Dark Days

Wednesday, May 6, 2015


dark-days
Image foundhere.

For any one of you who ever experienced a tragedy in your life, you most likely understand this post all too well. In the midst of the storm, when lightening first strikes and the pain and heartache is fresh, you are surrounded by people. You are wrapped in a warm blanket as the rain (and the world) come crashing down around you. You get phone calls, texts, messages, people coming by with food and gifts, more offers for help than you know what to do with when the storm first strikes. You might be experiencing the greatest heartache of your life, but you are surrounding with arms and helping hands. If you’ve ever been through this, you know how comforting this feeling is. You also know what comes next…

The sun comes out, well for the rest of the world the sun comes out. For you, you might have a brief time period where you are hanging on to the lingering love that’s just been poured down on you. But then, then you suddenly find yourself curled up in ball lost, confused, heartbroken, ALONE, scared, devastated, depressed… The phone is no longer blowing up, Social Media is quiet, your house has become a disaster (you feel like your life has too), you struggle to get dressed, you can’t focus on anything you need to, you cry all the time and if you’re aren’t crying you’re on the verge of… The energy from others you once used to sustain you has run out. You feel broken, lost and so incredibly alone.

For many, the days after the harsh storm are the darkest, and the hardest. It makes sense, people have to move forward with their lives, they too get exhausted reading, hearing, following your story, and you can understand, it’s exhausting! But for you, the one still in the midst of the storm, it is debilitating and moving on seems impossible. You want to move forward as well but sometimes, no matter how hard you try, you can’t. You’re stuck. You’re moving forward but it’s like being on a treadmill, you go nowhere. Your heart is still broken, it still aches as much as it did the day the lightning struck. You find that people expect you to get back on track with life, work, study, be a parent, be a spouse, keep up on chores, fulfill your commitments, finish projects…you can’t blame them, things have to get done, you certainly can’t drown in your tears forever.

But…

Pain has no expiration date. You don’t have one or two weeks/months/years to get over it and move forward, your heart and your brain don’t work that way. When those around you have moved forward from your story, you still have to live it, EVERY SINGLE DAY, every SINGLE WAKING HOUR. Your heart has NOT stopped working, you still find yourself shivering alone in the rain, and although this time you have to find the strength to wrap yourself up. It’s dark, the days following the storm are so, so dark.

Someone close to me said to me a week after we lost our embryos, “Smile, life goes on!” I wanted to punch her in the face. Everyone talks about the rainbow that appears after a storm, but it doesn’t seem to appear for you. You try your hardest to see it, but you see a dark sky. Some days the literal sun is out and you hate it, after all how could it be shining when your heart is aching so badly.

The dark days following the storm can seem lonely, scary and bleak, there is no rainbow, although people might try to point it out to you. Will the rainbow come, I imagine it will, it has always eventually came for me. I’m in the midst of my dark days, I don’t have an answer for you as to how to get through it, how to survive it, but can only simply say you’re not alone after all I’m just another girl sitting here hoping for a rainbow, too and I love you broken and all.

XOXO,
Deja

The Easy Part

Tuesday, May 5, 2015



I have wanted to write this post for some time now, and today seems like the perfect day. Today is Cinco de Mayo, but it’s also my favorite human’s birthday.
Lucas and I met almost 8 years ago on our first day of graduate school. For him it was love at first sight, he said he knew he would marry me as soon as he saw me. I was just freshly coming out of a divorce and was beyond okay with being single, in fact I preferred it. Lucas was persistent though and kept offering me a ride home after class in which I continuously rejected. One night after class, my “best friends” refused to give ma a ride home and “made” me get a ride with Lucas. I’m so glad they did.

Just months after meeting, Lucas was deployed to Iraq for a year. I had no clue what I was getting into when I chose to love an Army man, especially one who was being deployed. I struggled immensely through his deployment and we grew apart during that time. I had no idea what to do, I struggled to understand my feelings, I had no military support system, and because of this we grew apart, we never stopped loving each other, but we grew apart. The days nearing the end of his deployment and his return still break my heart to think about. He was broken, I was broken and we couldn’t each piece ourselves together enough to make it work. We both spent time tackling our own demons and eventually we came back together, each of us stronger and better prepared for each other. That time was one of the darkest of our lives but when it was over, the light was brighter and stronger. I have grown to love this Army man beyond anything I knew I was capable of.

