NIAW: All The Feels

Hi guys. Happy Friday and happy good weather week!
My mood is ALWAYS guaranteed to be brighter when it's warmer, anyone else?

So, today is (almost) the final day of NIAW, or National Infertility Awareness Week.
And I won't bore you with possibly redundant details about what it is. If you're interested in learning more, head over to the Resolve website and educate yo'self.

I also guest posted over at Fertility Bridge, in case you missed that article!

What I wanted to talk about today are the feelings and thoughts that come along with this week.

When you start re-hashing your infertility journey, whether you are holding a baby in your arms or not, it starts drumming up a ton of emotions that you may have been ignoring or pressing pause to.

For me, this week has filled me with both a sense of community and overwhelming grief.
It didn't help that I got my period halfway through the week. The hormones will obviously run rampant, and I may or may not have spit some venom towards Mark about bringing in some delivery boxes from the front porch because I was feeling really sad at the time (I did that, and apologized).

You see, it is easy to fall back into the dismal past where despair and frustration and loss consumed our lives during our stint in IVF treatments. It's easy to let the sad and angry thoughts consume your entire brain. It's easy to let them win. It's easy to stop pressing forward, in whatever way, shape, or form eases you out of the normal routine of gloom and doom.

I have said it many times because it's true; knowing we were constantly met with dismal results at the end of each IVF cycle became oddly comforting, because it was all I knew, and I was well-versed in failing.

I forced myself to become uncomfortable when I said no to further treatment.
I put myself in a vulnerable position that doesn't have a forged path.
I am choosing to bow out of the grief cycle and try to see the light in a different path.

You see, it is EASY to continue the cycle of addiction that relates to "trying again" with fertility treatments. You know exactly what to expect and can easily just rewind and do it all again.
That may seem harsh, but it is so, so very true. It is EASY after you have completed one IVF cycle, to do it again. Even if it means a huge hit to your mental state and finances.

There will always be more money.
And there will always be therapy.
Right?

So why stop? Why not keep trying until it works if both of these things are technically limitless?

That answer, unfortunately, is not cut and dry. It's something that evolves over time and will be different for every. single. person. 

NIAW week drummed up a lot of the older struggles and made me start questioning if I'm doing the right thing. It made me sad all over again for our losses and made me feel less than because I never became a mom with all my efforts.

But you know what also happened during these trying years?
I met and connected with HUNDREDS of like-minded women.
We have shared stories of triumph and loss, and have laughed and cried together.

I have met SO. MANY. local couples in the same boat, and because I was blessed and fortunate to have excellent insurance coverage for medication, I donated A LOT of my meds to those in need.

And you know what?
I helped SIX couples find their dream.
I helped build SIX families.
I helped create SIX miracles.

That is astonishing to me. It would have never happened if I hadn't struggled myself.

Going through the droves of infertility has been one of the hardest lessons I have had to learn. It has shaped my life in ways I didn't even know were possible. I have gained an immense amount of empathy and understanding for other people around me. I have slowed down and truly absorbed the beauty that life has to offer. I completely understand what a miracle it is to conceive and bring life into this world. I have learned that a family is built on love, not necessarily DNA.

I will always carry grief with me. I will continue to sow it into my soul and sit with it just as I sit with laughter and confidence and happiness and honor it's presence when it wants to join in.

But I won't let it consume me.
I am too driven in my life to let anything take over so completely that it negates all my other efforts.
And believe me, there are PLENTY of pots to fill up.
There are plenty of ambitious things and dreams I am looking to fulfill, in whatever way I can make them happen.

Backing away from fertility treatments and choosing to stop spending all of our hard-earned money to make a baby does not make me weak, less-than, or a failure.
It makes me sensible to know there is a stopping point.
This was my stopping point.
It takes courage to put your foot down, even if you are putting your foot down with yourself.

I want every aspect of my life to flourish.
I want to continue to love, honor and respect my husband.
I want to continue to give undivided attention, care and love to my pets.
I want to continue to cultivate a tribe of beautiful diverse friendships, both in real life and on social media.
I want to continue to excel and find success in my career.
I want to continue to improve our home and flex my creative side to make our house a home.

And I can do it all in time. With balance. And patience. And love.

We are all worthy of the life we are willing to create for ourselves.

This is my story.

I hope you continue to follow my dreams as I am following yours.
Thank you so much for reading. XO

Kindness To You

I see you.

You, over there, plastering on a fake smile in the midst of a crowd, pushing that glimpse of sadness to the background as you remember your loss.

I see you and I understand.

Christmas is always so bittersweet, right?
The feelings of those that were snatched away from our lives too soon come to the forefront.

We strive to make magic and memories during these final weeks of each year, vowing to cherish each fleeting moment.

It seems counter-productive to dwell on those sad feelings; the ones that bubble up you stare a bit too long at the glow of your Christmas tree.

However, I believe that sort of reflection is a necessary part of life.
Self-care to sit with the grief for a bit of time.
To allow it to just...hover for a while.

It's okay to feel a little sad this time of year.
I would fare to guess most of us have lost something or someone in our lives that we wished we could have back, for just another day, right?

Among all the parties and social events, there are quiet moments when it's just you and your memories.
And those hot tears streaming down your face mean you care and you are alive.
So, please, embrace them.

Let them flow, and then hug your spouse, or your pup, or phone a friend or family member.
Catch up and laugh and cry.

Gather friends for a very casual dinner.
Lay some flowers on a grave site.
Play fetch with your pets for a few extra minutes.
Bite your tongue when the urge for anger rises.
Give the kids an extra dessert.
Sip another glass of wine.

Slow. Down. and give some kindness to yourself.

I, for one, am smack dab between the one-year mark of two rather monumental losses in my personal life. We lost our most beloved French Bulldog, Crash, and at this time last year, I was still carrying my baby boy.

I read my first published essay to Mark, about our IVF struggles and life thereafter, and it re-hashed some vivid moments regarding our miscarriage. Reading those words out loud stung more than typing them, and we sat and hugged and cried together.

We remembered how crazy it was to get the voicemail to tell us I was pregnant.
How we were given new titles of Mom and Dad that day.
And the joy that surrounded our success and the love we felt from those near and far.

It was such a great time and we will forever treasure the brief moments we had with our little boy.

So this Christmas, we are talking a lot.
When we are sad, we slow down and embrace each other, as tightly as needed.
And when we are happy, we celebrate.

We are turning towards each other, extending kindness, knowing how fragile our emotions are this month.

