The Power of Might

"I wish I could go back and tell myself when I was going through fertility treatments that none of the pain is going to matter and those feelings I felt then were gone the moment I held my baby."  

This is what I thought when I was full of hope to have another baby when we first began fertility treatments again last February.  All the pain was gone when I held August for the first time, but I never knew if I would get to that moment until I held her.  We sailed through the first few months on the high of having a newborn, feeling like our bad luck was finally over.  Stupidly, we listened to everyone tell us my body might just know what to do after the first baby, that I might be super fertile after giving birth.

Well they were wrong and I'm mad at myself for believing them because here we are, all over again and I'm not quite sure if I'll ever get to the other side again.  I'm mad at everyone who told me to go to college, buy a house, wait until I was settled before having a baby because lots of women are having babies in their late thirties and early forties.  None of the women who told me that were ever women who had babies in their forties--they were all women who had children too young and now regretted they hadn't lived, that they hadn't gone to college.  Well how many of those women who go to college and have a career first get babies compared to how many wanted babies and have to be satisfied with just their career?  How many of them had to at some point, face the music and realize their bodies just weren't physically capable of creating life anymore?  I know we might be at that point.  But I keep fighting because I don't want to look back one day and regret I gave up what could have been for what might have been.  Those other women can always go to college.  This is my last chance to have another baby.

 Today at my doctor appointment, I didn't have the useless advice from well-meaning friends telling me to relax or take some ridiculous combination of Chinese herbs and I might get pregnant.  I didn't have the backing of a thousand facebook friends telling me they will pray for me and it might work.  I didn't have people telling me to just adopt or stop trying and it might happen on its own.  What I had was the undeniable blood test and an experienced doctor telling me my estrogen level should be around 100; it was 34.  I had the ultrasound results showing only five small follicles when I should have at least 10 to 20 given I'm on 450 IUs of Gonal-F and 150 IUs of Menopur, an extremely high dose.  I had the doctor telling me she has seen people get pregnant with these numbers, but she might have to cancel the cycle and try again.  I was left with a sinking feeling that perhaps it's time to think about moving on from the idea we might be able to give August a sibling.

August and her cousin

I don't know how I can feel anything but anger right now.  I'm trying not to though; I'm trying to focus on the positive and that all hope isn't lost and we do after all have this incredible little toddler.  But right now, in this moment, I just need to be angry.  It doesn't help that my nightly injections are like feeling chameleons--they can somehow figure out whatever I am feeling and intensify it by a thousand, so if I'm sad, it's Niagara Falls and Duane gets to help put the pieces of my world crumbling on the dirty floor below me that needs to be vacuumed but I don't have time and how am I supposed to get everything done with all this filth and then it all just crashes down as my feelings become a runaway train of darkness. 

The worst part about all of this isn't the side effects of the drugs or how it affects me emotionally, mentally and physically.  It's coming to the realization that we didn't have hindsight in the beginning--we had to go through all of this just to get here.  And now that we are here, we have all this pain, sadness, emptiness, guilt, anger, regret, rage, and the echoing hollow question every single day: why this is our path, why us?  And we still might not get to have another baby.

I realize we might still get pregnant this IVF cycle or during another if we have to cancel this month.  I know all hope isn't lost.  The biggest corner I turned today, though, is that it might be.  It might just be August is an only child.  It might just be my body can't get pregnant again.  It might just be that we are at the end of this part of our journey and what lies ahead for us is accepting it.  I hope it's not, but it might be.  Despite what might happen, I will continue to fight.

The man who carries the coats

This photo was taken the night I was baptized, a few years after I angrily blamed God for taking our son and then making us spend the next few years having to deal with infertility.

When I was in my 20s, long before I was even thinking of marriage or children, I had a laproscopic surgery.  My gynecologist suspected I might have endometriosis, which is a disorder of the female reproductive system in which endometrial tissue (the normal lining of the uterus) is found outside the uterine cavity. About 40 percent of women who suffer from this will experience some degree of infertility.  I couldn't even imagine then what this alternate reality might be like if I had this disease.

My boyfriend at the time dropped me off at the hospital and said he'd pick me up after I'd come to.  My parents were livid and drove from their home in Memphis to Knoxville where I went to college to sit with me during the surgery.  I was terrified of both the procedure and the potential outcome.  After the surgery, my doctor gave me a clean bill of health stating she found no evidence of it and said I should have no problems getting pregnant later in life. Little did anyone know I would eventually get endometriosis and have the MTHFR gene mutation, collectively causing two ectopic pregnancies and one second-trimester miscarriage, subjecting me to two more surgeries, and leaving me with 11 rounds of drug-induced fertility treatments.  But she wasn't entirely wrong.