Lucas and I have actually had a very easy marriage. We’ve been through career changes, PTSD, graduate school, failed infertility treatments, illness and much more but it has actually been pretty easy. Being married to Lucas isn’t hard; he makes it easy and even enjoyable. Even in our darkest hours, especially through infertility, our marriage has never been in trouble. We have grown to love each other in a way that I don’t think either of us thought would be possible. Life has been hard, but our marriage hasn’t been. I find it so easy to love Lucas.

Lucas has been everything I’ve needed through our infertility journey. He is always there for me when I need it, even though he doesn’t always know how to help me. He has been a listener, a punching bag, a rock, a comforter, a human tissue box, a constant companion, and a patient, patient man. If there is anything than can test the strength of a marriage, it’s infertility. The pain that comes with infertility is excruciating at times and unbearable, this can cause a great strain to a marriage. When you have to face one of the most surreal heartaches life can bring, it can break a strong marriage. Infertility can indeed break a marriage, but it can also increase its strength.

Through all the heartache, pain and loss, one thing has been constant, Lucas. He reassures me daily of how much he loves me, of how I’m his favorite part of every day, of how beautiful I am; of how strong I am…he’s my constant. Infertility is hard, but with the right partner, it’s a little less hard.

Happy Birthday Lucas!



Broken

Thursday, April 16, 2015




Have you ever hurt so badly that you feel like you are walking around with “broken” written on your forehead? That not matter how hard you try to cover up your pain with a new hair style, make-up or cute clothes, everyone still notices. You get that look, more than once a day; from strangers who see the pain oozing out of whatever you’ve used to cover “it” up? I have felt this way lately, although it’s a rare day anymore that I have the energy to “cover it up.”

We met with our doctor on Tuesday for our “What’s next meeting”. Dr. F explained to us, again, that what went wrong during our first round of IVF was that my eggs compromised our embryos. Over a decade of endometriosis has taken a much larger toll on my body than any of us had realized. To go from 14 embryos to 2, in a matter of hours, is uncommon and disappointing, even to the lab. We used our meeting to ask as many questions as we could about what our future options are. There were a handful of times during the meeting I choked back tears as I tried to ask questions that I’d never thought I’d have to ask. I did NOT want to cry in that meeting and it took everything in me not to.

The plus side, we do have options, very, very expensive options. The one option we do NOT have is to try IVF again right away. 1. We have no embryos saved up, and 2. If not treated, my disease will again just kill off our embryos. One of the options we do have is to treat my endometriosis. I have been through this process twice before in my life, to decrease some of my heavy bleeding and pain. The treatment is taking monthly injections called Depot Lupron which should kill of the endometriosis (temporarlitly-endometriosis will always come back). I’ve done this exact treatment before and was still unable to get pregnant. I also have lasting side effects from these treatments including early osteoporosis and an increased heart rate. My doctor seems to think a low dose of this treatment, for 3 months could do the trick (and wouldn't cause any addition side effects). HOWEVER, there is just a 50% success rate in that my eggs would be made viable again.

Our second option is to use an egg donor. This would mean Lucas and I go through a catalog and pick someone, with similar characteristics as myself, to be our donor. We would still use Lucas’ sperm to create our embryos. This would replace my eggs with non-diseased eggs and increase our likelihood of pregnancy significantly. The down side-it’s no longer my genetics involved.

Either option using IVF would cost over $13,000 (egg donation more). It would take us time to be able to save up that money to do either procedure again. Ambree could still be our carrier but want to work on her own family, so if we can’t raise the money in time, we’ll be out of options for IVF.

Confused yet!?! We have been too. We have some major decisions to consider at this point. If we were ever able to come up with the money, we would have one shot to make it work. There is this lingering, nagging feeling that I want my eggs to be the ones to use, but a 50% chance of them being viable is not ideal. Using an egg donor would increase our chances drastically of our embryos surviving, but the eggs won’t be mine.

We will do everything we can to make the best decision for us at this point, nothing is off the table. Adoption is an option, but we’ve felt VERY strongly that we should try the IVF route first.

Money. I hate thinking money is making me depressed, for any reason, but it is. It’s a lot of money we have to come up with and it’s hard not to feel hopeless and lost. We have looked into many loan options in the past and for one reasons or another don't qualify. We are seeking out options for grants right now, but it's time consuming and exhaustive--we're still working on them.

As for myself, I am trying to get re-focused on my life before IVF took it over, school, teaching, full-filling commitments, improving my marriage…all important things to me. Our baby will always be on my mind though. Trying to function daily has felt much like dealing with grief, losing our two embryos, realizing I may never be able to create a baby, the heartache of our first cycle ending far earlier than we had hoped, the financial strains…the grief is real and crippling at times.