I urge you to do the same.
To vocalize the happy moments and the sad ones, too.
You are not alone.
Those in the similar shoes, please, give a little more kindness to others, and most importantly, to yourself.

Good Tidings to You, wherever you are. XO

Grief Comes in Like a Wrecking Ball

Man oh man, you guys. Grief. What a shit show.

One day I'm partying and laughing with friends, and the next day I'm curled up in the fetal position crying so hard I think I popped an eyeball vessel.

The holidays are no joke this year.

I am so, so happy to be surrounded by upbeat and receptive people.
You have no idea how grateful I am to see this tribe of friends that have been in our lives for 20+ years. They show up to our events year after year and we all get to watch each other's lives unfold.

It's amazing and I am truly humbled that we get to share each other's ups and downs.

And then, after a completely fulfilling weekend, I find myself breathing heavy as I cry into my pillow...saddened by the thought that I should have a four-month old.
Flash backs of the day of our miscarriage are still fresh in my mind.
I still feel every pain, every tug, every emotion that occurred in those quick minutes where I watched our baby die in the palm of my hand.

I remember Mark, hysterical, throwing up in the garbage.
The numbness. The emptiness.

Gosh I wanted and still want that baby so badly I could just punch through a brick wall with my bare hands if it meant I could have him back.

Life isn't all that fair, sometimes.

I can't believe I get the "luxury" of getting over this phase in my life.
I can't believe it didn't work.

The grief is just so overwhelming sometimes.
It usually rears it's ugly head as I'm trying to fall asleep.
When it's just me and my thoughts.

I will be sobbing next to Mark, while he sleeps peacefully.
Finally he will stir enough to hear the chaos and roll over to me, gripping me tightly, trying to force me to calm down.

But it needs to come out.
All the ugliness and loudness and gasping for air.
It needs to come out so I can move forward.

My therapist said I need to work towards giving him a name, something to call him by.
But I honestly have never come up with anything worthy enough.

He's always just Baby.
The baby I was supposed to spend our first holidays together with this year.

It's a weird time, right now.
Thanksgiving came and went, and it was all the same yet completely not.
We announced to our families on Thanksgiving and all our friends the day after at our annual Shrimp Boil Friendsgiving last year.
And now I have nothing to show for that celebration.

We all carried on in the most upbeat fashions, myself included.
We laughed and drank and played games and enjoyed each other, and yet...sometimes I catch people...stuttering...that tiny, quick...awkward silence.

Because I know they know...they remember too.
I don't know what to say anymore than the next person.

That's the stumbling, bumbling, raw emotions that people try so desperately to hide most of the time.
That's why I talk about it.
Because it never quite goes away.
The grief.
And when it does show up, it comes in like a wrecking ball.
But as quickly as it rolls in, it disappears and you feel normal again.

Keep moving forward, my friends, as I plan to do the same.
XO

You Purge

I'm no longer filling my precious free time with all the jumbled thoughts about IVF, babies, mom stuff, pregnancy, maternity leave, post-partum issues, daycare, child-proofing, body after baby, shots schedules, cycles...and so many of the other minute and relatively useless thoughts that scamper through my mind every waking second.

I realized I had all this newly found free time (at least, in my head) and nothing to fill it with.

And it's making me stabby.

But do I NEED to fill it? Should I constantly feel busy? Is there a way around this chaos?

What do people in my situation do? Should I wait? Jump in? 

What is this new normal...who am I? What am I to do with myself?

WHAT DO I DO WITH MY HANDS?!

I haven't quite figured that out yet...mostly because I can't really focus on all that philosophical crap just yet.

When IVF failed again, and I miscarried for the second time in a year, officially closing the journey to become parents, I can't say all the debt left with it. I wish it did...but I see that credit card balance laughing at me while I furiously wish it to go to Hell.

So now I am trying to turn off this switch in my brain; the one that I have been caressing for five long years, the one that would inevitably make me an awesome mom to a sweet babe or two. But it's not really a switch, it's more like the Hoover Dam and I am Clark Griswold trying to plug up the leaks with bubble gum.  I have no idea what I'm doing and no money to just up and change things and no plans and no nothing.

So you know what you do in this predicament?

I couldn't fathom adding anything new. I can hardly manage to think about holiday decor. I took down all my Halloween decorations before Halloween. I didn't want to look at any more...clutter.

Clutter is pissing me off. I realized I was stuffing little trinkets and baby items and things for the future all over our home, just in case, you know, I actually became a mom.  All this...stuff...was starting to accumulate and I had had enough. 

Because there is no future. 

I just have what I have now.

I have no plans.

I have no goal.

I just want a blank slate. TO THINK! So I dug in.

I started with the shelves of baby items. Clothes, toys, stuffed animals, blankets, pregnancy tests, empty pill bottles. I donated, sold them, or threw them out. 

All of it.

I want none of it in my house anymore as a constant sad reminder of this time that will never come.

I pulled dresses of their hangers that I held onto because I thought they would look good on me when I was pregnant.

Random draperies and table lamps and pillows and artwork and shoes and clothes that I am no longer interested in...all donated.

The majority of Halloween and Christmas decorations....gone.

I needed to pare everything down. I only wanted the items that made me smile.

I don't need anymore reminders about shitty times and sadness.

I have enough of that going on in my head, thank you very much.

Idle times are currently making me scroll back through social media feeds and bring grief to the forefront. The grief is welcome, but I am not one to let it consume me anymore.

We can sit together, but only for a bit, and then I have to move forward.

In the midst of this frantic purging, which is still likely ongoing for many weeks, I came down with a two week cold that literally knocked me on my ass. Apparently God didn't think I was being easy enough on myself, so he handled that for me.

For two solid weeks, all I have done is sleep, stare off into space, slump into work, and purge.

My body is resetting.

This dreaded illness seems to be the accumulation of the all the anxiety and adrenaline and worry and chaos of the last five years....all crashing down on my immune system at once.

When I was feeling better, I grabbed another garbage bag and loaded more items into the trunk of my car. 

If you're looking for a way to reinvent who you are, to find out what you truly like and what you want to live for....get rid of all the other bullshit.

It's crazy to think that I have already accumulated nearly 20 bags of items that were just taking up useless space in our home. Items that I'm sure Mark doesn't even realize are missing (men) but were making my skin crawl. 

And I'm not even one to hoard things in the first place!

But it feels good. Chipping away towards this new blank slate.

I feel like I am accomplishing something, while we wait to get back on top of our finances, get through the holidays and survive the one-year-anniversary of the loss of our baby. 

