Finding Joy in the Midst of Sorrow

"Anybody here found joy in the middle of sorrow,
Just Say Amen!" - Finding Favour, "Say Amen"

There's no other phrase that sums up living with infertility for me - "finding joy in the midst of sorrow." We can't go around being angry, sad, and frustrated all the time. Trust me, I've tried. After a while, you get to a point where you start to hate yourself, to hate who you've become. It's exhausting and depressing. Then the next thing you know, you really are depressed and questioning whether your life has any value. (Perhaps a slight exaggeration.)

So here are a few things that have brought me joy lately.

• Finding out on Easter Monday that the hellebores I thought had died had survived the winter
• The scent of hyacinths (I would say that they're one of my favorite flowers, but I think I have too many favorites!)
• Purring cats
• A good book, a bowl of popcorn, and a roaring fire on a cold night
• Finally being able to turn the heat off and open windows!
• Playing board games with friends
• Starting to think about throwing an "Un-Bachelor" Party for Husbandido (or should it be a birthday party? He will turn 40 this year...)

I'm not sure I can say that I've found "peace in the storm" or "hope for tomorrow," but I'm trying hard to find those moments of joy, in the midst of so much sorrow.

Apostle to the Apostles*

After the sabbath, as the first day of the week was dawning, Mary Magdelene and the other Mary went to see the tomb. And suddenly there was a great earthquake; for an angel of the Lord, descending from heaven, came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning, and his clothing white as snow. For fear of him the guards shook and became like dead men. But the angel said to the women, "Do not be afraid; I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. He is not here; for he has been raised, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples, 'He has been raised from the dead, and indeed he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him.' This is my message for you." So they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his disciples. (Matthew 28:1-8, NRSV)

Apostle to the apostles* - this phrase has been stuck in my head since Easter. In the early church, Mary Magdalene and the other(s) with her that morning were considered as apostles to the apostles. But what is an apostle, exactly? In the original Greek, apostle means messenger (literally, one who has been sent). Over time the idea of this special role for these women was lost; I think much was lost when we lost this idea.

Today we are all called to spread the good news, to be apostles, sent into the world. But I think there is a special role for our community, for those suffering from IF and miscarriage. I think we, too, are called to be apostles to the apostles. If that is the case, then what is our message? 

Life is a gift.

Day by day, month by month, in our words and our actions, we are called to testify that life is a gift. In our culture and world, where we so casually speak of planning our families and of "death with dignity," there is a strong need for the world to hear that life is simply a gift. Though sometimes you can plan for it, most often it will take you by surprise. Each life, each day has value. No matter what your struggles, sufferings, or weaknesses are, your life is a gift. The child who dies before birth? A difficult gift, but a gift nonetheless. Whether a person lives a few days or more than a hundred years, that life is a gift. 

There are many others called to spread this same message; Kara Tippetts did so beautifully and eloquently in how she lived and how she died. So many messengers are needed because the world doesn't want to hear it; we all want to believe that we can live our lives on our terms. "We can make our dreams come true if we try hard enough. We can eliminate suffering if we all come together." How many times have we heard this message? From commencement speeches to self-help books to TV and movies, we hear it constantly. Except we can't. Life is simply a gift. It is a surprise; we don't know what will be contained within. We must simply accept the gift as given. Suffering is a real and necessary part of life; it, too, is a gift. It isn't easy to be grateful for suffering, but perhaps we can learn to accept it is part of the great gift that is life. 

* I was initially remembering a form of this phrase as "apostle apostlodorum," which doesn't seem to be the correct Greek or Latin. I also was unable to find the phrase in my notebook from my course in "Women in the Biblical World." (I hate to admit that it's nearly 20 years since I took that class.)

On Setting Boundaries and Knowing When to Stop

Before I go any further, I want to thank everyone who has taken the time to comment recently. I thoroughly appreciate your thoughts, prayers, and concerns. You have given us much to think about and consider as we decide what to do next.

At this point, Husbandido and I have decided that it is worth sending my charts and medical records to PPVI for another opinion. Beyond that we have not decided how much else we are willing to do; it will come down to what is suggested and the rationale behind it. We have agreed that if they suggest doing the ultrasound series, I will do that. At the opposite end, we have agreed that it would take a very compelling reason for me to have surgery again. (Something along the lines of "Let's see what's going on" or "There has to be something else causing problems" would not do it.) We have also discussed limits on what dietary changes I am willing to make, since I saw no effect, either in how I felt or my antibody titers, when I went GF. 