A few years later, I married that man who dropped me off at the hospital and we decided to try for children right away.  After two years of not getting pregnant, I suspected his chronic pot smoking had something to do with the problem since it's widely known that marijuana can have devastating effects on sperm counts.  I was sure I wasn't the problem.  I urged him to see a doctor but he refused.  He simply didn't want to know and preferred to leave it up to fate.  I was only 28 then, and I suspect either my better judgment kicked in or my biological clock wasn't ticking nearly as loud, hard, or fast as it is now because I didn't press the issue.  I suppose it was all for the best since we ended up divorcing anyway. 

Duane and I enjoying hurricanes on our first week living together after meeting in Iraq and being separated for more than two years.

After we divorced, the thought of children didn't cross my mind again.  Until I met Duane when I deployed to Iraq in 2006.  I knew he was the one and the time was right.  He had just left a wife who, sometime after marrying him, decided she no longer wanted children.  From the beginning, we both knew having children would be our first priority.  In fact, we began trying to get pregnant before we were even engaged.  I had just turned 33 and had been on birth control for the better part of 20 years, so we thought it would be a good idea for me to just stop taking the pills.  Four months later, and without any planning or thought given to it, I was pregnant.  My college doctor was right.  We were beside ourselves with joy.  We realized then we had better get planning and off to the justice of the peace we went.

Duane and I were happily married by a justice of the peace April 20, 2009.  I was two months pregnant here.

Anyone who has been following our story knows we lost that pregnancy at 17 weeks.  I won't talk about how profoundly painful or life changing that was.  The day his life ended was the day our new lives in this world began.  It never occurred to us it was even possible to lose the pregnancy.  It never occurred to us that we would then spend the next few years just trying to get pregnant and make it through all 40 weeks of pregnancy.  It never occurred to us that creating and sustaining a life could be so painful and suck all the joy from us when it was supposed to be such a beautiful thing.  It never occurred to us this alternate reality existed.

Duane and I gave birth to Connor Seamus King after 17 weeks of pregnancy on June 6, 2009.  Chaplain Thompson came to the hospital and blessed him before he was cremated and ultimately buried in Nantucket, Mass.  This was the saddest day of our lives.  Our nurse took these photos, despite my insisting she didn't.  I'm grateful today she did.

The day August was born was the happiest day of our lives.

Since we both left unfruitful relationships we assumed the blessings of a family were right around the corner and we began the anxious wait to hear the pitter patter of tiny little feet.  From the time we stopped trying to prevent a pregnancy until the time we actually held our little August in our arms, it was almost three years.  To get her, it took six rounds of the fertility drug Clomid, one second trimester pregnancy loss, an ectopic pregnancy, and one round of injectable medications coupled with an intrauterine insemination.  Her birthday was the most glorious day in both of our lives.

Connor's grave in Nantucket

Six months after she was born, we began trying for a second child since we knew it might be a long road.  Five rounds of injectable medications spanning eight months left us with only an excruciatingly painful ectopic pregnancy that ended in another loss, bringing our total to three pregnancy losses.  But we weren't ready to give up yet.  We picked ourselves up and began down the road of IVF or In-Vitro Fertilization.  No woman gets through this kind of grueling course of action with a partner who drops her off at the doctor and picks her up when it's over.  Someone has to be there to hold the coats.  And talk to the doctors.  And wipe away her tears.  And tell her everything is going to be OK.  That someone has always been Duane.

This is one month of fertility drugs for one of our six IUI cycles. Some days I endure three injections.

Following the ectopic pregnancy, there were a lot of things we had to accomplish and lab work was one of them.  Thrombosis, HIV, pregnancy, whatever.  Take all the blood you need.  I'll make more.  The day before we visited the lab together as we began our IVF protocol, I cried as I told Duane I was so afraid I felt sick--I haven't been stuck since the ectopic pregnancy in October.  It doesn't matter how many times we've been through this, I feel the same way every time.  I know he feels the same way, but as a man watching his wife go through this pain, I imagine it's just different, but I don't think about him--I just have to focus on getting through whatever procedure is afoot.

The D-Word

Debt is the only four-letter word no one talks about unless we are griping about the current state of political affairs.  But we all feel the sinking in our hearts, that punch in the gut, the hopelessness when we hear that word.  Debt.  The calculator starts running in my head subconsciously when I hear the word debt, when I swipe my ATM card at the gas station or the store.  I am human living in a consumerist society.  Everywhere I go, I am not encouraged to save and pay off debt but to spend and consume more.  I am enticed by sales, promotions, BOGOs, Groupons, and in some weird way, I feel like by spending more on these items, I am actually saving.

