What Hurts the Most

***Note***
I wrote this maybe a week and a half ago. I decided then not to post it, to give myself some time to think about it. I'm not sure how people will react to this, but I need to get it out. I need someone, anyone, to maybe understand just a little of what I'm feeling. These feelings aren't going away. They're not warm and fuzzy feelings. They'll slap you in the face (or maybe the heart).

**DISCLAIMER**
When I wrote this, I wasn't sure I would share it. I want people to understand what I'm feeling and going through, but I know that most people can't. But before you read this, you need to know that it is raw and unedited. I am angry and hurt and very very sad, and I did not curb any of those emotions while writing this. Some of it may sound mean or maybe even a little unreasonable to people on the outside, but it's how I feel right now. So think about it before you read this. If you don't feel like you could handle this amount of emotion right now, then stop reading. But I won't apologize for what's written here. You've been warned.



******************************************************************



People keep asking me how I feel. And the truth is that I'm not quite sure how to answer that question. I think people expect me to say that I'm fine. Or that I'm mending. Or coping. Or any number of other socially acceptable responses to that question.

But I don't think they expect me to say that I'm angry. That I cry most of the day, and that I have seriously contemplated smashing most of my breakable belongings. That I want to scream at God. I want to know why this happened to me. Why was it my baby that had to go to Heaven? Why did He have to make it so hard for us to get pregnant, and then take it away? No, people don't expect a flood of emotions.

So I don't say anything. Or I say, "I'll be okay."

That statement couldn't be farther from the truth. I know one day, I'll heal. But I don't see that day coming around in a hurry. And at this moment in time, my primary emotion is anger. I am angry. I am very angry.

Someone I work with told me that maybe this was a blessing. Really? A blessing? She already has one healthy child and another on the way. I know she doesn't understand. But how can I see this as a blessing? It is terrible and heartbreaking. She got pregnant the first month off birth control with a man she wasn't even married to at the time. And that makes me angry. Its not fair.

You might say that life isn't fair. Which another person has also told me. I know that. I know it isn't fair. Because if it was, my baby would still be growing. I would have gotten to hear his heartbeat and see it on the ultrasound. I would have gotten to feel her move and see my belly swell with the life inside me. But I won't.

So then people say, "well, you'll get pregnant again. I know you'll have kids." How do you know that? Has God let you in on what He has planned for my life? Because if He has, please let me know. How is that supposed to make me feel any better? By saying that, people are basically making a promise that they couldn't possibly keep. And if I don't or can't get pregnant in the future, what then? Are you going to give me one of your children? How are you going to fulfill that? You can't. And so it doesn't help.

"Well, its a process you have to go through." No. This isn't just some process. My heart and my faith are seriously damaged and I don't know how to fix it.

You know, I passed some clots yesterday and again today. So while it seems that everyone around me gets to see or feel their baby, I'm wiping away the blood and tissue that was supposed to bring me the greatest joy in my life. And as I wipe away a blood clot, I think, "I wonder what that would've turned into? A heart? The left arm? Maybe those sweet toes that I would've kissed." And so people I work with, people I know outside of work- they bring in their sonogram pictures and they talk about hearing the hearbeat- and I'm really trying to feel happy for them. But while their hearts are filled with happiness, I am literally flushing my baby down the toilet. And it is crushing me.

Sometimes, I feel like I can't breathe with the pain of it. My heart physically hurts. And still, I am angry. And sad. And anxious. And heartborken. And [fill in an emotion here].

I know people are trying to help because they care about me. But maybe what I need right now is for someone to say, "you have every right to cry and scream and be angry." Maybe instead of offering up little bits of "wisdom" and misguided advice, just listen to me while I cry out my frustration and pain. Because, right now, I feel very alone. I don't know how to talk about this to people. I don't know how to open up about this because I fear people will tell me to "just get over it." Or that they'll put a timeline on my grief. Or they won't understand my anger and sadness, which is very real and very deep.

So, what I need the most right now is to feel God with me because it has become aparent to me that people don't know how to react or how to help. I need to know that He's not left me to deal with this without Him. But I don't. I don't feel him here. And that scares me. And makes me feel completely, and utterly, alone. And maybe that's what hurts the most.

Lost

I've always wanted to adopt. It's a beautiful metaphor for what God's done with us- His children. Really though, its not just a metaphor... its literally what he's done for us- taking us out of sin and the threat of Hell, and into His outstretched arms. Its a beautiful thing.

But now that its looking more and more like that's the only way I'll ever be able to have kids, I'm reluctant.

