I realized after reviewing the last couple of months of posting that I never finished discussing how I came to the decision to go forward with our adoption. It’s the most exciting post of the series, and I left it unfinished. The lead-up post to this one was full of grace (part 5). It is ironic, actually, that today would be the day I find an old notebook with the most important journal entry of the past four years written inside. The notebook contains a journal entry I wrote at work in November 2006. My dad asked me awhile ago if, how, and when I knew this is what we were supposed to do. I think what he was really asking me is am I really sure that this is supposed to be our path. I didn’t give him a full answer because we got sidetracked, but here it is…

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9 November 2006

Wow! Where do I go from here? I am frustrated, confused, amazingly disheartened and completely torn. One moment I want a baby–the next I couldn’t care less. Most of the time I feel like I shouldn’t even try–that we should “just” adopt. I think I am okay with that. In fact, I would be totally okay with it if I knew with certainty that there wasn’t a little unborn spirit(s) that needed to come to our family.

It’s like, do I do all that I can to “have” a baby and do the adoption thing part time OR do we focus on adoption and take bio babies as they come (if they come).  I have been trying to give equal time and emotional energy to both, and it is not working. I vacillate too much because I read fertility boards and books and adoption boards and books, and I go over the “what ifs” ALL THE TIME!

And being on the hormones makes me emotionally react as if I am pregnant–which means I cry all the time, I mean all the time. I feel like I have no control. What does it matter, really? If we can’t have a baby it is not the end of the world, I guess. The most important thing to me is that I am doing God’s will. That I can rise through this trial positively and with grace. I want him to be proud of me–I want him to see the personal growth I so badly strive for in adversity. “Woe is me” is not becoming, and it doesn’t help.

So I guess the only thing holding me back is A. fear of the unknown and B. the question, “am I doing God’s will by not pursuing further medical treatment?” It looks like it is solely between me and God. I hope he knows  how much I want to please him, and how much I want to be a mom! :)

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This letter reminds me clearly of the day, just a couple of weeks after writing it, we decided to stop treatments and start our adoption pursuit. I can taste it and smell it, and however painful it is, I am glad I remember…..

I was home by myself after work. Our “nursery, ” which I painted (big mistake) also housed some boxes of old papers. I went in to try and clean out some paperwork (another big mistake). I was sitting on the ground flipping through old files when I decided to lay down. I remember lying on the carpet looking up at a bookshelf containing nursery trinkets we had collected. I totally lost it. No, I seriously lost it. You all know the ugly cry. It was the ugly cry times 25. I can laugh now, but at the time it was completely tragic. I rocked back and forth crying and screaming holding a little white lamb that a friend had given me after our first miscarriage. I couldn’t stop crying. This went on for about an hour. My eyes were swollen shut and there was snot crusted to my face. I thought for sure the neighbors would here and think something awful. You know that if Rach didn’t care about that then it must have been pretty bad! :) I called my sweet husband and asked him to come home.

I was drowning. I kept clawing for solid ground, and couldn’t seem to find it. My mind was in a perpetual state of winter. There was no sunshine for a really long time, and I was so tired. The next hour I spent crying some more and praying and thinking. As I calmed myself down, a distinct warmth filled me. I was open because I had literally hit the bottom. I remember a still distinct voice. I can’t share more about the experience, but I can share that I was left with an assurity that adoption, international adoption for us specifically, is a blessing. It is good. It is right. It is nothing that I needed to feel guilty about. I knew, walking out of that nursery, that I would probably never hold a biological infant in this life. I also knew, walking out, that our quest to be parents and to adopt children would bless many lives, not just ours. And that is the moment where I found myself. That is the moment when I realized I wanted to be a mom more than I wanted to have a baby.

Adam came home and wrapped me in his arms. I told him what had happened, and we cried together for a really long time–sad and happy tears. When I told him that I didn’t want to take another pill or do one more test or go back to the fertility doctor, he smiled and said okay.  When I told him I didn’t care what our children looked like or where they came from, but that I just wanted to be a mom–he began to glow. I can still remember sitting on the couch, mostly in the dark, but seeing his countenance illuminate goodness and light. We chose then to adopt a sibling group from Colombia, and the rest is history. My husband has been a champion through this whole experience. He deserves so much more credit than I give him at times. He has been my rock and my soft place to fall. We are stonger and happier having gone through this problem, not around it–together.