It all began when we moved to Seattle and Duane's only income for four months was unemployment.  I make a modest living, but my paycheck covers the bills and that is it: water, gas, rent, food, mortgage, electricity, student loans, retirement fund (I will address this in a separate blog and why it goes in this category, but think about it for now), and daycare.  It doesn't even begin to pay the health or car insurance, Pocky's annual vet visit, medical bills, haircuts, dog food and medicine, clothing and diapers for August, cell phone payments, and it certainly doesn't put a dent in the credit card bills or any kind of entertainment fees.  Duane and I were sitting in the apartment hot tub a few weeks ago adding up our bills.  We try to talk about our situation as much as we can; we talk about our struggles, successes, ideas, and we give each other positive and negative feedback about what worked and what didn't.  As I talked about in my blog last night, this was the first step for us, to remove the taboo and the nature of talking about debt as if it's a dirty word.  You aren't going to make it go away if you don't even acknowledge it.

I check the Craigslist "free" column regularly and saw a free photo shoot if only August would model very expensive christening dresses.  Not only did we not have to buy the dress, but we didn't pay for a professional photo shoot as well.

The first thing we had to do to start paying down debt, was identify our priorities as I mentioned in the "Are You Ready" blog.  Once we could identify what was a necessity--and this is an important distinction to make since we once thought TV was a necessity--we could begin removing payments from our monthly outflow.  TV used to be a big part of our life but when we moved here, if it didn't directly contribute to our ability to eat, sleep, or get to work, it wasn't a necessity.  The problem with moderation when you've been living in excess for so long is that if you don't scale back a lot, it will be easy to return to the previous spending volumes once you are debt free.  It doesn't work like that, just like a lot of people who lose a bunch of weight by dieting regain the weight because they don't make a lifestyle change.  That's what this is about.  This is your new reality.

What did this mean for us?  What did we cut out?

I began making baby food for August because the jars were expensive and they weren't organic.  It only took me a few hours and I made enough for all three months she was eating purees.

Stroller Envy



Duane gives me my nightly injection of fertility drugs



I have to preface this post with the fact that I began this yesterday in a lighthearted attempt to talk about how my life has shifted from deciding which beers are on tap to whether I can afford the $1,000 stroller at Babies R Us to keep up with the moms toting tots at all the places I take August on the weekends.  I had to stop.  Something wouldn't let me keep it lighthearted, but I'm used to that, so I let it sit for a day.  Something silly hit me mid-post, much like it does in my real life: I can't just get pregnant and I've lost three babies to miscarriage.  Some people who haven't lived this life I lead might wonder why I can't just get over it or if I will ever move beyond this, and the short answer is, I don't think so.  And as much as I want to move on, life happens and I am reminded of who I am, where I came from, and how far I've come.

Beautiful August Cameron

I never wanted to be the poster child for infertility or miscarriage.  I never wanted to be the person holding an acquaintance's hand, letting her cry to someone, anyone, after she just lost her baby (they call me sometimes because they can't bear to hear what well-intentioned friends and family say to them such as it was God's will).  I never wanted to have to explain to my own family day after day what to say and what not to say to help me heal, knowing Duane and I will likely always have this tender scar that will never heal and it can burst open on certain days or in certain moments (June 6th, November 14th, Christmas time).  I never wanted to be the woman who has to constantly answer the questions, "So do you want to have kids," or "Is she your first," or "Do you want more," with answers like, "We are working on it," or "Someday," or "Yes, she is our first," (feeling like our son Connor is looking down on us from heaven saying what about me?  I didn't choose this life, but it's the life I've got and I can't be bitter about it, lest it eat me alive and I forgo all the beauty surrounding me).

My written observations about being a mom began here yesterday:

Duane and I taking August for a walk in the jogging stroller on the Green River Trail behind our apartments

Every time I go to the zoo, I get stroller envy.  Parents with toddlers know what I am talking about.  Stroller envy makes you seriously rethink your priorities so you can buy that $1,000 stroller you registered for during your baby shower but no rich benefactor bought.  I always dread this about going to the zoo since our strollers (yes, we have a few), though adequate, would never propel us among the stroller elite circle.  In fact, I keep two strollers in my trunk at all times, which pisses off Duane because it keeps me from being able to go to Sam's Club to buy large things like diapers and toilet paper since I have no room; I have two strollers in my trunk for crying out loud!  We also have a wagon, a jogging stroller, and a hiking backpack, all of which are perfectly suited for certain occasions.  I no longer buy cocktail dresses, shoes, or makeup anymore, by the way, because my efforts are focused on Smoosh.