Man.....life is fucking weird sometimes.

I could never have imagined this is where we would be, had you asked me five years ago.

No one ever talks about IVF not working.

It's supposed to be the golden standard, after all.

But we have a new life to create, and I plan to purge until I have enough space to fill that life up with so much more good.

Thanks for reading. XO

When IVF Fails: The End of the Journey

She Has Good Genes: A Journey to Motherhood Through Science, is coming to a close.
This will be my last post with this blog name.

At this point, I'm not sure I will blog again in the future, but if I do, it will be re-vamped to match my new life.

You see, IVF failed us.
Or rather, we failed it...however you want to look at it, we are ending the journey to make a baby through science.

Secret to most people we knew in real life, we ventured into another round of IVF this year.
Four days after my miscarriage with our miracle baby, I re-filled all of my IVF medications and consulted with the RE.

He thought that another attempt with an adjusted protocol would yield a better outcome, given all of our issues.

Armed with renewed hope, a therapist, a cabinet full of supplements, a book on egg quality, a whole lot of love, and a paid off credit card....we were ready.

Five months later, in May, we began.
I did another retrieval, which produced 11 eggs. 3 ended up making it to biopsy for testing, and out of those three, we again we left with one, perfect embryo.

Instead of hopping straight into a transfer, we let summer happen, along with all the fun and joy that goes along with it.

Our final transfer was scheduled for Friday, October 13th, a date I chose, hoping it would bring us luck, our rainbow baby, and our new future.

And boy, I was really, really sure it worked for about a week following transfer. I really felt pregnant again....and then it sort of...tapered off.  My instincts were confirmed when we found out I was, indeed, pregnant, but my beta numbers were so low the nurse was concerned, as was I.
Two days later, my numbers plummeted, and a week after my positive pregnancy test, I started miscarrying.

Again.

I opened the little letter the nurse wrote to us, when we asked to not know the gender, assuming we could have one of those fun little reveal parties in the coming months.

Another boy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We had another follow-up consult with Dr. Jacobs, where he nervously beat around the bush at the reality that we already knew. Not once did he suggest we try again, unless those options included some sort of donor. Be it sperm, egg, or complete embryo.....our only chance for success at this point was to eliminate one of us.

But that has never, and will never, be in our hearts.
It was us, together, or nothing.

And perhaps that is selfish to some, but I can assure you I don't care.
If it's selfish to dedicate five solid years to trying to make one baby, then selfish we are.

What began as a question to why getting pregnant seemed difficult to us, quickly revealed an enormous list of hurdles to overcome.

Prior to starting IVF, I learned I had a luteal phase defect and low progesterone.
Mark learned he had sub-par swimmers, a result of genetics and lifestyle.
As we approached our first (cancelled) IUI, it was revealed we were a rare match for MCAD, leaving our hands tied to have a baby free from disease, by pursuing IVF.

During IVF I learned I had low AMH, high FSH, low antral follicle count and overall poor egg quality. Fragmentation and embryo abnormalities run rampant with this combination off issues.
Add to that our genetic match issues, and we were left with very few embryos to transfer.

Finally, we were on deck to pursue additional testing to confirm whether or not, should a pregnancy work, that my body was rejecting the baby. I already tested this once and it came back negative, but there are further, more invasive options, should we want to pursue them.

So, at this point, I am sure outsiders may be thinking...."well, it did work...it could work again! Just keep going with the testing and rule out everything and get back on that saddle and try, try, try again!"

And that is true. We can keep testing. Keep seeking answers. Keep digging.
Keep at this Pandora's box of endless technology and science until finally, FINALLY, I get and stay pregnant, have my miracle baby, and live the life I have dreamed about for five years.

Right?

But when this third transfer failed, and we were left staring at, well, nothing....the urge to keep going faded abruptly. I have always been the warrior to keep fighting the good fight, but this time, it was overwhelming.

To realize, that IVF has become this insane addiction for me. That immediately following the low of lows with a failed transfer, I want nothing more than to gain back that high of hope and happiness of all the possibilities that IVF could potentially bring to us.

IVF, infertility, and pregnancy have consumed my every thought, every dream, every-everything for five. solid. years. My life...every article I read, or blog, or magazine, or conversation with friends and family, or pill I swallow, or food I eat, or exercise, or lifestyle change....has all been for this phantom baby.

I don't even recognize myself some days. I have become this efficient IVF machine. I know exactly what to do to buy insurance, negotiate issues, seek out alternatives, and research. I can plan an entire cycle. I know the fertility clinics entire yearly retrieval and transfer calendar by heart.  I know exactly how I will respond to every medication, every poisonous injection. I know exactly how many days it takes to get to retrieval, to get the results, and to get to through transfer. I always knew my baby's due dates, and all the milestones along the way.

This is not the life I want to live anymore.

Mark and I had a very different conversation over the weekend. It was one where we take the leap to say no to future treatments. No to a future with any babies. No to this life I thought I was meant to live.

And it's the scariest thing I think I have ever said Yes to.

Not really getting pregnant and fighting in this struggle has been all I have known for five years. As fucked up as it is, it was comforting knowing exactly what I should expect, even when those expectations were dismal at best.

Sure, I found true joy in the in-between this year. I vowed not to let IVF consume my life, and on the outside, I succeeded. But I can guarantee you there wasn't a day that went by that I didn't think about it.

Sunday afternoon, I finally left the house to go to the grocery store. As I perused the aisles for nothing in particular (except wine, obviously) I realized how freeing it felt to just be able to go and buy whatever I wanted. That I didn't need to focus on fertility-friendly foods and drinks like every other trip entailed. As simple as that was....it felt like this huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders.

In my haze of grief, I had written a novel to the doctor a couple days prior, outlining what I thought would work best for my body, should we try another round....damn well knowing it was all in vain.

Sunday evening, the doctor actually wrote back...and his words, although kind and understanding and agreeing with everything I asked for....broke me. I cried for another couple of hours because I just knew how silly it was to keep doing the same thing over and over, praying for different results.

Our lives will never move forward until we cut ties.

We are officially done with pursuing to grow our family with the addition of humans.

Please do not offer unsolicited advice about adoption, donors, second opinions, or anything else of that nature. Be a good friend and reach out to us or hang with us and let's talk about something else. That's what we are interested in. We are a united front in our decisions.

We are set on getting our life and our marriage back on track.
I have no idea what my purpose is at the moment. I thought it was to be a mom, but with the help of my husband, my therapist and family and friends, I will slowly come out of this fog of desperation and find a new purpose. One that is attainable and fulfilling.

