"Opposite of Loneliness"

Over the past few days I've received a couple emails from friends saying "Give us an update!" (To those friends- I love you. Thank you for caring.) The truth is that I've become a bit more "reserved" in the past couple weeks. As we've told people we're continuing down the route of a gestational carrier, I found myself becoming more and more nervous. I was constantly holding my breath to see how someone would respond or what they would say. So instead of putting myself through the anxiety, I decided I would just stop talking about it entirely. 

Well, I just left church and the sermon was one of those "this-is-for-you-Kendall-so-you-better-listen" type sermons. The gist of the sermon was this: If we shut ourselves out to the world, we are missing the most wonderful thing that we can experience as human beings. Going through life with "family",  (not necessarily the family we're born with, but the community/friends/family we choose to surround ourself with), is when we are living out the essence of our existence.  We must allow ourselves to be open, and thus allow ourselves to nurture and be nurtured by others.

One of the sermon illustrations was Marina Keegan, the Yale grad who gave her commencement speech and then was killed 5 days later in a car accident. She spoke about her experience at Yale, and named the commencement address "The Opposite of Loneliness." The commencement essay was about how wonderful it was to be part of something bigger than she was. Throughout the sermon, and after reading her whole essay, I realized that if I don't allow myself to be open, even though with "open" comes "vulnerable", then I'm the one missing out.

So here we go, guys. We're headed on a new journey. I wish I could tell you what happens at the end, but I'm not quite sure myself.  But in a new effort to be open, I'll start by tackling some of the hardest questions I've been asked.

Why are you using a gestational carrier?

This is tough, because I don't have a long diagnosis to spit out. As far as the doctors know, my immune system has never/will never be hospitable for an embryo. It becomes inflamed and can't tell what are foreign cells (like virus or bacteria cells), and what isn't. Therefore, my body attacks anything it doesn't recognize (like an embryo.) Because in most cases a diagnosis like this doesn't change with time, we aren't waiting or continuing with further treatment.

You're going to use a surrogate or a gestational carrier? What's the difference?

This is a hard question to answer because traditional surrogacy doesn't really exist as frequently as it once did. But generally speaking, a surrogate is when the carrier is using her own egg. So a contract would be for a woman to carry her biological child and would undergo artificial insemination with sperm from the potential father. The surrogate is genetically linked to the child she's carrying. 

However, a gestational carrier is when the embryo is not genetically related to the carrier. She is transferred the embryo from intended parents, and then carries it with no genetic connection. She is literally "just the oven."  (Some women do use an egg donor AND a gestational carrier. But that's another story for another time.)

However, since traditional surrogacy doesn't happen much anymore in the U.S., the word "surrogacy" is often used in place of "gestational carrier." So I may say "my surrogate" at times, even though we are using a gestational carrier.

So how does this work? 

Well, we aren't 100% sure. We will be figuring a lot of it out as we go. We are using an agency to help us find a carrier and work with us throughout the process. Gestational carriers do get paid a large sum for their service, but many of them also have a heart to give back to others. (One potential gestational carrier said "The gift of motherhood was the greatest gift I've ever received. It would be an honor to give that gift to someone else." Enter waterworks.)  

All of the potential carriers have had a child of their own, and go through rigorous physical/physiological evaluations. It's a little like "blind dating". We have met a few girls, and we hope we are getting a few steps closer. (We have to like them, and they have to like us.)  If a carrier doesn't live in our area, she will do the embryo transfer in Houston, and then see her own OB/GYN in her home city. We will travel for doctors' appointments and we will be in the room during labor/delivery.

Why don't you just adopt?

Adoption is a wonderfully magnificent way to become a parent. And maybe someday in our future, Will and I will adopt. For now, we have frozen embryos that we want to persue. The wait to adopt a newborn is several years, and almost the same amount of money as the route we're currently perusing.  It is not the "easy quick fix" that you may be expecting. Unfortunately, there is no "just" in "just adopt." 

Why doesn't one of your sisters carry it for you?