I want my own. I want to carry them in my tummy. I want the anxious excitement- who will he look like? Will she have hair or be bald like I was until she's 2? I want to be able to call my parents and say, 'hey mom! You're going to be a grandma!'

Maybe I'm being selfish. But every negative test feels like a punch to the stomach. More like a punch to the heart. And I'm not ready to consider that fact that maybe God's plan has always been for me to adopt.

I'm heartbroken. And angry. Why is this happening to me?

If anyone has the answer, feel free to share. Because I'm lost. I'm lost in the dark and I can't see any light.

Baby Bump in the Road

Pesky Aunt Flo is back.

That, in and of itself, is frustrating. But then I go to have my clomid check only to find out that insurance does not, in fact, cover these monthly visits to my doctor. I was blindsided by a whopping $95 charge from my last visit. Let me repeat that- from my last visit. Not the appointment I was there for that day. So when that appointment was over, I had to pay another $115. GAH! Talk about taking a serious beating to the wallet. Oh, and did I mention that doesn't include the medicine costs? Yeah. Trying to have a baby is a lot more expensive than I thought. And that's just trying to have one.

So, I find all this out and I start crying. No, not crying- blubbering in the middle of the waiting room. Tears streaming down my face. Unattractive snot bubbles pouring from my nose. And no tissues to be seen. Aren't I in a doctor's office? Shouldn't there be tissues somewhere?

But I honsetly can't help these emotions. I think my last round of clomid made me a little hormonal turned me into a raving lunatic. I submit into evidence exhibit A: crying blubbering like a crazy woman in the middle of a crowded waiting room. Women all over the place moving away from me. Mothers with babies or young children holding them closer- and thus shielding them from me.

Once the snot cry ended (and the hiccups began), I was able to, somehwhat rationally, evaluate my behavior. Looking back, I know that bursting into tears was not a reaction I would usually have. At least, not in front of 50 or so strangers. Usually, I would just wait until I was in my car to begin the waterworks. But not that day. No. My emotions have not been my own. Clomid has taken over my body like the Germans invading France all those years ago. And just like the French, my poor body is not allowed to speak its own language anymore. I hardly know who I am anymore. And that was just round one. This time, the dosage was upped. Sprechen sie deutsche?

John is thrilled. (Heavy on the sarcasm)

But to give him credit, he has been incredibly supportive. Dealing with my mood swings like a pro. I wouldn't be able to do it. Mother Theresa may have even had a hard time putting up with me. And my dear hubby, a saver and penny pincher economical spender to a fault, told me that he would spend whatever it takes. He knows I want this. And I suspect he wants a baby just as much as I.

So we trudge on. Just another bump in the road that will hopefully lead to a baby bump sometime in the near future.

Death As We Know It

A few days ago, a nurse from my workplace took his own life. As is common with most major events at a large hospital, the place was abuzz with curiosity and speculation- the rumor mill working in full force.

And I barely knew this nurse. I think I only worked with him one time. Probably only spoke with him twice.

But yet, I feel a deep loss when I think about him and those who loved love him. Why his death should bring about such a powerful sadness in me, I do not know.

What I do know is that a life was ended. Too short.

What I do know is that my thoughts and prayers are with his family during this difficult time.

What I do know is that he was a son,

A grandson,

A friend,

A student,

A good nurse.

And neither the reasoning behind it nor the act itself can detract from the heartache or make his death any less tragic.

He was a nurse I barely knew, but he was someone important to many different people.

So tonight, I am going to take a moment to remember him. I am going to let my heart mourn him- be sad for a life not yet fully lived. And feel sorrow for all the 'could have beens.'

Please keep his family and friends in your prayers. I know I definitely will be.

Will(not) Power

Two weeks ago, I went to see Dr. Larry Griffin about my unusually absent Aunt. You see, my horrible Aunt Flo likes to turn up- unwelcome- around the same time every month. In retrospect, I suppose I should be grateful for her continued presence in my life- her monthly visits mean my lady parts are working correctly. But in my defense, its hard to be happy about her week-long stay when her best attribute is her ability to inflict pain.

Whatever.

So, when she never showed, I made an appointment with my doctor to figure all this out. And by figure out, I mean I wanted him to tell me what I longed to hear. Which basically means I hoped he would tell me I was pregnant.

So of course, he didn't.

What he told me instead was that there are so many things that can affect a woman's reproductive system and its likely that something of the sort had thrown my body out of whack. Color me disappointed. He continued by saying excessive stress can alter or temporarily stop a cycle. I nodded. Yeah, I've been under some stress. Yes, there's been a lot going on.

And then almost as an aside, he said, 'oh and being heavy can sometimes affect reproduction.'

Ouch.