Life must move on.
We have put a lot of things on hold while we tried for a baby, and it will be interesting and exciting to finally get the option to pursue some of those options, now that we have given ourselves permission to move away from this cycle of grief.

Will I have regrets?

No.

I have surrendered my body and my mind to being the ultimate science experiment for five years. I have prodded myself with no less than 600 needles and spent countless hours in waiting rooms and doctor's offices, while they told me they found another hurdle, another issue, and I gladly obliged to do whatever it took to overcome it. I found strength with every shitty diagnosis, every failure, every negative, to keep going.  I know in my heart I can't keep going anymore.

We turned our lives upside down to bring a baby into this world, and enough is enough.

Regarding this blog, I don't know if I will ever write another post. I started this blog five years ago as a creative outlet, while waiting to conceive. And that time is over now, so the blog, in its current state, will be as well.

Those that follow me on Instagram. Most of you are avid TTC-ers, in the midst of your own journey's to motherhood. I understand if you un-follow me because my life will no longer revolve around baby-related stuff. Please understand if I un-follow you for the same reason.

Just because I am done with this portion of my life, does not mean that I am cold as ice. Seeing commercials and posts and milestones about a phantom baby that will never be mine will sting for a while. My healing will not be linear and I most certainly will curse the Heavens in the future for making this so difficult and making my heart hurt so much.

But life will go on. I will get better and find a renewed sense of self.
I am vowing to reconnect with those family and friends that I have pushed aside in recent years. I am vowing to get back to being the wife my husband married. I know the future will include many home renovations, travel, a lot of animals, and possibly early retirement.

And I am excited to watch it all unfold.

Thank you for following all these years. XO

Our Due Date

Hello.
I know I said I would be taking a summer break. And I likely still am for the most part, but I wanted to be sure and document today.

Today would be our due date for our little baby boy.
And the whirlwind of emotions in the past couple of weeks has been one for the books.

Every milestone that pops up along the way of my should-have-been pregnancy wreaks havoc on my emotions and mental state. And it's never the day of....more like the week or so leading up to the date.

Overall, I am happy.
I am content.
I smile and laugh and joke and make plans, and, for the most part, am back to my old self.

My recovery from a miscarriage has been monumental, since I was never really able to release all this love I have for this person I will never meet..

I cry at night sometimes.
I replay the minutes of my miscarriage sometimes.
I talk to the little grave site in our back yard a lot.
I misplace my anger because of my grieving sometimes.

It's okay to not be okay, sometimes.

But even still, life moves on.
We move forward and we re-shape our lives, and weave this loss into the fabric of our being. We are growing to accept what happened, learn what we can, and move forward with kind hearts. We will not let this failure harden our edges.

The pain hurts far less these days when I reminisce, than it did six months ago.
The sting is less sharp.
The tears are fewer.

Mark and I will be together today, in celebration of our little man.

We never gave him a first name.
Mark insisted his middle name be Speed, so that's what it would have been.

We know he is playing with Crash up in Heaven.
And at some point, many many years down the road, we will all be reunited as one big happy family.

We love you, Speed. XO

Relapse

What is really bothering you?
Look at how you're standing.
Didn't the therapist say we needed a safe sentence that reigns in this type of behavior?
Whatever that sentence was...we need to say it now.

Mark is talking to me slowly. Like he always does when I'm about to lose my shit.
When I'm about to relapse with my grief.

It was the Thursday before Mother's Day.
I had just polished off a stiff vodka tonic and was reeling inside.

Looking for a fight.

Nothing. Why would you think it's anything? I'm just a little frustrated.
I just don't understand why YOU would start asking questions about what I do with MY medications. Their MINE. You're not the one that has to take all these shots and these pills.
I do.
So fuck off with your questions!

I storm out of the room and the overwhelming need to smash something to pieces takes over my rational thinking.
I storm back into the kitchen, slam the dishwasher shut with everything I have.
Open it.
Slam it back shut.
Open it again.
Slam it even harder.

I scream.

IT'S JUST NOT FAIR!!!

IT'S FUCKING MOTHER'S DAY!
WHEN THE FUCK AM I GOING TO BE A MOM?!
I AM SUPPOSED TO BE HAVING MY BABY SHOWER NEXT WEEKEND.
I'M SUPPOSED TO BE 31 WEEKS PREGNANT.
IT'S NOT. FUCKING. FAIR.
WHAT IS HAPPENING WITH MY LIFE!?

And proceed to bawl hysterically in the next room.

Burn is concerned.
He rushes over to me and nearly knocks me over while he proceeds to lick my kneecaps.
I start demanding a hug from Mark...because that's totally rational at this point.
No solutions, just a really big hug.

Mark unloads all the broken glasses from the dishwasher and I crumble in the corner, staring off into space. I can hear my heart beating through my ears at that point.

I need to calm down.
I am relapsing again and I hate that feeling.
That feeling of being out of control.
That feeling of being the alien in the room that everyone is staring at.

I'm so sick of feeling this pain.
So very sick and tired of feeling like I could spin out of control at any point.
That these feelings bubble to the surface so quickly I can't stop them, much less warn Mark that it's happening.
It comes on so quickly.

I have been an irritable mess for about a week, knowing that these two weekends were rapidly approaching.

For the most part, I have been good.
My recovery has been steady.
I argue and bicker with Mark here or there, but overall....I would say it's been positive.

But then shit like this happens and I curse the Heaven's asking WHY this is the hand I have been dealt.
Why now.
Why did this have to be taken away from me?
I keep asking for direction.
I keep asking for guidance.

I don't understand, and I'm trying to be patient, but sometimes the anger is overwhelming.

We went to bed halfheartedly defeated.
With no resolution outside of a thick apology, from me.
For ruining another evening.
For not having more patience.
For dumping these ugly feelings on Mark again.

As long as I "should be" pregnant, relapses are going to rear their ugly head at inopportune times.
Like when my due date arrives, or maybe again when yet another birthday rolls around, without the baby I have been wishing for since I was 28.

If you read these words, I want you to know that my life is not all gloom and doom.
I write these real emotions, the good and the bad, because I believe it's important to let others know that progress is most definitely not linear.
I can't even count how many times I have muttered the phrase one step forward, two steps back.
Because it's exactly that.
Just like you can't always have good, flawless, positive, drama-free days (although that would be nice.)
But the bad doesn't define me, or negate any of the good that has come out of my progress over the last five months.

