The next chapter

It's 4th January 2016. Today we found out that I'm PREGNANT!!  Clearly we are not about to announce this at 4 weeks or so...but I want to record how I feel in this moment.  In a word:

                                                                  Elated!

In several words: Elated, terrified, excited, scared, happy, sick, faithful, fearful. To be honest, it feels surreal. It's been a rollercoaster 24 hours. Yesterday was our official testing day after our fourth and final frozen embryo cycle. I was too scared to do the test first thing, as we were on duty at church and I did not want to have to face that in a terrible mood. So I took the test at lunchtime...and it was positive, but super faint. Enough to think....maybe? Later that afternoon, the brightest rainbow formed right over our garden. I truly believe it was a message from Bertie celebrating our rainbow pregnancy.  The timing was just too perfect, and it was so vibrant it caught my eye and made me look up from my frantic faint-positive-on-a-pregnancy-test googling!  I snapped a pic but by the time I got the camera outside it had faded a lot.

Anyway, an entirely sleepless night for both of us resulted in a slightly darker positive today-and the clinic said a line is a line- congratulations! So I am now in the process of trying to process this!


Any IVF pregnancy I am told is full of worry. So is any pregnancy after loss. This is both! I have no chance do I? It feels like we've reached the top of the mountain we were climbing just to see there's another one to climb! I am already worried that the line is too light for this stage post transfer, maybe Grub (long story) isn't viable?? But I am trying my best to trust God, He has answered my prayers to get to this point, and only He knows what the outcome will be.  So, I am trying (failing) to simply enjoy the fact, that as of right now, I am pregnant! What a fantastic first thing to put in my gratitude jar for 2016!

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5th Jan 2016

This doesn't feel how I thought it would. After all this time I expected to be bouncing off the walls with this news. And I am so happy, and so grateful...but also extremely reserved. It's as if I'm waiting for the bad news, the bubble to burst.  It doesn't feel real, true, yet. I am half convinced they are false-positives and the next time I take a test it will be negative. That's why I haven't done one this morning.

As I said yesterday, it is as if we've reached the top of one (enourmous!) mountain, only to see a second one looming. But, I have to remember that we have the Most. Amazing. Sherpa with us. And we can give Him all our burdens of anxiety, nervousness and fear. He will carry them, and us, if necessary, up this new mountain. I am actually not bad at giving it all to God....my problem is before long I snatch it all back up again!

                                                             

All the missing things...that make up missing him

I've written before about how this time of year is difficult-and anyone who has experienced grief of any kind knows it. But for most "normal" grief, the first Christmas is the hardest and it gets easier from there. Not so with child loss.

This is my fifth Christmas without my son and although in a lot of ways through those years it has passed through bearable to almost arrive at borderline enjoyable, the pre-Christmas build up is still so hard. That is because it is an acute reminder of all the things we are not doing right now.  I put the tree up last weekend alone, Bertie wasn't here to "help" me.  The fact it is beautiful in it's female-adult-only creation only adds to it's offence. My fridge door is a stark white reminder that he hasn't drawn me a picture of a wonky Christmas tree, an angel with an oversized head and and a not-to-scale santa trying to fit down our chimney.  We haven't taken him to meet santa- for the first time...or the second...or the third.  I didn't get to buy the advent house I wanted with little drawers to fill with daily treats to create special memories.  I'm not seeing his face light up at the decorations, and we aren't dancing around the house together to Shakin' Stevens. I can sit smug having finished all my shopping in November because I don't have to panic-buy the last minute gift he has asked santa for.  Yesterday I did Christmas jumper day at work...he didn't join in at pre-school.

And so on....

And I know, there are things missing like this all year round. The problem with Christmas is that everyone else is doing all this all at once. And talking about it...and posting pictures of it on social media.  There's no escape from the constant reminders of exactly what we are missing. Christmas is huge. But ours is small. Because the little guy that should be making our Christmas huge is not here.

Testimony

I recently gave my testimony in church, and the response I received afterwards was incredible. It was recorded, so I will share here for anyone interested. Church is a place unlike most other in modern society. In this interview I wear my heart, and my faith on my sleeve. After I shared all this, there was no judgement, no shying away. Instead people thanked me for my bravery and honesty, and told me how listening to my story helped them or they told me their own stories. It was a fantastic experience, one I hope to have the chance to repeat some day- perhaps with a happier ending.

My interview begins at 14 minutes in, but I would encourage you to listen from the beginning, as the vicar's introduction and discussion of psalm 116 provides some context to what I say.

Testimony

He's got this.

The more I read my bible, the more I want to read it. I have a new study bible and I love it- it really opens up God's word and helps it make sense to me.  But let me back pedal a little.

My mood when I woke this morning was terrible.  I was all set to write about how negative I was feeling regarding our upcoming embryo transfer next week. When I should be feeling excited and hopeful, all I could think about what how dreadful I was going to feel when it failed. This is out last go before Christmas, so a lot is riding on it. I don't feel it is going to work. Somehow I can't summon any enhusiasm for it at all. I guess that now I just associate trying to conceive and assisted reproduction with failure, disappointment, and loss. It's tough to find that balance between cautious optimism and guarding your heart.

So, whilst not at all feeling like it, I read my morning devotional out of habit/duty, inwardly feeling cross at God for my lot in life. I was directed to 1 Peter 2:13-25. 1 Peter is a good book for sufferers by the way. But this morning, it wasn't the bible text so much that hit me, but the explanatory note for v 24:

"Our goal should be to face suffering as Christ did- with patience, calmness and confidence that God is in control of the future."

That one reminder totally changed my mood. I still don't feel too hopeful, but my mindset has shifted back away from utter despondency and sadness and blaming God for my situation, to thanking Him for all He has done and will continue to do in my life, which is a much better place to be.