There haven’t been many, but there have been a few days since when I have questioned our decision. To get through those moments and days I think back to that day in our empty nursery, and I REMEMBER. I am so grateful that the Lord has found me worthy to care for not one, but four of his children who need a family. I wouldn’t trade their sweet faces for anything–not even a baby.

Exactly one year from that experience in the nursery, we received a picture of our four children. The past four years have been simply awesome. I have grown as a woman and as a wife. I have had time to think and develop into the mother I want for my children. “…when the fiery trials come they either consume us or refine us.” (Ardeth Kapp) I feel more refined. I still have a long way to go, but I know that I will be a great mother because I choose to be refined!

Spring of 2006 was tough fertility wise. One day I was considering adoption, the other discounting it completely. Although Adam and I had talked adoption before our marriage, it was a very different thing to expend the little strength I had in researching and contemplating what my family would be like if we went down that road. On the other hand, the fertility clinic seemed so far away from the experience I imagined that I vacillated on how committed I would be to the many poking and prodding sessions my body would undergo. Neither option seemed anything close to ideal. But expecting a magical bundle from Mr. Stork wasn’t happening. Besides, 80% of my anxiety for both options was calmed by gaining knowledge and experience with each. So in typical Rachel fashion, I rolled up my sleeves, dug in my heals, and went to work. Knowledge truly is power. Things seemed less and less scary as Adam and I researched, pondered, and prayed about our options. And as I gained knowledge I trusted my spirit more to make a decision because I knew the decision would be made in peace…not fear.

Adam and I attended a fertility seminar and went to a consult with a specialist. At the same time, we approached LDS Family Services about our adoption options. At first, I thought we would probably exhaust our options at the fertility clinic before “turning” to adoption, but after thinking about it for a couple of weeks, we decided that we would rather pay for an adoption than for fertility treatments. It was a very pragmatic decision for us at the outset. We figured our chances of getting our money’s worth–or rather a guarantee of a baby in our arms–was higher, even if it took a little longer, with adoption. I was fairly open to both options, and I was still trying naturally too. But we made the decision to start going to the monthly seminars that were required for adoption.

A couple of months into the seminars Adam came to me with something completely unexpected. I remember it like it was yesterday. We were driving on the 95 out to the sign yard. We had just finished our second or third seminar and we were talking about all of our baby options when Adam told me he wasn’t ready to consider adoption as a viable option–it didn’t feel right to him. I was a little shocked, but surprisingly relieved. He was not on-board 100% and there was no way I was going to push a life-changing decision such as adoption without both of us unconditionally committed to it. I guess the fact that I was relieved speaks volumes. We weren’t ready. Man, was this ever going to be “over?”

Toward the end of summer I was actually excited for school to begin. I had been exercising all summer, and felt stronger. I was in a really good place. Adam and I didn’t seem to be in a desperate hurry any longer to “find the answer,” and it felt good. Adoption was tabled for a bit, I hadn’t been pregnant for almost a year, and Doctor said he could do some more in-depth testing without sending me to the specialist. We were enjoying our time together and used this time to just think!

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Well, that lasted for a few months. It was good while it lasted! As soon as I resumed testing with Doctor, I felt myself start to wear down again. The invasive poking and prodding is exhausting, truly! It is especially exhausting when there is no pregnancy to show for it, and no answer as to why I lose my babies. We found a couple of “issues” that should make it more difficult for me to get pregnant, but not to necessarily carry a pregnancy to term! That was very frustrating, and I hadn’t been pregnant for 10 months–it would actually take me two full years to get pregnant again.