I am starting to remember things again.
The therapist mentioned one of the symptoms of depression and grief is short-term memory loss...and of course when you're in the thick of it, you have no idea what she is saying.
Looking back, it's very true.
I still can't piece together a lot of events, but the harder I work at it, the more everything makes sense.

Speaking of therapists, I dumped mine.
Not because I think I'm cured.
But because I have gained a notion of clarity that I did not fully encapsulate before the miscarriage. The clarity to stop allowing bullshit to control parts of my life.

My therapist has screwed up a few times in recent months...double booking me....constantly running late....billing my insurance incorrectly....and while she helped when I needed to talk to someone....the bigger picture is...she was wasting a lot of my time.
And I was getting angry waiting for her to get her shit together all the time.
I simply do not have patience for people that do a half-ass job these days.

Same goes for my fertility treatments.
Having gone through the ringer for years at a company whose sole job is to get women pregnant...when they decided to switch a procedure to a different day....and a different LOCATION...without telling me?
Lord have mercy on them because I gave them a piece of my mind and likely got a few people fired.

This is MY TIME and MY MONEY and MY SANITY and MY FAMILY they are screwing with...and mama has had enough.
These days I feel more like Towanda from Fried Green Tomatoes.
And it feels good.

Thanks for reading. XO

How Infertility Has Shaped My Life - NIAW 2017

This week is NIAW, or National Infertility Awareness Week.

To be honest, I didn't really want to participate. Being defined as an infertile and stumbling down this path to parenthood has, at times, broken me down so far, that sometimes I just want to pretend like it never happened.

Sometimes I would rather go back to before my biological clock started ticking so loudly that it all but consumed my every thought.
To go back to our wedding day.
When life was a lot simpler.
Back before fear and failure didn't try to choke me out in the middle of the night.

My husband and I have been together since 2005 and were married in 2010.
Shortly after my grandfather died in 2012, is when that itch started.
I wanted to be a mom.
I wanted us to be parents.

We started trying to conceive in 2012 and our rocky climb to parenthood has been the forefront of our lives ever since.
From going the old-fashioned way for about a year, to preliminary testing, temping, and Clomid...nothing gave us even a squinter of a positive pregnancy test.

We were referred to an RE (reproductive endocrinologist) by late 2014, with the hope that an IUI would do the trick. While prepping for our first IUI, our doctor suggested we get genetic testing, because more knowledge can only be good.

Our results both came back positive as carriers for MCAD.
The chances of us both carrying this gene and ending up together is roughly 1 in 289,000,000.
The chances of us birthing a baby with MCAD was 1 in 4.
IUI was quickly cancelled and we were fast tracked to IVF with genetic embryo testing.

IVF was a mess.
We spent all of 2016 working against the clock. On top of our genetic issues, I was also diagnosed with lower ovarian reserve, higher FSH, and low antral follicle count.
After three retrieval rounds, we only managed to collect five blastocysts that were mature enough for PGD and PGS testing.
Of those five, only two were considered normal.
We completed two transfers.
The first one failed. Beta was negative.
The second? Positive.
I was pregnant for 10 weeks with our little baby boy, and then miscarried at Christmas.

2017 has been spent healing, physically and emotionally.
I have been working very hard to regain a sense of self that I seemed to lose along the way, over the last five years.
I have been in therapy to work through all the emotions I am having.
My husband and I have been on rocky ledges at times.
Talk of divorce has been a very real conversation.

We know we are stronger than this disease.
We want US back.
We are reconnecting in ways I haven't felt in years.

It's not linear. It's very bumpy and we have both crumbled and rebuilt over and over and over again.
Work and life have not been rosy either, and we are doing our best to keep putting one foot in front of the other...even if it's slow going.

Infertility can easily rob you of the joys in life.
I am learning to sow it into my soul, rather than laser focus on it while letting everything else that makes me ME slip through my fingertips.
I am working to find better balance, to live in the day rather than focus on all the planning that has never come to life yet.

I don't know if I will ever be a mom to an earth-side baby.
I am growing weary of fighting for it.
When I set out to become a mom, I never dreamed I would be up against such a battle.
It's like a tsunami. The force against my dream has been so rough, and I am not really a good swimmer.
Sometimes I don't know if it's better to let go or keep fighting.
I have found true joy again in times away from thoughts of never becoming a mom.
Life WOULD be a lot easier.
I think.

But that nagging regret...that I might regret not trying again, is what keeps me perked to keep going.
That maybe this chapter isn't over yet.
Either way, I am learning to be able to accept both routes.
That whether or not I am a mom does not wholly define me as a person.

I will keep writing about my life, to spread awareness that women and couples in similar situations are not weird and are most definitely not alone.
It's okay to not feel like you want to be a warrior against this disease forever.
And it's okay if you're at that point of taking Infertility on by the horns.
I know I sure as Hell was last year.

If you're still reading, thank you for participating in my journey so far.

One of the beautiful things about this disease is the community I have connected with.
Those of you in the midst of fertility treatments, or with an earth-side baby in your arms...you can help.

There is a website dedicated to documenting real-life stories and surveys about our treatments called FertilityIQ. I took the time a couple months ago to rate and detail my journey with Dr. Jacobs.

During NIAW, FertilityIQ is offering a $10,000 grant for completing a survey of your doctor and facility. This helps so much when trying to decide what to do when you are faced with fertility treatments. I blindly chose Dr. Jacobs, and I'm so glad that just kind of fell into my lap, but not everyone is so lucky.

This website helps put real-life information at our disposal...and it includes everything from the specialist themselves, all the way down to the admin staff, labs, pricing...the whole deal.

If you complete your survey by the end of the day April 27, 2017, you are entered for a chance to win that grant. The grant can be used for future treatments, or gifted to someone in need.

The survey can be completed HERE.
Details about the grant are HERE.

Again, thank you for following along for so many years. I cannot see the final destination for this journey just yet, but I hope to better incorporate the bad with the good moving forward.

Take care, XO

Grief Will No Longer Be My Crutch

We were graciously gifted a queen-sized bed from my parents (previously used, but still in excellent condition) that would replace the poor-quality full-sized bed in our guest room.

As this was the first queen sized bed we ever owned, I now had to come up with bedding.

Between a quick jaunt to Homegoods and snagging a nice comforter and two extras pillows from my mom...I now had a beautiful, neutral gray color scheme assembled....that didn't match my foggy blue walls.

Shit.

I was more in love with the bedding than I was the walls, so logically the only answer was to zip over to Ace, grab a gallon of paint, and spend the next three hours frantically painting, sipping Grapefruit Shandy's, and blasting Tom Petty.

