Dear Future Self

Dear Future Self,

One day you are going to be reading your baby's book, and come across this blog. (Maybe it'll be printed out in a baby book, or maybe by then, your baby will be given an iPad with his birth certificate and this is still electronic. Either way, continue reading.) If you're anything like you are now, you will forget a lot of the lessons you've learned promptly after learning them. So I want to remind you of a couple things, just to be sure you never forget.

1. Remember the power of friendship. When you know someone is going through a hard time, remember to mail that card or send that text or bring over the dinner or show up to take them out for drinks. That person will never forget what you did or said or how that support made them feel. Also remember that a glass of wine really helps the soul.

2.  Remember that someday when you tell people you're expecting baby number three, it's possible that the news may make their heart skip a beat. However, just because they're fighting for a baby of their own, doesn't mean they aren't overjoyed for you. Remember that you were always elated for every friend or family member or colleague that told you they were pregnant during your journey. While it may remind that person of his/her own sadness, they are happy for you, just like you were happy for all your loved ones who grew their family before you could. The mind is weird like that; it can long for what someone has, but also be SO FREAKING PUMPED that their loved one has it.

3. When you have changed far more diapers and made far more bottles than him one day, remember your husband is your best friend. Remember the days he talked you through tears after something happened to trigger emotions of sadness or hopelessness of the future. Remember the days when he held your hand even tighter than he did during the FSU National Championship game. Remember the days your husband entertained your ideas of possibly not having kids, but then reminded you that he thinks this is a battle worth continuing. Remember the days he lifted you off the ground (only sometimes literally) and got you through the day. Remember the days your husband never missed one of the gazillion doctors appointments and kept your medicine more in order than you ever could. Remember the times you both laughed as you reminisced over the days where you used to care about the gender of the baby, and how you both could care less now.  Remember the days your husband went gluten-free with you, because there was a small chance that could help lower miscarriage rates.  Remember all of these things during your most sleep-deprived nights, when he is snoring and a baby is screaming.

4. Sometimes people say things without thinking.  Cut those people some slack.

Someone recently said to you, "Oh yes- I know exactly what you're going through. We had to almost see a fertility specialist after a few months of trying without getting pregnant. It was awful." That comment made you feel so isolated and angry. However, you had to be reminded that the person was trying to say, "I remember how heartbroken I was after unsuccessfully getting pregnant a couple of times, so I'm trying to relate to you because I love you."

Or when people have said, "You can always adopt!" and you've wanted to yell, "You have no idea about the process of adoption. You have no idea about those hurdles or the wait list. You have no idea about any of this!" Instead, you've had to learn that those people meant, "I have hope in your future."

So, future self, remember to cut people some slack when they say the wrong things. Chances are their hearts are in the right place. (And let's admit it, you have needed some slack given to you on some not-so-smart things you've said.)


5. Remember it's ok to be heartbroken. It's a lesson you're having some trouble learning. You've mastered how to be angry and confused. You've learned how to move forward and you've learned how to focus on hopeful things. You're beginning to understand that it's ok to admit that you're just plain sad, but it's still a tough reality for you to face. Like your favorite blogger 'Momastry' wrote, "Sometimes it's hard to be blue because you know you're supposed to be grateful for all you have. But please don't tell yourself you can't be sad because someone somewhere is sadder unless you're also going to refuse to be happy because somebody somewhere is happier."  So, future self, remember that the beauty of being brokenhearted is that your heart will be put back together again. No one stays broken forever. And if you've learned anything from all your trips antique shopping with your mother, it's that the cracks and warps and stains are what make it beautiful.

Most of all, future self, remember that life got really hard; but remember that you got through it.

Love,
You

Fertility Treatments: The Next Hunger Games

We went back to see the doctor today after a long phone conference with her on Friday. Today it was confirmed that there is no heartbeat, and the embryo has stopped growing. This will result in another miscarriage.