I was full of grace on the outside and I carried myself well in front of others–even my husband, but I was slowly dying inside. I’ll be honest–I didn’t answer my phone, I didn’t answer my door, and I didn’t care!!! I felt as though I was drowning, and catching my breath was utterly impossible.  

the winter here’s cold, and bitter
it’s chilled us to the bone
we haven’t seen the sun for weeks
to long too far from home
I feel just like I’m sinking
and I claw for solid ground
I’m pulled down by the undertow
I never thought I could feel so low
oh darkness I feel like letting go

if all of the strength and all of the courage
come and lift me from this place
I know I could love you much better than this
full of grace
full of grace
my love

so it’s better this way, I said
having seen this place before
where everything we said and did
hurts us all the more
its just that we stayed, too long
in the same old sickly skin
I’m pulled down by the undertow
I never thought I could feel so low
oh darkness I feel like letting go

if all of the strength
and all of the courage
come and lift me from this place
I know I could love you much better than this
full of grace
full of grace
my love
(Sara McLachlan, Surfacing)

If I had a quarter for every time I played this song…but this powerful music is actually one of the tools I used to pull myself up. I still listen to it today with fond memories of fall 2006. What better words than these to describe the desperation I felt. And I know I am not alone. At the time, I thought I was, but a few friends have taught me through their infertility experiences that what I felt, and what I still feel on rare occasion is totally and completely normal. They think I’m the only one that does the teaching, but they are wrong. I can look back through clear eyes now because of their sharing now. Thank you, friends!

2006 encompassed desperation and hope in our home. In January, I went to Doctor to discuss some test results and options. I was very hopeful. Don’t ask me why, but I was. I felt stronger after the holidays. I had some much needed time off of work to reflect and rejuvenate. I was trying really hard to not only “be positive” but also to interact with babies and act more faithful. To my complete and utter surprise, my most recent batch of blood work indicated a pregnancy.  I had actually taken a home pregnancy test during the holidays, but it was negative. I figured my body was still recuperating from the ectopic the past fall. But Doctor said I must have tested too early. The bad news was that my quants were too low for how far along I was. The tiny moment of hope that a new pregnancy always brings was eclipsed by the inevitable loss.

Miscarriage number three–Check! I guess if I had to rate the immediate difficulty of my pregnancy losses, this one comes in last. I was losing the baby before I knew there was one. And the recovery was fairly quick. I consciously decided to stay strong. The doctors were talking about options so I moved through it without any mourning, which I regretted later. In that moment, though, I felt a sudden urgency to “fix” this problem–because now, after three miscarriages in a row, it was definitely a problem. I was convinced that since I could apparently get pregnant with little difficulty the Clomid that Doctor was recommending would help even my cycle out and we would be on our way to parenthood within a few months. I even went so far as to paint our “nursery” over the holidays. I chose a sweet and airy shade of green. We put the few baby items we had out on the shelves. Looking back, it was my way of embracing the experience of fertility and trying to live faithfully. Although I never actually pictured myself with a newborn, I was always able to picture myself as a mom. That gave me strength. I rarely entered the nursery, but I knew it was there “just in case.”

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Clomid, clomid, clomid–the cure-all for any fertility ailment, right? Whatever! Doctor said he wouldn’t make me go more than five cycles. For me, the side effects of Clomid were almost as bad as passing a miscarriage. I was soooooo tired–exhausted actually. Instead of being sleepy in the morning because I was sad, I was sleepy because of a pill. I was a tightly wound ball of tears–poor Adam, he never knew if, how, or why I was crying. The cramping and nausea were incredibly intense–the worse I had ever experienced because it was non-stop for the entire cycle. But every ounce of discomfort and emotion was worth the hope of a growing fetus!

Five cycles (months) of clomid equalled no pregnancy…not even a hint of a baby! By our third round I began to worry. By our fourth I was desperate. And by our fifth and final round I was ready to give up and move on. Well, I was also hysterical. I was not ready to visit an adoption agency and I also was not ready to commit my time, money, and body to a fertility clinic. Even though, in my heart, I knew we would be choosing one of these paths, I wanted desperately to hide in my bedroom, twinkle my nose, and will our child here. I was trying my best to learn and grow, but the experience was still very raw. After all, it had only been two years of disappointment.

Part 1……..Part 2

After our second miscarriage (ectopic), I really struggled. I was in survival mode at school….my poor students. I was an adequate teacher and did my job. I met deadlines and followed lesson plans, but I was not the fantastic teacher I had been in years past. Having to traipse to work surrounded by children who had horrific home-lives compounded my sadness. I cried every single morning. I cried every single night. And every single day I slept until the last possible minute. I constantly begged Adam to let me quit. And this went on for months. My sweet beautiful husband was more patient than any spouse should ever have to be. He indulged my laziness and he never suggested that I was crazy. We both knew that things weren’t normal…but how is infertility normal? There were many times Adam considered suggesting that I ”get help,” but he never pressured me. He was wise enough to trust that I would find a way to work through my sadness. As the doctors began to run some basic tests, I began to experience anger and bitterness!

