Ready or Not

2014 is on its last leg and I’m not too sad to see it go. It’s been an upstream without a paddle type of year, and I’m tired and my feet are wet. But running parallel to this tousled tide I’ve been getting tossed around in is a stream brimming with promises, each becoming realized in good and perfect time. I believe that.

This journey we are on, the one to becoming parents, is kinda crazy. Life is crazy. I am crazy. When I get tensed up thinking about some of the more difficult legs that are ahead for me, I remind myself that this journey is a gift to us. It is meant to teach us things, reveal, restore, and redeem, and I know the only way to take in this experience is to completely let go of any control I foolishly thought I had. If I can do that, I just might be able to have some funnnnn.

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I am completely in love with the emblem I found for this blog. I am probably making myself susceptible to some kind of copyright infringement by using it, because it’s not mine and I didn’t design it, but I feel like I was meant to find it. That will hold up well in court right? :) It’s a silhouette of a matryoshka doll, which in Russian comes from a root word meaning “mother.” Inside the figure are mountains, hills, and a maze of what I imagine to be footpaths all stretching in different directions. When I look at this image I see a pilgrimage, a long and arduous journey to a sacred place. I see divine order in chaos, I see beauty, I see my journey to motherhood. It’s not straight and simple, and it’s not easy, but the greatest adventures never are.

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If you have kept up on my posts, you might recall me mentioning that prior to undergoing treatments for cervical cancer, I underwent surgery to have my ovaries transposed. This means that in order to keep my ovaries from being affected by the radiation to my cervix, I had them relocated to higher ground out of the “radiation zone” to preserve their quality and function. There was no guarantee this would work, and we were given the option to retrieve and fertilize my eggs prior to treatments to ensure our ability to reproduce. Considering Ryan and I weren’t married yet and wouldn’t be for well over a month, we had zero peace about joining our eggs and sperm together. We both prayed and felt like we were to trust God to protect my ovaries, and surprise! He did :) I have ovulated normally every month for the last 3 years.

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Since meeting with a few fertility doctors we have learned that my doctor not only moved my ovaries high, she was a bit of an over achiever and moved them really high! After three attempts it became obvious that they could not be seen or accessed vaginally, which is an absolute must for the egg monitoring and retrieval process. Luckily, our current fertility doctor, who has the gentlest voice and a strange resemblance to Robin Williams, is also a skilled and experienced surgeon. He assured us that he could safely move my ovaries back down to an accessible location convenient for egg retrieval. Can someone get my ovaries some frequent flier miles please?? The goal is to accomplish this laproscopically, but it may need to be done with a single large cut at the base of my pelvis, which will require a night in the hospital and a bit more of a recovery time. After a few months of processing, planning, and prepping, we have finally scheduled my surgery for January 14^th of 2015.

I am thrilled about this relatively simple solution to making egg retrieval, and ultimately a BABY possible, but I am also scared. To get really real, I have what I can only describe as a gnarly case of PTSD. What I went through 3 years ago, although it felt strangely manageable at the time, left some weighty residual effects on my psyche. I often enter into a complete panic just going to my primary care’s office for an annual check up. I loathe hospitals and if you’re wearing a white coat and stethoscope around your neck you may as well be holding a pitchfork and breathing fire. I had some really rough days within those white walls and those moments have become a lens in which I see all “medical” experiences, both present and future. This is not okay. I know that. And to be honest I have not been diligent at doing my part to slay this monkey on my back, and have gotten myself into an autonomic pattern of fearful and “doom” like thinking. That’s real. But I will not be calcified in this place. This is not who I am and even in the midst of this fear stricken valley, I know God’s plan of redemption for my life is still unfolding just as He planned, I believe that. I believe that in my weakness, He is strong. So I’m going back into those white walls, this time on my own terms, and I’m going to do it afraid. I am believing that in the very place the enemy tried to steal and kill and destroy, God is going to heal, redeem, and restore. And when I don’t believe it I will declare it, and sometimes shout it. Let freedom ring.



Also... pray for me pleaseeeeee :) 

11

The Glow

I know they’re many things I wont get to experience as an expecting mother. The complete strangers smiling at me for no reason and offering to carry my groceries. The perfect homegrown accessory to just about any ensemble, and the dreamy maternity photos I have always imagined. The no heavy lifting, binge eating, and belly rubs. The glow…

I mean you can get out of and get away with just about anything when you’re pregnant! I will miss that. Because I like getting out of and getting away with stuff (ask my husband haha).

But before announcing our news, I feared that I would also miss out on experiencing others share in our excitement and joy. It sounds silly now as I write this, but it was a real burden I carried. I didn’t know how you would react or if we would receive the same kind of response to a baby announcement that is seen and expected under “normal” circumstances (for lack of a better word). I have never done this before and I don’t know anyone who has. But that fear (along with many others) was destroyed, obliterated, and erased as I received the most beautiful outpouring of love from all of you after sharing my last post. I didn’t know what to expect. I was scared. But you shared in our joy. We are not even pregnant yet and you showered us with so much support and love!! Some of you I have never even met. I was literally in tears as I read through your comments on Facebook and Instagram and I snapped pictures of the texts you sent me to look back on and read again and again.  