Why did we decide to request another opinion? The first reason is wondering if there is something else going on, something that has been missed. None of the diagnoses I have received so far are such that conceiving is unlikely (Hashimoto's syndrome, diffuse stage I endometriosis, which was removed, and type III luteal phase defect). Based on what has been looked at so far, I respond well to treatment, with hormone levels in the desired ranges. Together with the not infrequent mistakes and confusion we have gotten from our doctor's office, it leaves us wondering if there is something else going on. Secondly, there is the simple fact that right now I am, at best, ambivalent about adoption. Most often the thought of adopting leaves me upset and depressed. Due to childhood verbal and emotional abuse I am very touchy on the subject of being second best or not good enough. The conventional wisdom that focuses on the loss and trauma that leaves a child eligible for adoption has me incredibly fearful of investing so much time, money, energy, and love into raising a child or children who will reject me/us as not good enough, not their "real" family, not enough. Tomorrow evening we are speaking to Bilbo and Biscuit's (two of our cats) foster mom, who was adopted as an infant and has raised an adopted son to adulthood. (She now has two grandchildren.) We also plan to speak to a couple from our parish who adopted their son from Peru (their son is about our age). So while we look further into the medical situation, we are also trying to deal with my fears about adoption. 

While we can't yet put a definite limit on when we will stop, this certainly isn't a commitment to try everything suggested. We will listen to the opinion we receive and decide from there. Usually I hate leaving anything up in the air, but I think this is the best decision we can make for now.

Tough Questions and the Cold Comfort of Answers

In preparation for our doctor's appointment on April 2, we had a follow-up with our FCP, L, last night. I would classify L as a "true believer"; she is not just an FCP but also an instructor and serves on the board; her confidence in CrMS and NaPro is impressive. She seemed surprised when we implied that we are considering stopping, likely partly due to her faith in NaPro and partly not wanting to see anyone not succeed. L suggested that if Dr. P doesn't have any new ideas about what to try, we should send my charts and records to Omaha and get another opinion. She also strongly suggested that I have the ultrasound series done. In the past when I brought up the ultrasound series, Dr. P didn't think there would be that much useful information gained from it, based on the ultrasounds I had done previously with our RE. L seemed to think that there was a chance I am developing follicles that mature properly but do not contain/release an egg. (Both she and Dr. P consider LUFS unlikely in my case based upon my charts and hormone levels.) She also seemed to feel strongly that we would (should?) want all the answers before deciding to stop.

Which leads to tough questions, and ones we had not considered before. Do we want to seek yet another opinion? Do we want to have the ultrasound series done? What would be gained by doing either? I want to be done trying, but until recently I never really thought all this would end in failure. Do I have it in me to keep trying? Is it selfish to keep trying for a biological child instead of pursuing adoption? Is it more selfish to just want to be done? If I do have the ultrasound series done, where? Do we even care about the answers anymore? 

When we started with CrMS and NaPro the better part of two years ago, we were hungry for answers after having been left with a diagnosis of "unexplained infertility." Of course we also believed that answers would lead to better, more successful treatments, ideally with fewer side effects. As diagnoses have piled up, we have been left with the sad truth that answers are a cold comfort when nothing works, when you continue to fail. Answers don't look up at you adoringly and will never say "I love you, Mommy." 

"Don't End Up Like Me"

If this hadn't happened to me, I'm not sure I would believe it; it seems more like something an author would cook up to move the plot along. But it happened like this...

Last Tuesday I was attending an event at our parish, sponsored by the women's group, on handing our worries over to God. I hadn't originally planned to attend, but Husbandido talked me into it. (I was obligated to harass him about him thinking I was anxious.) It was the tail end of the two week wait, and we were leaving the next day to visit my parents. I had initially expected the trip to happen after we knew how the month had turned out, but a late peak meant that I was still waiting. There were three short sessions, with time for prayer/reflection/adoration in between them. During the second break, I headed to the washroom.

As I was leaving, I ran into Renee*. (Renee and I joined Pastoral Council at the same time, though she left after a few months as it wasn't a good fit for her. She is probably in her late 50s or early 60s and is a widow.) She asked how I was; I gave the honest answer that things were rough, as we were waiting to find out if what was expected to be our last month of trying had succeeded. Renee asked what Husbandido's thoughts were on adoption, and I explained that he was more positive about it than I am. I explained why I'm struggling with idea of adopting. She said that when they weren't able to have children her husband was unwilling to consider adoption. And then she said the most remarkable thing: "Don't end up like me."** She continued "Sure people ask about your work, but what most people want to talk about are families, yours and theirs." Renee told me that she is helping out her niece by babysitting a couple of mornings a week, which she loves. It was obvious that as busy as she is, as many friends as she has, she is lonely and wishes she had children and grandchildren of her own. Renee said she was praying for us, and our conversation ended shortly after that.

On Friday, events confirmed her words. We were at an art festival with my mother, and we ran into an artist she had purchased a painting from and become friendly with. After briefly discussing what new work the artist was doing, they switched to talking about their children. The artist was thrilled that her 32 year old son had finally gotten married, though she lamented her lack of grandchildren. My mother is usually very good about IF, but this time, right in front of me, she was commiserating with her friend about wanting more grandchildren and the challenges of one's children marrying later. "What most people want to talk about are families..."