And it was glorious.

This, my friends, is my mecca.
The windows were wide open, the warm wind swirling around the room.

It makes me happy to know I can create something beautiful with my own hands.
I have found more joy in minor home renovations during this season of grief than I ever imagined.

I feel glimpses of the real me during these times.
Happy, determined, unwavering, confident.

I want to move past this uncontrollable sadness and anger so bad I can't stand it.
I feel like I need to push myself past the anxiety and just. go. outside already.
I don't know why it's so different than when I would get ready to go to work...but it just is.

Did you know that it was nearly 80 degrees this entire weekend, and I didn't go outside once to enjoy it?
This is soooooo not like me. I live for warm weather.

I almost feel like I need to start forcing myself to say yes.
Just say yes.
Get to wherever I'm asked to be and see how I feel.
Right?

Mark shined up the new car all day Saturday, then asked me to go to dinner.
Such a nice gesture, right?

Well, apparently not for someone like me.
I huffed and puffed and cried and said I couldn't do it.

So instead, he went to the grocery store, bought lobster and wine, and made us dinner.

I mean...COME. ON. Who wouldn't be appreciative of that?

He is doing his part to accept his new crazy wife.
But shouldn't I be doing my part to be less crazy for him?

And then of course I felt guilty because he's so awesome and I'm so awful right now.

I'm so tired of feeling like this reclusive asshole.
I'm so tired of apologizing for my atrocious behavior.
I'm so tired of feeling like I'm using this crutch of grief to keep acting like a menace and just telling everyone they need to accept it.
I'm not me.

Right now I feel like I'm at that point in Kill Bill when she is buried in a wooden coffin, many feet below ground, where she has to literally punch her way out of the box and climb to the surface.

I'm past the point of running around scared and blaming grief.
I'm ready to punch through the fucking box and start climbing.

I know the fun, loud, laughing, sarcastic girl is in there somewhere.
I have been sitting around trying to wait for her to come back, but maybe I've been doing it wrong.
Maybe I have to resolve to go get her.
To force her back.
To get out my reclusive comfort zone and start living life again.

I keep watching warm, sunny days and people's laughter and gatherings from a distance.
I'm tired of watching everything as though it's a movie.

Grief will no longer be my crutch.
It will no longer define me.
I am so much more than infertility, and this loss, and this grief.

And I'll prove it.
Thanks for reading. XO

Healing from Grief: What is Good for my Soul

Healing from grief has been one of the most exhausting, yet defining moments in my life so far.

I never fathomed in a million years that I would still be struggling each week with my thoughts and emotions. I find myself fighting to get back to the old normal, while pushing the glimpses of a new normal aside.

I do recognize I am getting better.
My outbursts aren't as irrational.
I don't cry as often.

Right now I am certain of a few things...
I can't commit to plans, much less make decisions outside of work.
I lost my sense of humor and don't grasp sarcasm that well.
I don't tolerate bullshit in the slightest.

I'm a real peach, I tell ya.

I have been trying to be fun-loving and care-free...but I just can't.
And then I get mad at myself because I can't and don't understand why.

I'm not cutting myself any slack.

I see my husband rolling through life like December never happened. He seems to be past the worst of his grief, even if it does creep to the surface here or there. It's very rare if it does.

I see that and I don't understand why I'm not in the same place.
Why can't I just move forward and be normal, right?
When does it end?

None of this has an answer and not having a timeline for completion is literally making me insane.
I am exhausted with trying to justify why I'm acting crazy, or irrational at certain situations.
And I am tired of apologizing.

What I need is a little acceptance from those closest to me.
To hope that this isn't my new forever.
To know I AM getting the help I need.

To stop being so god damned pushy. Pushy belongs no where in my healing process.

I am literally exhausted from doing all the normal things I do in a week: hit the gym, meal prep, shower, go to work, connect with my husband and spend time with our pets, create beautiful things, grocery shop, clean the house.

And you can believe me when I say that I am so very frustrated with myself for hardly having any additional energy to be social. I tried it earlier this year and it made me a miserable cow.

When I was feeling good, I could plaster on a fake smile and get through the event, even if I wasn't feeling it...but right now I just can't.

My sleep is still broken.
My heart still hurts.
I still well up with tears.
I have headaches most days and a lot of tension in my shoulders.

But I am getting better with each passing day.

My therapist has reiterated that I don't need permission or persuasion from ANYONE, to do or feel one way or another. That I need to carve out more time for me...not only to spend time with the emotions surrounding grief...but also to just do what is good for my soul...whatever that is.

And what has been good for my soul right now is designing, and then doing nothing else.
We wrapped up our bedroom renovation last weekend and I couldn't be happier.
The next day, I grocery shopped and perused the aisles of Home Depot with my dog.
When I got home, I had to take a nap because I was overwhelmed.

Do you see how fragile I am right now?

As a challenging, always winning, Type A person...I wish you could understand how weird this is for me.

To need a nap because I went grocery shopping.
To get angry when someone is sarcastic with me.
To feel beaten down when someone tries to push me to be social.
To feel dizzy when someone asks me to make a decision.
To feel like the whole world views me as an alien.
To have people talk really, really slowly to me because they see me starting to get worked up over something small.

What is good for my soul is simplicity. I just wish I could implement it better.
There will always be plans. I am happy to be invited to them. I just know I can't commit to a lot of them.

My goal for April is to be more selfish. I guess I thought I was but apparently it's not enough.
I'm so used to making all the plans and decisions, and I totally get how weird it is to pull a 180 and back completely away from all of it.

My husband has been especially shocked. Simple questions like what should we eat for dinner are typically met with, please make the decision, I don't care.

It's rude. But like I said...I have no capacity right now for small talk. I am short with people.
I don't really mean it, but I really am so bone-tired most days that I am not nice.

I am expecting everyone around me to pick up my slack. I guess I never realized just how much I did before all Hell broke loose. I really did hold a lot of ropes together to keep the boat afloat.

Anyways, I suppose that's enough rambling for one day.
If you are going through something similar, please know that all of this is completely normal.
I would have laughed if someone said that to me three months ago, but it really is true.

At some point I will be a more consistently positive person, but today is not that day.
Thanks for reading. XO

Closure

Good morning.
As a lot of you know, I have been struggling to heal emotionally from my miscarriage.
For months I seem to be spinning in circles, never making it much further than a day or two a week where I feel "normal."