I was so very (secretly) angry. I was angry because everyone around me seemed to keep their babies in their bellies, and I couldn’t. Hello! What was wrong with this world? I hated free agency and I hated myself for continuing to lose life. I would like to say that I kept faith, that I was strong and steadfast. Maybe I’m being a little too hard on myself, but I really did feel faithless. I didn’t pray much. My scriptures gathered dust. I avoided friends’ children as much as I could without drawing suspicion.

The Epiphany: 

Toward the end of 2005 we actively start trying for the third time. I still hated my job, I hated church, I hated interacting with our families. I don’t remember what I was doing ‘that day’–probably coming home from work or the temple–but I remember having the thought…”this is your trial, stop feeling sorry for yourself!” Oh my gosh, an instant switch was flipped. I had never thought about it in those terms before. What seems so elementary to me now was a completely foreign concept back then. I mean, it had crossed my mind that we were running a string of bad luck and I needed to be more faithful. I figured it was just a matter of patience. But no, I had the distinct impression that this was to be my cross (at least one of them anyway) and it wasn’t going away any time soon. I sat in my car by myself and I cried and cried and cried. I cried for the babies I had lost. I cried for the babies I would continue to lose. I cried for the babies I might never have. I cried for the self-serving pity I had shown myself for so long. And I continued to cry.

Why did I keep crying? Because I was mature enough to know that ‘when you know better, you do better.’ Let’s be honest, I did not WANT to do better. I wanted to stay selfish. I now “knew” and God knew that I knew. And there was the rub! I wanted the world to revolve around me so badly. I wanted a baby. I wanted to be a mom. I wanted to be included. I wanted to feel competent in this part of my life. I wanted to…..(fill in the blank). Me, me, me! Life might not be as fulfilling when you blame your hurt on everyone else, but it sure is easier, isn’t it? Instead of reasoning and working my way through my problems, I wanted to stay in my emotions and feel angry, hurt, and betrayed. Feeling doesn’t require any work, which is why the long-term payoff is so much less than what we are capable of. I was reminded as time was suspended for a moment that me not having a baby did not mean I had to be less than. And, in that moment, I refused to be less than!

The false sense of entitlement that we are all plagued with in today’s society truly hampers our spiritual awareness. I am a really good wife, sister, daughter and friend. I kept my first estate. I honor my temple covenants. And I do what is asked of me. But even after all that–I am not entitled to a baby! I “should” have one, I even “deserve” one. But I am not entitled to one until God says so. And the hard truth is that I might not have a baby in this life.

I made a decision in that small moment of clarity…if this was my trial, I would not waste the time spent in the thick of it in pity and bitterness. I set out clearly in my mind what I did and did not want to have happen. I did not want to play the victim card. I did not want to be seen in pity. I did not want to waste my child-rearing years paralyzed in fear. And above all, I did not want the Savior’s sacrifice on my behalf to be in vain.

I asked myself what did I want? I wanted to honor the babies I lost. I wanted to be a mom no matter how I got there. I wanted Heavenly Father to be proud of me. I wanted to stop crying and stop eating ice cream. I wanted my trial to mean something…and that meant forcing myself into introspection and into real-life action. I wanted mostly to walk with grace.

I feel like I’ve been given a profound opportunity with this trial of infertility. Not all trials are this enduring. Not all trials are hand-picked by the Lord. This trial did notcome from poor choices on my part or from a consequence of someone else’s actions. This trial was given to me! Although I sometimes loathe the thought of talking about it one more time or passing one more pregnancy, I have been given this trial for a reason. I really am grateful for that. I am not grateful that I do not have an infant in my arms–but I am grateful that I have gone through, and not around, the experience.

I am still working on perfecting my lists! My friends know that I have occasional relapses. I have selfish moments still, but as I have worked on walking straight through this trial for a few years now, those moments are fewer and farther between. I still want the world to revolve around me, but it doesn’t and it never will. This trial is nobody’s fault–least of all mine. When God says it is done, I want to be richer for the experience. And, we all know that even when it is done–it’s not really. This experience helps define me and will stay with me into the eternities…that is why I try to use reason instead of emotion to walk through this fire. It is arduous and refining. It is never-ending and always enduring. It is harrowing and rewarding. It is simply, and always, a part of me.

