could honestly believe that my story would have a happy ending.

Fast forward three years later. My husband and I had come to terms with the fact that our miracle rainbow baby would be our only one. Attempts at conceiving on our own hadn’t worked. I was focused on starting my career as The Fertility Finance Coach, helping other women to save, make, and manifest money for treatment. We had just moved across the country for the 2nd time, and I had fallen ill. I couldn’t seem to get better. My Dr. mentioned that I might need to have testing done for immunity issues, since it ran in my family. I couldn’t stand the thought of more medical issues after everything I had already been through. I was sick, exhausted, and feeling really scared and helpless. As I pulled out of a parking lot and onto the road, I looked up. There was a huge rainbow, going across the whole sky. Under it was a smaller rainbow. An inexplicable peace came across me at the sight of a mommy and baby rainbow. The beauty of it made me cry.

That night, my 3 yr old asked me “How you feelin’ mama?” “Aww baby, I don’t feel good. Thank you for asking.” I replied “Cuz’ there’s a baby in your tummy?” she asked. I laughed. “No sweetie, there’s no baby in my tummy”.

I knew it was impossible, but I couldn’t shake her comment. I took a test in the morning, and stared at the biggest surprise of my life. I was pregnant for the first time without treatment. In my 30’s. Years after being told my AMH was that of a woman in her mid 40’s. I couldn’t believe it. We didn’t tell my 3 yr old she was right, I was so scared I would have a miscarriage and have to explain it to her. But everyday she would come and talk to my belly. She told us she had a sister, and named it “Flippy”. At 16 weeks along, we found out I was having a girl. When we finally told her “You’re right, there is a baby in mommy’s belly…you’re having a sister!” she said “I know.”

I know that success stories can be difficult to read. Holding onto hope, while you watch everyone else get their happy ending, can be so hard and painful. I get it. I remember it vividly. It feels like the life you planned and the strength you thought you had are gone. The stress feels insurmountable.

The encouragement I give to you, my clients, and anyone going through fertility struggles is to is to keep going. One foot in front of the other. There is a way. A way to pay for treatment, a way to heal your relationships, a way to stress less on your road to motherhood. I know it’s possible because I have done it and now help other women do the same. Don’t give up. If you need help, reach out! Remember that It’s not over until you say it’s over. Your happy ending is waiting too!



If you’d like to connect with Devon, you can find her on her website, Instagram or Facebook!

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