"Don't end up like me." These words haunt me.


* Name changed 
** Please note that I am in no way intending to suggest that everyone who remained childless feels this way; this is only one woman's heartfelt opinion. 

The Problem with Neon

Last November, while at Eucharistic Adoration, I started looking up more information about Saint Gianna, since some of her relics were coming to a parish not that far from us. Through the wonders of autocomplete, I instead ended up at the website for Saint Mary International Adoption, which I had previously bookmarked. That simple autocomplete convinced me that it was time to at least request information. Through the joys of cell phone data, I wasn't sure that my request had been submitted; I quickly found out that it had, and that the folks at Saint Mary's are incredibly attentive and persistent. By the time I got home from running some errands, I not only had an e-mail with detailed information, but I had missed a phone call from them. 

A short time later, I was going through the drawer where I have "Catholic stuff" that I inherited from my grandparents. Amongst everything else, I stumbled across these.

The first is clearly a medal, though I don't know what is being shown behind the glass. It appears to be a piece of of fabric. (Guesses/hypotheses welcome.) The second set of pictures is more obviously a relic of Saint Frances Xavier Cabrini. Who is Saint Frances X. Cabrini? The patron saint of immigrants. How did these items come to belong to my grandparents? Even my father doesn't know; I am hoping that my great-aunt can answer that question. Was this a sign? I wasn't sure; it could just be coincidence. Mother Cabrini made her mark in the United States first in New York, then Chicago, which were the two cities my grandparents lived in longest. I am wary of seeing signs and portents where there could be just coincidence and desire.

When it came time to draw patron saints for the new liturgical year, I prayed that our saints for the year would provide some guidance about what would come and what God is calling us to do. I was disappointed to find that our saints provided no obvious indication; my patron would be Saint John of Parma; Husbandido's patron saint for the year would be Saint Clare of Assisi. Neither of those suggested anything regarding conceiving a child or whether we should proceed with adoption. From that point, I started being more specific in my prayers. "Lord, I am not sure I am hearing what you are trying to tell me. Could You please give me neon? Something that is so obvious that it cannot just be me grasping at straws?"

Yesterday I got neon. One of the things I always do while I'm Adoration is to read about that day's saint in my copy of Fr. Alban Butler's Lives of the Saints. With this scheduled to be our last month of TTC, I decided to look up a couple of other relevant dates. Based on what I have seen so far, peak day will have been March 4, Saint Casimir's day. Who is Saint Casimir? The patron saint of Poland. Okay... what about peak+15, the day I would expect to start spotting if we have failed? Saint Joseph, foster-father of Jesus. What about P+17, the day which (if I made it that far) I could potentially be taking a pregnancy test? Saint Benedict - no hope there. Truly, I had been hoping that P+17 would belong to a married saint who had 10 kids. It was not to be be. I wept. Short of burning bush or angelic messenger territory, this seems a pretty clear sign. 

As I told Husbandido, it's not that I think we should let it affect our trying (we are still aiming to get I's on every day through P+3), but I no longer have hope that this will work. The problem with neon is that sometimes you have to face that which you would rather not face.

Abraham's Sacrifice and Ours

This week's Old Testament reading, of God telling Abraham to sacrifice Isaac, was a topic of much discussion last year in my Bible/Angel Study. Many of the women in the group struggled with that passage, wondering how Abraham knew it was truly God telling him to do this and how Abraham could possibly followed that instruction. Now maybe it's just that I don't have children, but I don't struggle with that story (ask me about the parable of the Prodigal Son, on the other hand...).  

In truth, I think the real reason that I do not struggle with the sacrifice that God asked of Abraham is that I see echoes of it in the sacrifice that we are asked to make. We are all asked to put our fertility, our dreams and hopes of children, in His hands. Some of us will, in time, be granted children, and some of us will be asked to permanently sacrifice our dreams of children. Some will never see a positive pregnancy test and others will see that joy only briefly, before surrendering their child back to God. We are asked to trust in Him, trust in His love and goodness, trust that He wants what is best for us and for all His people. 

Last year, in our discussions that sacrifice was real to me in that there was a loss, a sense of sacrifice every cycle that we failed to conceive. But now, with a few short weeks left, that sacrifice is more concrete. As we prepare to stop TTC and to tell friends and family that we are done, we have to accept that I will never be pregnant, that we will never see those first ultrasound pictures of our child, that I will never give birth, that we will never have biological children, that we will never look at our children and see bits of ourselves reflected back at us. In a very concrete way we are being asked to sacrifice the children of our hopes and dreams to God. 

How could Abraham prepare to sacrifice Isaac? God had made a covenant with Abraham, had made him very specific promises, which Abraham trusted God to fulfill. I have no covenant with God, have not been promised "descendants as numerous as the stars," but I, too, must trust Him with my sacrifice.