Adam and I found out we were pregnant for the second time the end of July 2005. This was great news! We were successfully able to conceive not too long after our first miscarriage in March. I was a little frightened every time I used the restroom. Doctor wanted to do an early ultrasound and found nothing, but said it was so early not to be alarmed because my quants were good. As we moved into our sixth week I even began to believe that the first one was “just a fluke”–like so many are.

We were preparing to board a plane to visit Amy and Steffan (a last hoorah before another year of teaching commenced) when I got a phone call from my doctor’s nurse. She said the last blood draw didn’t look super good, but not to worry yet. They wanted us to do an out-of-town draw. Blasted Infertility! We had a fabulous visit with our friends, but my internal thoughts were utterly consumed by my bathroom visits. Amy even asked, “are they really that concerned that it will happen again?” I couldn’t blame her for the question–especially then. She had a miscarriage and then successfully carried Mya to term. That was her experience. And, for most, that is their exact experience. It was not to be mine though.

Ironically, I started spotting and cramping the night before returning home. By the time Adam and I got to the airport, I knew something was terribly wrong. My insides were ripping apart. I remember laying on the floor at the airport unable to move because the pain was so horrific. (Adam did get us into better seats with lots of room because of it.) This time didn’t quite feel like the first. Although I was further along by a week, it should not have hurt so badly. The next morning I saw Doctor and he still couldn’t see anything on the ultrasound and my quant levels had dropped, hanging around 150. So off for another blood draw to confirm the possibility of an ectopic (tubal) pregnancy! I had all the tell-tale signs: spotting, but not bleeding, persistently low quant levels, pain on one side, and no image on the ultrasound. And get this–I started back to work, Adam left for China, and my doctors both left for vacation all within a few days of this news. Yeah, this was a winner of a miscarriage! And it gets worse…

The “fill-in” doctor was dry, rude, and obnoxious to say the least. As I was taking in the news and the options, Doctor “fill-in” told me that I needed to take things more seriously. He said that I was going to DIE if I didn’t get my priorities straight. Are you kidding me? Was he really saying this to me? I just found out that my second baby wasn’t dead–just stuck in my right fallopian tube–and if I didn’t decide to kill it, it would eventually kill me. WHAT?!?! Was this actually happening to me? After a day or so of mulling the options we decided on the least invasive procedure possible. I was barely in my seventh week and had the “luxury” of a little time meaning emergency surgery wasn’t needed just yet. I was a good candidate for Methotrexate. All I had to do was walk into the clinic, get stuck in the butt with a big fat chemo needle, and terminate the pregnancy!!! That’s all.

Luckily, the shot worked and I did not have to have a tube tied or removed. I’ve always said the second miscarriage is the hardest. Like I’ve shared with a few friends, it brought me to “that moment” where I was confronted with the thought that the first miscarriage wasn’t a fluke, that it wasn’t part of the average 25% of known failed pregnancies. I was bombarded with the what ifs all at once. What if it happened again? What if I would never be able to carry a fetus full term? What if I really was broken? 

(part one) 

It is truly rewarding that so many people see my story–my handling of infertility– as graceful and inspirational. After all, it was my goal from the beginning to walk with grace no matter how painful the experience. But in having that mindset I think I have neglected sharing the really dark days…the days that brought me to where I am. After recently pondering previous blog posts and rehashing the ‘early days’ with my husband, I think it is time to share the ugly side of my fertility journey. I have a ’secret blog’ where I write things I am not yet ready to share with the world. This series of posts was intended for that site, but I think its purpose is better served here. There are many who want to know. And there are many more who need to know. So dear readers, allow me a little indulgence as I recount the darker side of the past four years.

It took Adam and I seven months to become pregnant (March 2005). We lost our first baby the beginning of April. Adam was out of town and I was staying at his parents’ house. What a blessing! Debbi, Adam’s mom, took me to the hospital and a couple of days later our fears were confirmed. It was painful. It was agonizing. It was hell. My first baby’s death stole a little piece of my heart. By the time I realized I was losing the baby, it was too late to see him or her on the ultrasound because I was already passing the pregnancy. Oh how I wish I could have seen that first little sac…there was no reason to have an early ultrasound as this was my first pregnancy. We lost baby number one at six weeks. And I kept the stupid pregnancy test for three years!!! I couldn’t throw it away. By throwing the stick away–I was throwing the only tangible evidence of my baby away. I would pull it out and stare at it, and cry for hours. I stopped exercising and started eating.