So thank you.

 For healing another piece of my heart, rooting us on, and walking with us through this journey. I now know that while I may miss out on some things…our baby will be anticipated and welcomed with more joy and excitement from all of you than I could have ever imagined.

I also think that when the time has come and our baby is growing inside of our dear friends tummy and our hearts, I’m still going to rock the maxi dresses and big hats, make unreasonable demands for foods I’m craving, decline to lift those boxes, and feel justified in flaking out and flighty emotions. Because…why not?!

And the glow…. I love the movie “What to Expect when you’re Expecting” and the scene when Elizabeth Banks (Wendy) holds her baby boy for the first time after a very unglamorous pregnancy filled with back acne, gas, and emotional outbursts. She looks at him in a groggy haze and says, “He’s my glow, he’s my perfect, perfect glow.” She had been waiting for this ambiguous crown to grace her for her whole pregnancy, but she ended up finding it in him. His existence is what exploded and rearranged her heart so that she carried more love inside of her than she ever knew possible. And isn’t that just it? "The glow" is the maternal love shining through us for the little we anticipate nurturing. I will have that. This I’m sure of.

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Adjusting our sails

It’s been a long time since I’ve updated here…or anywhere really. I haven’t felt much like writing although there is so much to say. I have neglected my blogs and nestled into an unintentional hiatus from anything extra in my life. I’ve never been good at juggling, although Lord knows I’ve tried, but this season is requiring my full attention as I prepare for big days ahead. So it’s the bare minimum for now. Work, hygiene, meals, repeat.

Things have been slow going in this process for a while and then all at once there has been movement.

The last few months have unfolded in unexpected ways. They have revealed so much, stolen, and given back and ultimately offered us a gift greater than I could have ever imagined.

Since the day I was told I would be unable to carry a child, I have gone through seasons of all-encompassing grief so fierce it swallowed me up. I have touched my womb and believed with absolute certainty that it would one-day house a tiny soul and that I would feel the kicks and sways of my unborn baby there. I have had doubt, I have had fear, I have wondered why.

We went into this journey not knowing what the outcome would be. I carried my dreams close to my heart; afraid even to tell my fertility doctor the hopes I had for my body, in fear that he would laugh. I believed I would be a miracle.

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It only took a few appointments for us to realize carrying a baby would not be an option for me. Not now. I felt squished at first, but truthfully, it didn’t last long. I am all too aware of what my body has been through, and it pains me at times. But when I look at my tummy and I see the tiny incisions across my abdomen where my ovaries made a voyage from down low to up high out of the radiation zone before I began treatments, I see the silver lining. To be alive in such a time as this, where what could have been lost was protected, safe guarded, and preserved…I am humbled, grateful, in awe. My eggs are safe, alive and well, and we are still able to have a biological child.

For years I have known that our child may be born through a gestational carrier. And although it has been heart breaking at times, I prayed for her. I asked God to bring her to me. I have stayed up nights wondering how He would do it, when so few people even knew my story and our potential need. Would he give someone a dream about me and lay it on their heart to carry my baby? Would I have to solicit myself on Facebook? Hold a sign on a street corner? I wish I would have trusted Him, but some of my lowest points were hours spent on the internet searching out surrogacy agencies and wiping tears from MY key board as I imagined a stranger carrying our baby as we tried to breathe under a mountain of debt. This can’t be my redemption story. It just can’t.

And then, when I had finally relinquished it all, He brought her to me.

Jessi. The Lords gift to us.

There is so much I want to say about Jessi and how divinely orchestrated our relationship has been. But I will save that for another post :) I will say that God answered every prayer and has given us more than we could have known to ask for. He brought me things in Jessi that I have only expressed in silent appeals in my heart.

So, for the few of you that will read this post, Ryan and I are so excited to announce that we are in the process of having a baby with a gestational carrier!

Although I know this journey will bring an influx of emotions and expose new areas of my heart that need healing and love, I am so overjoyed about this process. I don’t feel cheated or like I am getting second best. God has brought us a miracle through Jessi and to have the opportunity to become parents in this way is mind blowing for us both. We are so grateful.

There are many steps in between now and a pregnancy, some that are daunting for me. But we are taking it one day at a time, one step at a time, and trusting God for all that is intangible right now. Which is everything.

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Life is continuously teaching us to adjust our sails. The winds have changed but the destination remains the same. We are going to be parents! Sure it looks different than we thought it would, but I don’t feel like a fool for the years I spent believing God for a pregnancy. I will never regret having faith for the impossible. My tears sowed something, I know that, and I am confident we are reaping Gods best.