And very true.

I know I'm no Olive Oil, but it still stung a little. The rational part of my brain told me that he's just doing his job- that he's concerned about my well-being. The other half was thinking that I'm totally paying this guy to insult me. I know, I know. He wasn't really being mean. Except in my mind, he might as well have looked me in the eyes and said, 'Holy crow! We need to get you back to the ocean, Shamu.'

Does that ever happen to anyone else? You go to the doctor and feel like he's just slipping in some insults like, 'that mole is looking a little funny.' Or 'you should think about losing some weight.' Or 'your blood pressure is too high.' Thanks, doc. Here's some money. We should do this again sometime. I'm just gonna take my weird-looking mole home now and cry. But I digress...

When I finally got my blood test results, I wasn't so surprised to find that I was indeed not pregnant. I took myself down to Walgreens to fill my prescription for Provera, a medicine that is supposed to make me start my period. Awesome. And then another doctors appointment to determine the next step which will most likely be Clomid (a drug to make me ovulate). We'll see.

So now I'm determined to lose weight. Sure I want a Big Mac and a caramel Frappe, but there are things I want more. Like a baby. Things that I might not be able to have if I keep eating every french fry I can get my hands on.

Why, then, did my breakfast consist of a bacon, egg and cheese biscuit, and a hash brown. Eesh. This is going to be a nightmare not going to be easy. Clearly, my willpower is nonexistent lacking. Instead of strong willpower, I have will(not)power. Dang.

To keep my mind of these reproductive issues, I went to the NKOTBSB concert. It. was. AWESOME. Definitely brought out my inner child. Took me back to the nineties. I had a blast. Yes, I am still a Backstreet Boys fan. Yes, I listen to their CDs in my car. A lot. And okay, I admit to having every single album they ever made, even the ones not released in the United States.

I wonder what John would say if he came home to BSB posters all over our bedroom walls. I doubt he would like that. Oh well.

Anywho, goodnight from your friend, a ridiculously obsessed huge Backstreet Boy fan.

You. Me. This blog. Right now.

I don't get out much. Its depressing. I find myself sitting at home in my pajamas and talking to myself my dog. And occasionally, drinking a big glass of chocolate milk.

Seriously. At twenty-five, I am well on my way to becoming one of those wrinkled, old-moo moo-wearing-ladies with the run-down, corner house and fourteen cats.

So, I will try to make this update as interesting as possible. No promises. And no refunds.

As you well know, I have been struggling with patience and my obsession with desire for motherhood. In fact, this longing has threatened to drive driven me insane. I am constantly wondering if I could be pregnant. How neurotic of me, I know. In fact, any perceived symptom throws me into a tizzy: 'Oh man! I've been using the bathroom more frequently... could this be a symptom?' Never mind that I just drank three cups of ridiculously sugary coffee and then proceeded to down a gallon of water and a liter of Gatorade. Instead of thinking logically about my increased trips to the ladies' room (I just drowned my kidneys in liquid, so of course they have to work overtime), I immediately start to wonder if I could be pregnant. Maybe I should talk to someone... I do work at a psychiatric hospital, after all.

Mental health notwithstanding, I am enjoying my role as 'Video Monitoring Tech.' Its absurdly easy. And fairly stress-free. Definitely not rocket science. Occasionally, there will be some drama. That's to be expected when you lock four very different people in a closet sized room for 12 hours. But any disagreements typically get resolved in an after work meeting- fight club style ('You. Me. Parking lot. Seven o'clock'). The first person to bleed loses and has to bring everyone donuts the next day. Okay, I'm kidding about the donuts.

Workplace violence aside, I like my co-workers. There is a lot of joking that goes on in the camera room. And sometimes, we even get some work done. Sometimes. Anyway, I like that I can actually go to work without having to munch on Tums like they're Hershey kisses.

Even though I like my job, its still nice to come home. And speaking of home, our house is almost finished. There is still some painting that needs to be done, but for the most part, it is finished. Hallelujah. Its slightly uncomfortable really weird to go downstairs at 9am and find a strange man with a drill standing in your kitchen when you're just trying to let the dog out. There could be a serial killer hanging out in my kitchen holding a screw driver and I wouldn't think twice about- just nod to him and say good morning. Business as usual.

Needless to say, I will be ecstatic when all the work is done. Just a few more rooms to paint, mirrors to hang, doorknobs to attach, and parts of foundation to seal. And then the complete unpacking of all our junk prized possessions can begin.