After two months of crying in secret, I mustered up the courage to try again. There was no time to waste in my mind as we wanted a big family, and I was 28. Although I was scared to try again I had that oh-so-hated-by-infertiles thought “well, at least I can get pregnant!” What a newbie I was! My friend Valerie found out she was expecting, which spurred me to action. I knew it was going to be hard enough when her son, Carter, was born..he would be one month younger than our first, but I thought if I was pregnant it would make it a little easier to forget about due date number one. Oh, how wrong I was!!!

There is only one thing I want my friends and family to truly understand about miscarriage:  The loss of a pregnancy is akin to experiencing the death of a loved one. We who continue to miscarry go through the grieving and mourning process just the same–every time. The anniversaries of the losses and the would-be due dates are just as difficult. It wears us down and burdens our hearts. And although we pick ourselves up and move through the pain, in some form it always remains.

I have waited to post the following video link out of respect to my sweet friend. In addition to the Tears and Hope video, I have also posted some other resources that she and her husband find valuable to their journey. They are very brave for taking this step. It is a difficult step to take, and Adam and I respect them all the more for it. We support them on their journey, wherever that leads. And we are honored to be a part of it.

There are many friends out there who have asked for help in understanding, and I so appreciate their love and support. I recognize their efforts, and hope that what I have posted below will help them a little more. I plead with every visitor to please watch both videos!!!

A wonderful video, Tears and Hope, created as part of the Infertility Awareness Project.

A music video, I Would Die for That, written and performed by a fabulous singer who struggled to conceive a child.

Things We Wish We Could Tell People about Infertility - One version is listed below (When you see “I” please consider it as “we”) or you can find an official version here:

1. I wish you would not be afraid to speak to me about my losses, my infertility, and to ask what you can do to help. I wish that you would not stop calling or asking questions just because you don’t know what to say.
2. If I cry or get emotional when we talk about them, I wish you knew that it isn’t because you have hurt me. The fact that I have suffered has caused my tears. You have allowed me to cry, and I thank you. Crying and emotional outbursts are healing.
3. I wish you wouldn’t pretend that nothing is happening to me, because it is a large part of my life. I need my friends and family by my side.
4. I will have emotional highs and lows, ups and downs. I wish you wouldn’t think that if I have a good day, my grief is over, or that if I have a bad day, I need psychiatric counseling.
5. Being an infertile person is not contagious, so I wish you wouldn’t shy away from me.
6. I wish you knew that all of the “crazy” grief reactions I am having are in fact very normal. Depression, anger, frustration, hopelessness, and questioning of values and beliefs are to be expected during and following what is happening to me.
7. I wish you would not try to offer solutions. Trust me, we have been searching for the answer with all the effort our souls and if it was as simple as you think you think it is, we would have found it already.
8. Infertility is not a punishment for unrighteousness or a consequence of having done something “wrong.” It is an unfortunate side effect of being human and a recognized medical condition.
9. I wish you wouldn’t expect my grief to be over if and when I become pregnant or have children. We struggle to accept the fact that with each attempt at a child, we will face the same fears, concerns and challenges. We will also never forget the pain of losing a dream.
10. I wish you could see that the goal is not to “get pregnant.” It is to have a healthy baby and eventually the family that we crave.
11. I wish you would understand the physical reactions to grief. I may gain weight or lose weight…sleep all the time or not at all…want to surround myself with business or be all alone, all of which may be related to my grief.
12. My birthday, anniversaries of the failed pregnancies, holidays, and the days I find out that this cycle too was a bust, are all terrible times for me. I wish you could tell me that you are thinking about me, and if I become withdrawn, just know I am doing my best to cope. Please don’t try to coerce me into being cheerful or tell me that it will be better soon.
13. It is normal and good that most of us re-examine our faith, values, and beliefs throughout this journey. We will question things we have been taught all our lives, and hopefully come to some new understandings. I wish you would let me tangle with my opinions and beliefs without making me feel guilty. I wish you would not classify this struggle as a simple matter of faith and belief.
    I wish you understood that infertility changes people. I am not the same person I was before I experienced it nor will I ever be that person again. If you keep waiting for me to “get back to my old self,” you will be frustrated. I am a new creature with new thoughts, dreams, aspirations, values, and beliefs. Please try and get to know the “new me”…maybe you will still like me.
14. I wish for those friends and family that are pregnant to understand that we are happy for them but our sadness/perhaps odd or distant behavior during this time is not personal but just a part of what we are grieving.
15. I wish that you would not judge the times that I am sad or find it hard to deal with things like pregnancies and/or baby showers. Infertility does not make us bad people, just people in pain.
16. I wish you would do the best you can to put yourself in my shoes and think about what you would do and how you would feel and use that to guide your support. Ask yourself the same questions you turn on me, “Why don’t YOU JUST…?”