I don't really have much to say. We thought with guaranteed good embryos, with constant monitoring of my blood and hormone levels, and with drugs to combat any autoimmune disorder, that we had dotted our i's and crossed our t's. We feel disappointed and sad and confused and sad and angry and sad and frustrated and sad.

Our doctor spoke with us for a long time this morning, explaining different options. Although there is nothing we can do differently next time, she encouraged us to try again using our remaining good embryos. This way we'll know for sure that it wasn't just some random fluke, but that it's definitely an issue with me carrying. Moving straight to a gestational carrier is a big jump, (physically, emotionally, and financially) so we want to be certain we have exhausted all chances before going that route. Then, after a failed "next time", we will move forward with a gestational carrier. (If we go that route, we have decided not to use someone we know and love, but to go with a third party surrogacy carrier, for a variety of different reasons that I won't get into.)

During this process, we have "beat the odds" in the most negative ways possible. If there was a "very slight risk" of something happening, then it probably happened. If there was a 95% chance something should happen, then it probably didn't. Next time we do this, we've been told that there is a "slight chance" that the results will be different. (About 5% chance) But since we have been the 1 in 100 on all of the other things, we think we'll make those odds work for us this time! (I dressed up as Katniss Everdeen during opening night of The Hunger Games, and if she can beat the odds, so can we.) 

Like Effie Trinket says, "May the Odds Be Ever In Your Favor."

Love to all,

Kendall and Will

One of those days.

I'm going to be honest...today is one of those days that I really wish I didn't start a blog for the world to read. Today is one of those days I wish I didn't have to tell wonderfully loving people in my life some disappointing news. Today is one of those days I'd like to crawl in my bed in the dark and just watch Usher, Blake Shelton and Adam Levine on Hulu and be left alone. Today is a day I'd like to cry a lot and be really angry that the hundreds of shots (Literally! We counted!) in my stomach and my bum haven't done anything, except for leave me looking like a domestic abuse victim. To put it simply, today is a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

We went to our 6 week appointment today. We had convinced ourselves we were going to hear the heartbeats of our two little babies for the first time. (Remember, they put in two embryos.) We discussed where we'd go to dinner tonight to celebrate, how to hold the camera to videotape the heartbeats on the screen, and how we'd do a gender reveal to tell our families it's twins.  (If you can't tell, things didn't go quite like that.)

On the ultrasound, they saw one gestational sack. The other one possibly never attached, I've already miscarried, or was absorbed by the other embryo. (Google 'vanishing twin'... although it won't be as creepy as you think.) However,  in the gestational sack they weren't able to detect a "fetal pole." (I'd explain what that was if I knew.) Because we are at a highly specialized place, they hope to be able to see that at 6 weeks with their advanced machines. However, if they can't, the results aren't 100% until 7 weeks. So we will go next week (when I'll be 7 weeks) to verify if there is something in the gestational sack, or if I've already miscarried.

The ultrasound tech told us to be optimistic, to take deep breaths, and to relax this next week. (I really wanted to tell her to "shove it", but I refrained.) We've been in that exact same room, with the exact same nurse, and have been told the exact same thing; "Come back in a week... we'll hopefully see something different then!" We're just a little burned on the optimism.

I know we have two options this next week. We can sulk and mourn a bit, or we can be optimistic and hope for good news in a week. If I'm honest, I plan on doing both. I plan to eat a lot of ice-cream and cookie dough in attempts to myself feel better. (My dear friend reminded me that on days like today, calories don't count.)   I plan on crying and hugging Will a lot, and having some "next step" talks. But then, after this terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day, I plan on being optimistic. (Because if its own mom can't root for the little embryo to make it, who will?) I plan on convincing myself that I'm just being a dramatic, primadonna, and that everything will be A-OK when we go back in a week. (I also plan on laughing a lot, like remembering the time one of my sisters and I realized that it was a "primadonna", and not a "pre-madonna". In our defense, definitions mean basically the same thing...) I plan on preparing for when the nurse says "Miracles Happen! Listen to that heartbeat!"

I can't wait for the day to be one of those days... because THAT will be a happy day.

Love,
Kendall and Will