But sadly, I think that everything still going on with our house and the recent loss of my grandpa has taken its toll on me mentally and physically. It was an emotional few months and it has absolutely exhausted me. I have not been eating healthy foods (mainly because I lack the drive and energy to cook) nor have I even glimpsed at the treadmill (which is really a shame since I am currently trying to get myself in gear to run a 5k in September). Oh how I wish I could say, 'I had to stop adding that extra dollop of whip cream to my coffee because it'll go straight to my eyelashes. They're getting entirely too long and thick.' The only thing getting thicker here is my thighs. But I know I'll get my butt in gear eventually.

Unlike my Discover card at the Our Lady of Peace cafeteria, payers are accepted and appreciated greatly.

Has it been that long!?

My wedding anniversary is tomorrow. I’ve been married three years.

Three. Years.

It really doesn’t seem like it has been that long. That old saying: ‘time flies when you’re having fun,’ well, that couldn’t be truer. Sure, we’ve had our disagreements.  Yes, we’ve been disappointed. But what an amazing adventure it has been!

And in that time, I have learned a great deal- both about my marriage, and relationships in general.

1. Thankfully, the stomach is not the only way to a man’s heart. At least, not in my husband’s case.

Over the past three years, I have tried failed at cooking a wide variety of things. My hubby, being the wonderful man he is, ate choked down whatever it was I put on his plate. Always with a smile (or a grimace- but I choose to be a ‘glass-half-full’ kind of gal). And sometimes, it didn’t even look edible. More like an elementary school science fair project than dinner. However, I have now come to accept that I will never be a gourmet chef. Hallelujah! My hubby loves me anyway.

2. ‘Nagging’ is a horrible word. It is also a horrible concept. Therefore, I never nag- I ‘encourage’ (no matter what John says). Eventually, he gets tired of all my nagging encouraging, and will usually do as I’ve asked.

It’s definitely a skill I have perfected.

3. It takes a while to get used to living with a boy. For example, after the wedding, men seem to forget what the hamper looks like or what it’s used for. This is where my nagging encouraging comes in handy. We’ve been practicing, and I think he’s beginning to catch on. He can usually differentiate the hamper from the pictures of other objects- a brick, a giraffe, a hamper, and Santa Claus.

Usually.

4. Don’t take each other for granted. Something as simple as saying ‘thank you’ can help your other half feel appreciated.

“Thank you for yanking that tick off my back. I couldn’t have done it without you. And it hardly hurt at all. Don’t worry about the blood. ‘Tis but a flesh wound.”

Or

“Hey, you’re awesome. Thanks for cutting the grass in that 100 degree weather. I’m really glad you didn’t pass out or get heat exhaustion.”

5. Make time for each other. It may not be the most conventional or convenient time (like at 3 am), but time is the best way to strengthen and grow a marriage. Here’s an example:

At 10:30pm, I prepare for bed. It’s a work day tomorrow and I have to be up at the crack of dawn. We say goodnight, give smooches and I lay down and he remains in the living room to watch another episode of House Hunters International.

Hubby (approx. 3:20am)- Poke. Poke. Babe? Are you awake?

Me- Muffled groan.

Hubby- Babe?

Me- Whaaaaat?

For those who know me well, waking me up from a dead sleep is tantamount to poking a sleeping bear in the eye. Bless his heart. But, God love him, what he has to tell me is just so important that it cannot possibly wait until later. Like when I’m actually awake. Surprisingly, I have to agree. And I’m being completely serious. Despite my sleepy haze, I realize how blessed I am to have a husband who wants to share things with me. Even at 3. In the morning. On a work day.

6. Don’t sweat the small stuff. Things like getting locked out of the house. Twice. A dishwasher that quits working when every single dish is dirty. Dog poo all over the bathroom floor, walls and tub- and there is no more bleach or air freshener. Dirty clothes on the floor, even after all my nagging (ahem!) encouraging. “You spent eighty-three dollars at the book store!? We can’t keep spending like that!” And “we’re having mac-n-cheese for dinner again!? “

There will be bigger bumps in the road than accidentally eating the last pudding cup (“I told you I was going to eat that!” Oops.) Build a bridge. Walk over that bridge together, hand in hand. You’ll be a stronger couple for it.

7. Sacrifice. Not compromise. I can compromise with people I don’t necessarily like. Anyone can find a common ground, a trade-off that will satisfy both parties.

But sacrifice, now that’s love. And it doesn’t always have to be the big things.

Moving to Louisville. Letting him pick the kitchen counter top for our new house (which actually turned out just fine). Letting me have the newer car. Those are all little sacrifices we’ve made for each other over the years. They bring us closer together. Each sacrifice lets the other know how much they are loved.

Man, am I blessed! Boy, am I loved!

And I couldn’t ask for more.