August looking at the gorilla from her adequate stroller

I didn't know about "mom culture" until I started taking my precious cargo to places like the zoo, the aquarium, the Children's Museum on the weekend.  And I don't think anyone is competing to be the best mom, but c'mon, we kind of all are.  Rest assured, my baby will be in the cutest outfit on the planet, lest anyone try to upstage AugDog.  My goal is to collect as many comments like, "Oh my gosh, she is just the most adorable baby I've ever seen," or "Wow, her cheeks are just so...."  Yeah, I know, she's my daughter.  And I try not to judge, but I do when I think no one is looking in how we handle our children's behavior or what they eat.  In my head, I am always telling myself, "my kid is far superior to yours."  And I don't mean anything by it.  I am super cordial around other parents.  Until they are more concerned with their iPhone than they are with the snot running down their kid's nose and how they let their kid shove my kid and totally didn't correct the behavior.  Let me just tell you.

August playing in the water at the Children's Museum

And then I deteriorated.  I got in my head.  I began to process the day, not by how lucky I am or how much fun we were having, but by the observation that every. single. woman. was nine freaking months pregnant.  No joke.  It was like a shampoo commercial of long-haired perfect women waving with streaks of sun showing through their glee flying by my face with a perfect smile and infectious laugh.  The pregnant women were everywhere in many colors and sizes, representing diversity and life itself--be fruitful and multiply said God.  They represented every woman but me and I felt my thoughts turn bitter, angry and confused again.  This feeling isn't new.  I battle it often and my demons are mostly other peoples':  Why can't she get over it?  Isn't she grateful for August?  She just needs to relax.  Why can't they just adopt?

Here's what went on in my mind:

I always feel inferior when I see bulging pregnant women in these places, despite the fact that my kid is one breakfast away from winning the Nobel Prize for whatever.  It feels like God is mocking me.  Not many people were at the zoo today since it was cold and raining.  Despite the dismal weather, it seemed like every woman in Seattle who was more than six months pregnant decided to go to the zoo.  And they weren't just pregnant.  They were glowing with rays of golden light illuminating them as they rubbed their fertile bellies dressed in perfectly tailored L.L. Bean outfits that probably weren't even made for pregnant women.  Their kids laughed in slow motion and made eyes at the pregnant bellies and the moms acknowledged me as our kids intermingled.

Dad on a rare family day off work helping August paint

At one point, August made eye contact with one of the lucky pregnant women and she shyly walked up to her.  August stared at her belly since she's been obsessed with them lately and I could tell she was trying to find the courage to touch the pregnant belly.  The lucky mom laughed and made some casual comment about how August wanted the maraca she had and gave it to her.  August continued to stare and inched closer.   All I could think about is how August loves babies--she signs baby, says baby and walks up to babies and won't leave them alone.  August would really love having a baby here.  And I want to give her one.  But I can't and one day she is going to ask me why.

I resent these women and then feel guilty about it.  I don't know how to fix it.  I try to avert my eyes and then there is another bulging woman showing off her "I didn't eat any ice cream or cupcakes or french fries" body in the pants she wore in high school with nothing more than a hair tie attached to her button fly and she wouldn't even need the hair tie if her hair hadn't become so long and luscious due to the prenatal vitamins and the pregnancy hormones.  Oh and bluebirds will fly out of her vagina when she gives birth, by the way.

August's first time working with clay

Today we went to the Children's Museum and things were a little better, even though every woman I encountered either had a narcoleptic newborn in some fashionable front carrier on her chest or was also bulging with a future tax credit in her biological oven.  It was easier today.  I don't know why.  I never know why.  And I never know when it is going to hit me either.

I know this makes me seem like a raging lunatic who is unapproachable or overly emotional.  But I'm not.  I'm just a mom who has lost three babies and has a really hard time bringing life to the ones I know God wants me to have.  I struggle daily, but I struggle because I know the reward is greater than my fight.  What I want people who want to support me to know is that the best way to support me is to just listen.  Call me and ask questions.  But ask questions about my struggle.  Ask questions about my son.  Ask questions about how I am feeling and when I answer honestly, just listen.

If you know someone who is experiencing infertility and just don't know what to do or say, please click here.  My guess is that you aren't alone.  None of us who experience infertility want you to have to be a part of this, but the honest truth is, we are glad you are because we can't do this alone.  We might try to do this alone, but we need you.