I’m exhausted. I feel utterly broken. I feel like giving up from time to time. I feel like I’m going to cry, or rip someone’s head off ever 20 second. I want to pause life and take a break. I feel absolutely tattered. I can’t pretend today that I’m okay, or that I feel hopeful, I simply don’t feel it. I feel weak, tired and broken beyond repair. Much like this rose above, I feel severed and small. Thank you again for your love and support through this all.

XOXO,
Deja

P.S. Sorry this post didn’t end on an optimistic note today, it just wasn’t in me this time.


Say something.

Thursday, April 9, 2015


I sobbed at this part of the movie...because I could relate.
Image for the movie Up-Couple coping with infertility.

As I sat on the bus on my way to work today, my 32nd birthday, this song came on on my iPod..

Say something, I'm giving up on you
I'll be the one, if you want me to
Anywhere I would've followed you
Say something, I'm giving up on you

And I am feeling so small
It was over my head
I know nothing at all

And I will stumble & fall
I'm still learning to love
Just starting to crawl

Say something, I'm giving up on you
I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you
Anywhere I would've followed you
Say something, I'm giving up on you

And I will swallow my pride
You're the one that I love
And I'm saying goodbye

Say something, I'm giving up on you
And I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you
And anywhere I would've followed you (Ooh-oh)
Say something, I'm giving up on you

It was a dark, cloudy, rainy morning today as I looked out the bus window and sobbed as I listened to these lyrics. It’s not a great feeling when you “finally break” and it’s on public transportation, it’s not ideal, nor is preferable, but it was my time to FINALLY feel something and I took it in.
Yep, I was the crazy woman on the bus SOBBING and I’m okay with it.

I’m 32 today, a seemingly irrelevant, unsubstantial birthday, but to me a photo montage of everything I hoped I’d be by 32 buzzed through my head, in music video splendor. I have to say, that I’m not ashamed of who I am at 32, I’ve been through a lot, gained a lot (not just lbs.), changed a lot, loved a lot, improved a lot, and grown a lot. I’ve had to go through a lot but I’m glad I have become I’m better for it.

Of course, the image of being a mom made its way into my life montage. I thought I’d be a mom by now, I really did. I imagined I’d be taking my kids to baseball or dance practices, (embarrassing them because we have to take the bus to get there), helping them with their homework, picking out their outfits, teaching them important things about morals and cupcakes…the important things. There’s no secret that THIS (video in my mind) was how I imagined life to be at 32.

I know my self-worth is not linked to being a mother. I know that I have had great success in my life, despite having children. I know that I will be okay, even happy, if I cannot have children. I know that I have accomplished a lot and that shouldn’t be diminished because I’m not a mom. I know this, and I know I’m okay, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

I think of my friends who, for one reason or another, can’t have kids, or have not had the opportunity to have kids. I’ve seen these women deal with the heartache of not facing motherhood in this life. I’ve seen these strong, confident, independent, successful woman struggle with not being able to be moms, and I always thought to myself, “How do they do it? How do they move on when they want something so badly, but they can’t have it?”

After I cried through the song a few times, and let the tears fall freely I was coming up to my destination. I knew it was time to wipe the tears, hold my head up and walk into my work where I needed to pull it together for my students. My students trust me to teach them really important things, they rely on me to give them important tools for success in life and they need me.

I realized today that it’s okay to feel the pain and heartache. It’s okay to let ourselves fall apart because life isn’t quite the way we imagined it to be. It’s okay to want to give up from time to time.  BUT…we have a journey we are on and we MUST, oh we MUST eventually pick ourselves up and face a world for which we have a purpose to be in. It’s okay to stop, take it in, understanding why we are hurting and face the reality of our situation. Its okay to say, “God, where are you? Why aren’t you helping me? Why can’t I have what I want so very much? Please, SAY SOMETHING!”

“And I will stumble & fall
I'm still learning to love
Just starting to crawl
Say something I’m giving up on you.”

Once you’ve asked your questions, don’t forget who you are.
I am NOT a non-mother. I am NOT broken. I am NOT a failure. I am NOT along. I am NOT at the end of my story yet.
I am 32. I’m a teacher. I’m a wife. I’m a daughter. I’m a good friend. I’m the best damn aunt ever. I’m a student. I’m an advocate. I’m a leader. I’m slightly broken. And I’m okay.

XOXO,
Deja

Listen to:

Think i have heard members say something very similar
Perhaps strenght doesn't reside in having never been broken...but in the courage required to grow strong in the broken places.