Usually by the weekend, all the emotions I have been ignoring all week, so I can get through work, come out in a big mess.

I'm not happy and as carefree as I have been in the past.
I have not had much hope for the future, or really given the future much thought.
It's hard to make plans, or decisions. Instead, I just try to move through each day and hope I don't completely break down.

I have been incredibly frustrated with myself.
That I can't just snap out of this funk, knowing I did all I could, and move forward.

I have known for a while that performing a very standard ritual of laying the baby to rest will likely ease my suffering. But getting to that point and resolving to actually make the effort to move forward has been the issue.

After roughly 24 hours of non-stop crying this weekend, I knew it was time.
Mark has wanted to add a large rock where Crash is buried, to make the area look nice, and I felt obligated to bury the babies memories as well, before we added the landscaping.

After he left me, I slept with his wubby (a tiny blanket with a bunny head) for a few months for comfort.
I gathered my pregnancy tests, an announcement photo, the letter confirming the discarding of our other abnormal embryos, my announcement t-shirt, the pig with wings I carried in my purse during our transfer, a bracelet I was going to give my brother with his due date on it, and finally, a letter I wrote to him.

We found a nice little box and put everything inside.
Mark dug a hole, I read the letter, we sobbed for a while, and finally laid his memories to rest.

Here is what I wrote (you might need a tissue)

But you know what?
I do feel better.
No sooner did we cover the little box with dirt....my heart started lifting.

Sure, I was tired and spent from the emotional toll the last few months have taken from me....but I laughed....really laughed this weekend, for the first time in a really long time.

I can't guarantee this was a cure-all for how sad I have been feeling.
At the very least, I feel like I was given permission to look into my future again...with hope.

And right now, that means everything to me.
Thank you for reading. XO

What Grief Really Feels Like After a Miscarriage

Hey there.
It has been three months since our miscarriage, so I thought I would talk a bit about how life has been, how we have been healing, and everything in between.

I have experienced loss and grief before. For the most part, I would fare to say that by the time we have hit our mid-30's...most of us have.

Grieving is not the same for everyone, but I thought I would share my thoughts.

Grieving the loss of a loved one, for me, was always a very downhill, linear process. I have witnessed losing someone over the course of a year, and also witnessed someone leave this earth over the course of a couple days.

I have to say, the long, drawn-out dying is hard to manage. Knowing at some point in the future, it's inevitably going to happen...waiting....day in an day out....praying....that maybe they will come out of it....accepting that it will eventually happen....you start to go through the grieving/healing process even before said loved one has passed onto the other side.

There is almost this sense of relief....a weight lifted, once it eventually happens. Not that you wouldn't trade that lighter feeling for a thousand more days with your loved one, but to finally have....closure....to know you can now heal and move forward with the wonderful memories of this person...says something.  Your life has been stagnant for so long while you waited for the other shoe to drop, that it's as if you have been given permission to move forward with their blessing.

The quick loss? Sort of like ripping a band-aid off. I had a deeply beloved grandfather essentially hide his ailments from his loved ones for as long as he could. He went on with life...at a slower pace, sure...but kept going until just a few days before his passing. In a weird way, I really loved that he did that. This may sounds sick but I was absolutely fascinated with his death. Not in a happy way, but that someone could keep his sense of self, until literally the day he passed seemed so honorable to me.  Sure, it came as a shock to us and we scrambled to coordinate his final days as he was laid to rest, but I much preferred the sanity that came pre-death, if that makes sense.

The days and weeks afterward were very tough. That grieving process, again, was rather linear. The overwhelming sadness of a life lost in my world went from all-encompassing to acceptable, to something I can now look back on with fondness, as opposed to tears 99% of the time.

Time truly does heal the grieving wounds.

When I miscarried, for the most part, I assumed my healing would be linear as well....and by linear, I mean similar to a slide. Not a very steep slide, but a slide nonetheless.

So in the first month, I did as I always did, and made plans.
I planned what the next year of IVF would look like.
I negotiated with doctors and laboratories and set-up insurance.

I planned outings with friends and family.
We distracted ourselves as best we could.

The explosion of emotions came often at first...every day in fact.
Whether it was sadness, or anger, or anxiety, or fist-clenching furious behavior, or all of the above...it was always there.

I felt heavy and exhausted and alone.

Friends and family sent an outpouring of love in those first couple of weeks, as would be typical in any loss.
We were especially grateful for the food,  as we literally didn't grocery shop for about a month. I could barely manage a shower at that point, and never bothered wearing anything different when at home.

How I made it into work in the weeks following the miscarriage is beyond me.
I was a shell of a person.
Fragile and angry and exhausted.

By the end of the first month, I seemed to be doing much better.
My crying spurts would show up unannounced once or twice a week, but I would force them away and move on with my life.

And then one day in February....I hit this massive wall.
I unloaded on Mark in a furious rage that scared both of us.
I threatened to ruin him and anything that got in my way.
I was livid. I was an embarrassment. I was so mad and scared and sad, and I could see myself doing all of this and I couldn't stop it. I could feel my blood boiling and the veins in my eyes about to explode. My fists clenched and I just screamed. I screamed and stomped and thrashed around like a complete maniac.
When I finally calmed down, I found myself unable to move.
I didn't make it into work the next day. I slept for hours and hours.
My mom came over at some point and just sat there...waiting for me to come downstairs.

At that point I couldn't see in the future.
I had no hope.
I couldn't understand why I even went to work. Why I was working so hard for a future I couldn't see anymore. I had no baby to keep me going. I had nothing.
I contemplated leaving the office. I stopped working out and lacked motivation for everything except feeding our pets.

I was scared because this relapse was how I felt at the time of my miscarriage.
I felt crazy and out of control and couldn't understand why it was happening AGAIN.

I knew the slightest thing could trigger my rage and anxiety, and I was SO. OVER. having people step in to try and help me. Phrases like, "it gets better with time" and "you will hop back in the saddle in no time" and "why are you still angry" and "you need to lighten up" haunted me and made me want to put my fist through a wall.

I KNEW I was acting crazy. No fucking person needs to keep reminding me.
I didn't need a band-aid.
I didn't need a solution.

I needed someone to validate that what I was going through was NORMAL.
I needed a shoulder to cry on, without judgement, for as long as fucking necessary until I could finally gasp for air again.

I felt more alone at this point that ever before.
My husband, poor guy, just wants things to be good again, he wants his "old wife back."

And here I am...sprouting these new, weird wings.

I am stronger and more aware of all the shit I am going through....but equally more fragile and timid.