Here we go again

Part of me debated if I would write this post. It's been almost six months since we gave birth and it's been more than a year since we got our positive pregnancy test that lead us to that glorious moment when we became parents. For three years our worlds revolved around getting pregnant and staying pregnant. Finally on August 3, 2011, we were blessed with a baby. Our prayers were answered.

It might not seem like it took that long for those who haven't lived their life broken into manageable portions-- 36 months of wondering if I was pregnant. In each of those 36 months, spending fourteen days, count them with me--one, two three, waiting to ovulate, and then fourteen more days I waited to take a pregnancy test...do you know how much of our budget was spent on ovulation kits and pregnancy tests that didn't matter? I was literally pissing our money away. My life, our life, revolved around peeing on a stick. At some point, I remember Duane being so frustrated with me that he left me on the couch crying so he could go chop wood.

This is not because he is evil or mean, but at some point, my emotions got the best of both of us. Every month. Every month we would climb through those 14 days until we could try and get pregnant. Then we waited. Tapping our fingers through the next 14 days. We waited. And every month was the same. I would cry and look at facebook with a jealous eye, sometimes never telling Duane who was pregnant this month.

 We scoured babycenter.com for new ways to get pregnant. We tried it all, by the way--cough medicine, rituals, praying, clomid from Mexico, ovulation kits, you name it, we tried it. One fertility clinic and two miscarriages later and the Kings get their third positive pregnancy test. It worked.

The pregnancy was textbook. The birth was easy. Some might have thought we should be content with having our little sugarplum. Some might wonder why we are venturing down that road. Again.  Just let it happen. It will happen when you least expect it is what people who haven't been through all of this tell us.  And everyone knows the couple who tried and tried for years, and then adopted, and then got pregnant without even trying.  Just relax, they say.  If i had a nickel for every time I heard those things....

The other part of me isn't sure how to tell the world while trying to assure myself I shouldn't care. Every mom I know keeps telling me how tired I should be with an infant. A large part of me is ashamed that I'm ready for another baby--have I enjoyed August like I should? Am i trying to rush this?  I'm so used to women telling me how miserable I should be or should have been while pregnant. I never did feel miserable.  And I suspect it has something to do with the fact that everything we've been through makes all of this so much sweeter.

We want another baby. And not because August isn't enough. She's absolutely perfect in every way. She's beautiful, smart and funny. She's a strong little girl who can melt a million strangers' hearts. But we want more and we don't want to wait.  We want a big family.  Frankly, we don't have time to wait either.  I'll be 37 this year, so now it's a race against the clock in a way--no pressure or anything.  People also tell me that women are having babies in the forties and fifties.  It hit me the other day that if August waits until she is 35 to start having babies, we will be 70 before we meet our grandchild.  Being 40 having kids isn't how I imagined everything working out, but sometimes, life's plan doesn't always match our plan and in some ways, it's better that way.

This blog took a lot of courage for me to write because I was going to keep it to myself. But I can't. I can't spend the next three years crying, living life in 14-day cycles wondering when we will get pregnant again. We wanted to share again with you our journey of trying to build our family.  Your support meant more to us and kept us strong through the process.  We also learned that there were a lot, A LOT, of you out there who were going through the exact same thing.  I found a lot of support in knowing my words were helping other men and women feel a little less empty and hopeless.  Even the fact that Duane was so open about it helped a lot of men, because there is so much focus on what the woman is feeling and enduring, the man gets left out.

Now that we are in Seattle, we met with another fertility doctor. He assures us we are the quintessential case study for the 30-something who wants to get pregnant.  He has no fear that we will get pregnant right away and has no desire to change what worked for us in the past.

So, here's to starting the process over again.  Here's to hoping we get pregnant right away.  Here's to all the people in the world who have struggled with infertility and miscarriage silently.  Follow along with us again if you'd like.  We couldn't have done it without your support.  We thank you for your kind words and encouragement.  It's a difficult journey, one with which many men and women struggle.  I hope that a few of you will find the courage to heal, help others or the find the strength to keep trying if you too have struggled.  And for those who haven't, it is my hope that you will have a little more understanding about what it's like to be on this path since it's not one we choose, yet one we still have to navigate.  In the end, the journey has brought us closer and the reward has been sweeter.  It is through the pain that we have been able to fully enjoy what a tremendous miracle pregnancy, childbirth and parenting are.  We are so blessed and grateful for all of it--the good and the bad.