We hope everyone benefits from this. –rach and adam

I cried myself to sleep last night. I haven’t done that in a really long time. There are lots of bad days for us Infertiles. :) I hadn’t had one for awhile, until this past week. The whole week seemed like a bad day. It caught me off-guard and sent me reeling. Those of us on infertile ground are all too familiar with this scenario:

Adam and I joined our friends in Zion this past week. It was fun and relaxing, and I would do it all again tomorrow. Having said that, I have never, until now, spent significant time with my friends’ children in close quarters. It was more difficult than expected. I am usually pretty good at keeping it together and staying rational, but I was on the verge of tears more times than I could count this last week. I cried a little on Saturday morning, and I couldn’t bear to pay attention to sweet baby Paige, but I did okay on the group hike and everything after.

Sunday came though and hit me like a ton of bricks. I was sitting by Valerie at church who had Paige nestled on her lap all cuddly and pink–cooing and smiling at her mommy. I looked down the line and could see Adona playing on her daddy’s lap. And in the middle of it all was me totally feeling sorry for myself. I was trapped! My sweet husband held my hand and I cried for a long time. I completely lost it during the musical number. I am really grateful for the song though. As I sat and listened to the sweet words about the Savior and his suffering and sacrifice, I found a bit of strength.

I am not perfectly strong, but I am strong enough! I decided at church to keep approaching life as I have the past couple of years–and that is to go straight through the problem, not around it or over it or under it. It is not baby Paige’s fault that she was born. (Duh, I know…it is especially not her fault that she has a crazy Aunt Rachel.) So I cried a little more with my friends after church, and I held baby Paige at dinner. She and I even went on a little walk together. I know Val wants me to pay attention to her kids. Her children are her gifts, and they should be celebrated.

And let me be clear, my friends did nothing wrong. They said nothing insensitive. They didn’t thrust their children into my lap, or ask me to feed them. They were kind and open and compassionate. The simple fact is, they have given birth and I have not. They have had the experience of carrying life inside of them. They have felt a little baby kick and move and squirm in their bellies. They have succeeded in the great miracle of bearing life! And the fact remains that I have NOT.

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The closer the adoption gets, the more I think about wanting a successful pregnancy. Isn’t that weird? I guess it’s to be expected. There is no doubt about our adoption. There is no hesitation or melancholy in my mind. I want my children home with me now! (and they will be very soon) But I have realized in the last few weeks that our adoption will never replace our experience with infertility. At first I felt guilty about this because I don’t want my children to think they are second best. They are NOT! Having said that, I would never ever wish the hopelessness of infertility on them. I pray fervently that my children never have to experience the despair that I have felt. I want them to experience having a child with their spouses–it’s silly to think anything else. And that makes me feel better. Our adoption and our infertility are tied together in so many ways, but not in this way!

I don’t know if I’ll ever have a baby, but I would like to think that a newborn would also never replace the last four years of experience. It is painful and heart-wrenching. Some mornings it makes me want to pull the covers over my face and never get up–for real. However, my experience with infertility blesses me. I feel more aware of myself. I will soon be able to truly taste of the exquisite joy of my four children. And if I am ever blessed with the experience of a newborn baby, I will appreciate him or her all the more.

The bitter really does help us savor the sweet!!!