I know what will set me off but I don't know HOW it will affect me...or WHEN for that matter.

The last thing I wanted to do was coordinate my insurance to deal with a dumb therapist.
But at the urging of family...I finally did.
It took a couple doctor's to find the right one.
I don't know if it will help, but at the very least, I have someone that I can unload on and can offer tips without trying to "fix" me.

These days, I know I am not 100%...but I am better than I was.
I will have a really, really good day....and the very next day I will feel that hollow void again.
But instead of pushing the feelings aside, I stop what I'm doing, and let them come.

Sometimes it takes minutes...sometimes it takes hours...and all my strength to allow it to happen.
It's not a perfect science.
But I supposed this is my new normal right now.
I am taking this overwhelming grief and molding it into something manageable.

A post shared by Mari Andrew (@bymariandrew) on Feb 12, 2017 at 1:14am PST

There are not traditional closing ceremonies with a miscarriage.
I don't have a baby to bury.
And that doesn't sit well with me.

So at some point in the near future, we WILL be having a burial.
Of all the memories, of all the struggles of 2016, of my pregnancy, and my loss.

I love having Crash in our back yard. I can go talk with him whenever I feel like it.
I'd like the same thing with our baby. To help find closure as we move forward with life.

What I can suggest is this...if you find yourself with a friend or family member that is grieving the loss of their baby, through miscarriage, stillbirth, or beyond....please keep reaching out.

They do NOT need a solution...they need friends that just want to be there and have fun with.
They do NOT need you to be a therapist and ask how you are doing.
Trust me...they will show you they are not doing well by not showing up or cancelling plans.
And that's okay.

I find myself volleying back and forth with whether or not I am strong enough this week to actually go through with plans. Some weeks I can do it, and some weeks I pull back.
This is all very normal.

So please, keep reaching out. They may say no a dozen times, and then one day they will say yes.
And they don't owe you an explanation, so please don't expect one.

They are protecting their heart and their well-being as best they can, and again, this is NOT a linear process.

It's more like a mountain. Some parts are easy to climb down from, and then you're hit with another peak that you have to get over before it gets easier again.
And that's just how it goes.

I have been stead-fast at work on our bedroom (finally). It will take a while to be completely finished, but I am thrilled with the results so far.

We our doing our normal things, just at a much slower, lighter pace. We don't talk too far into the future, and try not to look too far into the past.

I am happy to just be enjoying each day as it comes, even if it's it's still snowing in March. :)
Thank you for continuing to follow our journey. XO

We Lost Our Baby

At 10 weeks, 3 days, I miscarried.
About an hour or so after I published my 10 week bumpdate photo, we watched our baby slip through our fingers.

Christmas Eve was wonderful. Surrounded by family, Mark and I opened presents for the baby.
We laughed and talked about the future.
As the night progressed, I started to get a bit of lower back ache.
This had happened briefly the day before, so I just assumed I had been on my feet too long and needed rest.

The lower back ache slowly crept to the front of my stomach, but by the time I went to bed that evening, it had all but subsided.

Christmas day was much of the same. I had mild, ongoing cramping along with lower back pain.
I'll just take it easy, I thought.

The uncomfortable sensation kept up during dinner with my parents, and for the first time, I suspected something was off.

That evening, just after midnight, the aching had become so abundant that I could barely move.
I stood up and felt wet.
Shit.
I hobbled to the bathroom and realized there was brown blood.
Old blood is good blood...I kept repeating.
Until it wasn't.
Another trip to the bathroom confirmed the first bout of bright red blood.
I nearly passed out at the sight.
The waves of pain and nausea mimicked that of when I had to take Misoprostol, to mimic labor pains.

I took some Tylenol and prayed to keep our baby safe.
A couple hours later, the pain had passed, and so had much of the bleeding, and I finally fell asleep.

This morning, I met up with a lovely younger couple and eagerly handed over the remainder of my IVF medication, as they were paying out of pocket.

In exchange, we were given a most generous present of yet more baby clothes, each one cuter than the last.

And the entire time I chatted with them, I could feel the pain returning.

I laid on the couch with the dog, wrapped up my bumpdate post, and Mark walked through the door.

I'm so glad you're home, I smiled at him.

I hit publish on the blog post, and was immediately flooded with texts of concern, at the mention of my cramping.

I'm ok, really. This stuff happens all the time. We're taking it easy....I responded.

I headed upstairs to lay down.

The cramping became extremely intense when I laid on my left side, like almost immediately.
It had this weird popping sensation.
I slowly rolled over to the other side but still couldn't get comfortable.

The next 20 minutes were spent rushing between the bathroom and my bed.
Every time I wiped, more blood, brighter blood.

Then a small clot.
Mark and I examined it.
It's small...I think that's just leftover because it's dark looking.
I agree.

Back and forth.
A few minutes later, I watched something much larger fall.

Oh my God....MARK!!!! Baby, I think it's the baby.
I plunged my hand into the toilet.....it was.
I went ghostly white.

Our beautiful baby.
No bigger than my thumb....sitting in the palm of my hand.

It was over.
My doctor was on call and I spoke with him about the miscarriage.
We wrapped him up and drove down the road to his office, where upon arrival, I passed the placenta.

Mark was a mess, puking and generally ill.
I stared off into the distance.

The doctor chatted with us for a bit then gave me an exam.
Luckily, no D&C is needed.

Everything was said and done, nearly as cleanly as possible, within the hour.

So, we are home.
I will be taking bereavement this week.
We need rest.

This year has been one big fuck-you, and this most definitely is the icing on the cake.
It's weird.....making life plans...and then having them stolen from you in a matter of minutes.
It's NOT. FUCKING. FAIR.

I know Mark and I will be fine.
I know we are strong together.
We know we could use a break....a different perspective.

Life will sure be different, knowing we will never be parents.
We poured our everything into making this happen...we have tried and failed to be parents for five years.
And now it's over.
We absolutely have no regrets.
But this chapter will be closing.

Life moves on, and we need to keep up.
We don't believe it's healthy to continue to make the sad times and struggle the norm.
We married each other, not for our parenting skills, but because we are soul mates.

And we will continue to love and honor each other.
Perhaps we'll travel more....maybe adopt more dogs.....maybe retire early.
Whatever it is...we'll do it together.

Thank you, for your continued support.
For your love and gifts and kind words, especially in the droves of IVF this year.
We were not expecting this....but we will get through it.

I may be a little social media shy in the near future, but know we are healing as the minutes pass.
Thank you for reading. XO