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Sea Legs

The mind is so funny. Actually it’s sometimes funny, but mostly it's a pain in the ass.  It spins and weaves tall tales and elaborate stories, mostly about me…and my fate, and spends most of its time tying to convince me of the palpability of it’s tapestries…as if to say “look what I’ve made, you’re bound to touch it soon!” And I take its finely woven piece and I drape it over my shoulders, and I wear it. I do life with it wrapped around my neck. And as heavy as it may be, as much as it weighs me down and slows my pace, I find some kind of contorted comfort in its presence. As if by living with fear of the dreaded thing(s), I will somehow be more prepared in the case of it actually coming to life. Sound crazy? It is.

And my heart flutters and the heat rises to my cheeks, and the moment, the one that’s actually real, is stolen away, lost forever.

What is it about uncertainty that the mind hates so much? Why must it replace the unknown with narratives of the future? Why does it dwell on impeding doom, terrorists’ attacks, melting ice caps, disease, and political unrest?

To give the mind some credit, occasionally what it imagines really does happen. Sometimes we live out our worst nightmare. But the difference is, the mind, in its spinning and weaving, always fails to include the grace and peace of God. It never remembers your strength and steadfastness. It forgets that you’re a warrior and an experienced sailor who has already weathered many storms. And in the midst of the battle, I don’t look the way I did in my mind, and either do you. It’s true that bad things happen, but why do we insist on living out these experiences over and over again in our heads when the probability of them coming to pass is small. Like really really small. I mean, take some inventory…how many of the terrors you have imagined have actually happened? For me it’s probably about 0.00001%. And thank God because if not, I would have died a million deaths in fiery car wrecks, roadside bombs, plane crashes, and cliff jumps. I would have been diagnosed with every disease WebMD has to offer, lost everyone I love, grown old alone or not at all, and been a victim of tyranny. Yeah, that has all happened in my mind. Whew!

So why do we fall prey to the minds eye time and time again? Why do we subject ourselves to so much unnecessary suffering?

 The truth is we don’t like uncertainty any less than our minds do and we are seeking a kind of comfort and predictability in all the wrong places. Find a bump? Google it. Hear about a mass shooting across the country? Google it, and make sure to read the whole article then do some background research on the killer. Oh and the tornado in the Midwest, Google that too, and then watch some of the footage on YouTube.

We inundate ourselves with disaster of every kind and give our minds, which are for reasons known and unknown, already prone to disastrous thinking, a mighty foot hold to hang on to.

So shall we bury our heads in butterflies and The Office episodes? No, absolutely not. But when we go into the enemy’s territory, we go in suited up, with a sword in one hand and a flare in the other, ready to fire it off the moment you feel yourself sinking, and your conscious, sensible self will come to the rescue. And sometimes we just don’t go. Sometimes we’re not ready.

And most importantly, we have to get our sea legs. Our sea legs give us the ability to walk steadily on a ship being tossed in the wake of a large and endless sea, with erratic swells swayed by fickle winds. When you have your sea legs you no longer fear the unknown, you’ve come to terms with the flightiness of the open waters, and have even learned to embrace its uncertainty. Because this, the promise of change from one second to the next, is really the only thing you can be sure of. So you live your life in accord with the universe, taking each drum and roll as it comes to you. And come hell or high water, you sail on.

" All that I have seen teaches me to trust the creator for all I have not seen." - 

Ralph Waldo Emerson

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The Capacity to be Seen

I have to admit, sharing this journey with you sometimes leaves me feeling very exposed. 

There was a time when I carried my “infertility” deep deep down inside of me. It was a wound so fresh I had to shield it from the open air and the well intentioned people whose words often stung like salt. Sometimes it would bubble up inside me at unexpected times, in a crowded room, or alone in the car. Emotion would be triggered by a scene in a movie or a song on the radio, and despite by fight to keep it down, feeling arose.

This jourey has taught me many things, but one I hold dearest to my heart is vulnerability. The capacity to be seen.

I learned to let go. To grieve when I needed to grieve, cry in front of strangers, and allow myself to “get into the deep, beautiful melancholy of everything that happened.” And that’s when healing came like the dawn. People still said stupid things, and I have, many times, been left to absorb the blow. I still had moments of insecurity, and even now, sharing my story can leave me feeling naked in Times Square…but I am FREE. 

There are no demons to thrive in the darkness of my soul, telling me tales of inadequacy. The heaviness I once carried is now shared by people who love me and have taken on my burdens. I feel accepted and loved, and my story has connected me with people and places that my path may have never crossed had I been in hiding.

Pain and rejection are apart of the human experience and I no longer fear them or walk around them. I walk through them, allowing my identity to flex its muscles and my desperation for Jesus to grow. I am better because of it.

And so I write. For me and for the people who will find comfort in my words. For my unborn child who will one day read back on these posts with the revelation of how deeply loved and desired they are. Before they ever did anything wrong or anything right, they were loved. 

I write for the legacy I will pass on...the one of strength and faith, of believing in the face of doubt and learning to weather life's storms. I want them to know their existence in my heart made me brave. It taught to me put myself out there, to contend, to get back up, to have compassion, and to endure.

I write for freedom.

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside of you.” 

– Mary Angelou

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