I was sitting in my sister’s car waiting for her to drop Spence off at grandma Hirschi’s. While I was waiting for her, I saw her sister-in-law, Sandi, cleaning out her van. She is pregnant with her fifth child and starting to really show. Wade her youngest was tagging along beside her, Anna her next youngest was running in and out of the house, and her two oldest boys were in the backyard playing in the grass and dirt.

As I watched her walk back and forth, I had the instant reaction I always have. You know, the ‘I hate her’ reaction. I automatically turned away so I wouldn’t have to make eye contact and give a fake smile. This is always my first reaction whenever I see someone I know with a cute pregnant belly. Yeah, like ignoring the pregnancy will make it go away or something, right? Totally irrational! This time though I had an immediate follow-up thought, which was: ‘rach, it’s not her fault that you aren’t pregnant. And this is not her trial, it’s yours.’

The this is not her trial idea kept running through my head as I watched her busily take care of her family–all with a beautiful humble smile on her face. And the little voice that spoke to me is right, this is MY trial! I must continue to own it. Sandi’s trial is very different, I am sure. And I wouldn’t trade my trial for hers. I wouldn’t trade it with my friend Jes who lost her little baby just a few short months after waiting years and years for him. I wouldn’t trade my trial with her sister Nichole who lost her husband in her early thirties. I wouldn’t trade it with the myriad of other friends and acquaintances who’s trials are intense and difficult.

However hard my trial is–I wouldn’t trade it. Infertility has brought me and my husband to a higher level of respect and love for each other. It has guided me to a level of compassion and understanding for others that I never thought I was capable of. And my trial has, in essence, led me to my children. Why would I trade it?

In conclusion, my mind continues to war with others’ bellies, and it probably always will. As my understanding grows, however, the twinges of hurt lessen. Although the jealousy doesn’t go away, dealing with it does get easier. And after sitting in the Pathfinder watching Sandi work, I realized I still really really want to give birth to a child. I don’t think that will ever disappear.

Now if we could just do something about the bellies getting bigger……………..

To go or not to go? That is the question.

My first Mother’s Day as a married woman was spent sobbing at church as I had just completed my first miscarriage. Not recommended!

My second was spent leading the music on the stand, I cried so hard that my sweet husband had to lead the last song and then took me straight home to bed. So much for trying to be strong and graceful. 

My third childless Mother’s Day I planned ahead. I retained a substitute for my mia maid class and played hookie with my hubby. This option is highly recommended. I didn’t have to be strong in front of a dozen growing bellies. I didn’t have to endure talks that were meant to honor current mothers and inspire those whom they serve, but which left me in tears. And, let’s be honest, I didn’t have to feel like the fraud I always do when the bishop asks all the mothers in the audience to stand up and recieve a token of gratitude. If I stand, I’m a liar. If I don’t stand, I have people around me telling me to stand because I am a mother “in spirit”, which makes me feel like a big baby. Gag me, please!

So, what do I do this year? I am kind of a mom or at least I’m hoping to officially gain the title in a few short weeks. But Mother’s Day for me is not so much about the future. It’s about the past. When this time of year rolls around my thoughts return to my lost babies. I feel a deep sense of sadness for what could’ve or should’ve been.

I think I can say that I’ve moved past the self-centered stage, which I was in for a couple of years–I’ll admit it. The last few years I cried because I wasn’t a mom and others were. But now, as I have the beautiful blessing of four children on the way. I have so much to be grateful for.

No, no. When I cry this year, it will be in rememberence. And the tears that flow when I think of my lost babies are not pretty. They are tears that remember the pain of wanting and the pain of loss. They remember the physical pain of miscarriage and the sorrow of being told that our baby is dying, AGAIN.

The tears are also for my best friends who are in the midst of their own losses and sorrow. They are for my sister who gave birth and lost her twin sons all in the month of Mother’s Day. They are for my mom and friends’ moms who I know shed thousands of tears on our behalves just because they are our moms! And they are grandmas to our losses.

Just because I’ll soon be a mom doesn’t mean the memories and disappointment of pregnancy somehow disappear. And I hope they never do. My life’s experience has made me who I am and so much of that is tied up in the past four years. Although this weekend kind of sucks, I’m grateful for the yearly reminder.

And gone is the mormon guilt of a few years ago. I probably won’t attend church tomorrow, and I’m okay with that.