Wednesday, February 1, 2017

Part 4: I Will Wait for my Miracle

This is Part 4 of a series of posts telling the journey to our third little miracle baby.
More will be coming soon. Click the links to read Part 1 and Part 2 and Part 3.

I will wait...

Two days later the blood came.

My body is mourning through tears of scarlet. Every cramp, every drop, reminds me of what is not to come. I had a due date. It was July 10th, 2016. I was so excited, I got my hopes up, but nothing will happen when July arrives. No special delivery.

Part of me thinks I'm being over dramatic, making mountains out of mole hills. But I am hurting. I have thought of this embryo every day since I knew of its existence. Everyday I have thought that my precious little embryo would one day become part of our family. That Boston and Lyla would have a little brother or sister. So much thought, hope, and love has gone into something so small, small as the period at the end of this sentence.

Writing helps the pain pass. I have no idea what I'm supposed to learn from this. I am not angry at God, just confused. I still expect great miracles from Him. After many years my sister was able to conceive naturally. She might not believe that it was a miracle from God, I don't really know her stance on it, but I certainly do believe it was. And now I'm waiting for mine. Something needs to happen because even though I was afraid I would never have more children, I'm going to fight for it. I don't know my plan, I don't want to do IVF again, but I will figure something out. I will wait for my miracle.

Talking with Chris about what happened breaks my heart even more. He really thought this was going to work and that we would be celebrating. That the voicemail from my nurse would bring tears of happiness, not tears of great sorrow. We both viewed this embryo as our next child, that this embryo would become a part of our family forever. We both felt like we lost a child that day. Our hearts are devastated.

Again, to those who know how I am feeling, to those women who have had miscarriages, who have lost a baby, I do not know how you do it. You are so strong. You are my heroes.

A message I will never forget

I had some leftover Endometrin (a really expensive progesterone medication) after our frozen transfer so I decided to donate it to my fertility clinic. Everything was still so fresh and painful that when we pulled up to the clinic I couldn't go in. I asked Chris to give it to the receptionists for me. Attached to the Endometrin I included a note basically explaining that I wanted it donated to someone that couldn't afford it and that I will be praying for that person to be able to get pregnant. Chris dropped it off and we drove away.

The next day I got an email from my nurse that meant a lot, especially during this sensitive time.

I just wanted to send an email letting you know that I received the donated Endometrin. Your note with it was painfully sweet to read. I have that little note saved on my desk as a reminder to myself to show grace when faced with a hard situation, as you did. Your note of compassion really stopped me in my tracks, because I know your own heart is hurting. Your act of kindness will be appreciated by someone beyond measure. I hope you are doing okay. Please let me know if there is anything I can do for you.

Her message is something I will never forget. Nurses truly are angels.

Each part of these posts were written over a year ago. I call them posts, but they really feel like personal journal entries. My journey didn't end with an unsuccessful frozen embryo transfer, it was actually just the beginning. I said I would wait for my miracle and that's just what I did. I can't wait to tell you about it.

More coming soon!

Click here for Part 5.

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