No matter what happens, He's got this.

And now you are(n't) four

September 18th. Your fourth birthday. It's 8am, I've slept horribly and already shed a tear. But, I don't feel so very sad as I have before, in previous years. And that's ok. I miss you, I miss you terribly, horribly, fiercely, beautifully. I love you even more than that. But I am now able to hold all those feelings and treasure them and treasure you and cope with the cocktail of emotions and stay upright. That's time. That's progress. That's healing, in a way.  It isn't moving on, or getting over, or forgetting.

It is loving myself as I continue to love you. It is being the parent I want to show you I could have been.

I am wondering what you are up to. What you look like now. That's tough, the not knowing. The looking at four year old boys and wondering.... That brings a tear as I type it. Are you four? Are you growing up in Heaven? Or are you still a tiny baby? I think you must be four. That makes more sense to me. But then I don't know.  I know you have your perfect body, you are not hurting or broken or damaged.  You were always perfect to me here on Earth, of course, but now I know you are truly perfect. No pain, no loss, no sorrow, no tears. How wonderful! Some days, I just can't wait to join you there.   But differently. Before, it was because I didn't want to live this life without you. Now, it is simply because I can't wait to hold you again and be perfect too. There is a difference.

Do you run and play? Will you laugh and dance as I light a candle for you tonight? Are you glad that we came back to Italy for these days? Strange how it helps me to be here. Memories of our perfect holiday with you, dreams of the future and buying your life album. Of course it was finished far too soon, but now it's a treasure we keep of you, for you. Opened less often now but there all the same.  Instead we make new memories with you, the years passing without you here physically but moments, memories, inclusions of you, whispers at your forever bed, making the sun shine and the chimes chime, saying hi mum and dad, I love you both.

Will you catch the kiss I blow to you from the shores of lake Como? Will you show me a sign you are here? Yes, I do believe you will.

I love you. That is all.

Your grace is sufficient

during my meditation and prayer this evening, this verse just came so clearly to my mind from 2 Corinthians 12:9

"Your grace is sufficient for me, for Your power is made perfect in my weakness".

Bam. I can give it all to God. I can let go.

Lord, all that I cling to, I lay at Your feet. Your grace is sufficient for me. Martin J Nystrom

I am stronger than I believe (apparantly)

Staring at a blank screen, wondering where to begin. There's a lot in my head.  Church today. I wasn't going to go. It's been a really tough week and I just didn't feel up to it. But as is so often the way, I was nudged to go and felt challenged when I got there.

It was a difficult start. The vicar's wife has recently given birth to their third child. As he stood proudly with his baby daughter at the front of church and everyone applauded, I sat with tears brimming and tried not to make a scene. Why do we do that? Why do we applaud a new baby? It's like we're saying, well done, you made a human! Isn't that an amazing achievement! What kind of message does that send to the couple who have been unable to "achieve" a family. The same at weddings, the same when we wax lyrical about the many "blessings" God has given us. What then is the person who has not been "blessed" with the things you have to feel? Doesn't God feel they are deserving of these blessings too?  It is hard enough not to compare ourselves to others who have the things we so desperately long for, harder still when as a congregation or society we cheer/approve/celebrate/applaud these things in each other. It can leave the person who does not do, or have, or achieve the same things, (but wants to), feeling inadequate, undeserving or sidelined.

I didn't applaud. Not because I'm not happy for them, not even because I am jealous. Because I was hurting for myself and because it was all I could do not to walk out the door right there and then.

I am glad I didn't. We were looking at Judges 6, in which Gideon is asked by an angel of the Lord to "go in your might and deliver Isreal from the hand of Midian".  When Gideon questions how he can do that, saying he is the lowest of the low in his clan, he is told "I (God) will be with you and you shall strike down the Midianites, every one of them".  Today's speaker interpreted this to mean that God is always with us, and with God we are stronger than we believe. She encouraged us not to focus on our problems and anxieties, but to focus on God. Stop telling God how big our problems are, and start telling our problems how big our God is.

Wow. I felt the words were ones God wanted me to hear this week. It's been a week of severe pain and anxiety, after finding out our second IVF transfer attempt failed.  I've been feeling pretty hopeless, to be honest.  And very anxiuos over our next step. We have two more embryos, and I am incredibly torn over whether to transfer both together for our next go.  On the one hand, I don't believe either of them are going to produce a viable pregnancy- afterall we started with five "high quality" embryos, and so far have lost three of them.  On the other hand, transferring two does carry the risk of twins, which with my history of premature birth is very scary.  This, mixed with the feelings of sadness, pain, fear of never being a mummy.....the feeling that life is on hold for us whilst everyone else moves forward, getting pregnant, delivering healthy babies, celebrating birthdays as those children grow up.....it's been a hot mess of fear and pain and over-thinking and tears. Lots of tears.

We are approaching our fourth anniversary of Bertie's birth and death, and we still are no closer to bringing home a baby brother or sister. The pain is not lessening, the fear is growing. Its a lonely road and it's awful. The strain on our marriage is huge. When I stop and reflect on what we have faced as a couple...we have buried a child and now faced years of infertility. Either one of those blows is enough to break many marriages apart, and we have faced both...continue to face both. It's incredible that we are not only still standing, but standing firm together.

I heard God's words today, and I will try to heed them, but, this problem is so huge, all consuming really and it has been going on for so very long now.....it isn't easy.  I don't know that I am as strong as God believes me to be. But I will continue on, with gratefulness for my husband and the tiny grain of hope that remains that we will be able to parent a living child, one day. One day WILL arrive.  Won't it? 

Please.