My sisters are by far the biggest blessing I could imagine in this world. I would trust any of my sisters far beyond I could trust myself to carry a child. However, this isn't a "Will you run to the grocery store for me?" type of favor. I have three sisters who will all start or continue a family in the next few years. To ask or expect any of them to carry this for me would be asking them to stop perusing their dream family. (Unless I want to ask my sister in college to carry. And I don't think her sorority or Young Life would allow her to walk around knocked-up.) While I know any of my sisters would give her right arm for me, I want her to use that right arm for the life she wants, not the life I'm after.

Does Will have sex with the woman you choose? 

No. Surely you're joking, but since I've been asked the question twice in 2 weeks, I guess it should be addressed. Like I explained previously, the embryo is genetically ours. There is no sex to be had, although I appreciate your creativity. Our embryos have been frozen from our previous IVF cycles. Our carrier will be transferred an embryo in a hospital room, not a hotel room. 

Are you going to tell?

I'm not really sure what this question means, but I've been asked it often. Am I going to tell my child? Absolutely. His/her journey into this world is one I'm already proud of. He/She is very wanted, so there's no reason I would hide this. Am I going to tell a person in the elevator that my baby was born via a gestational carrier? Probably not. Am I going to tell Facebook/whole world? Well, to be honest - I'm just not sure yet. (Baby steps, for now.)

This is so scientific. I don't think God is "in" this. 

I've luckily only received this feedback a few times, and I'm still not quite sure how to say "Hmmm... well we must worship different Gods, then." My God is ever so present in this situation. He has created people who have blessed us in this journey far more than I could have imagined.  It is because of Him, not "in spite" of Him, that we are here. He has created our doctor with genius-like brains and incredible bedside manner.  He has created our embryologists, who have helped science get this far. He has blessed us with Sarah Barnett, a dear friend (who is becoming our personal genetic counselor) who has helped us walk through many genetic questions. He has walked with us through every heartbreak and turmoil thus far. Our God is very much in this.

I know all of you may have a lot more questions, and we know there are more questions than answers, for now. Luckily, we seem to learn more each day. 

Marina Keegan, the Yale graduate, wrote in her essay:  "It’s just this feeling that there are people, an abundance of people, who are in this together. Who are on your team."

Thank you, to all of you, for being in this with us. You are the best team.

Heading Down a Road Less Traveled

It's been a rough couple weeks, folks. But we're still standing! 

 

Week before last was mostly just navigating through the physical pain. Finally we had the surgery to remove the embryo, and on day 4 post-op, I was finally off all pain medications and could generally function again. 

 

We've spent a lot of time reading about next steps and deciding if going the route of a gestational carrier was for us. We've talked with our doctor, spoken with a caseworker from a surrogate/gestational carrier agency, and Googled so much about surrogacy that I'm sure my internet pop-ups will now never be anything but diapers and stroller ads.

 

One article we read was from Jimmy Fallon. He and his wife recently had a child born via a carrier. He said; "We tried lots of things before, we told people and then it didn't happen, and it's just really depressing. It's really hard on everybody."

 

We know this is true. We love all of you for crying and hurting with us, but we also recognize that this has been hard on a lot of people. Hard on our families. Hard on relationships with friends who may not completely understand why we have not quite been ourselves. Hard on our careers. Hard on my body. It's been hard. 

 

So because of how difficult this has been, and because of the direction and advice we've received from our doctors, we have decided to move forward with a gestational carrier and stop trying with my body. We know we have completely exhausted our current avenue, and while it has really sucked, we know we've done all we could.  We have tried naturally. We have tried being monitored constantly. We have tried drugs. We have tried IVF with genetically perfect embryos.  We have been tested for everything under the sun. And so six miscarriages later, we now can positively confirm that my body/ immune system just isn't quite keen on me carrying a baby. And while I am so sad, for lots of reasons, that I won't be the one to bring our baby into the world, I am SO thankful that we have another avenue. We have hope and excitement as we prepare to go down the road a little less traveled. 

 

Jimmy Fallon also said, "We tried for a long time. I know people have tried much longer, but if there's anyone out there who is trying and they're just losing hope... just hang in there. Try every avenue; try anything you can do, 'cause you'll get there. You'll end up with a family, and it's so worth it. It is the most 'worth it' thing. I'm just so happy right now. I'm freaking out."

 

So for now we're taking good ol' Jimmy's advice and we're just "hanging in there." We're concentrating on the hope that someday we will have a baby with Will's bright blue eyes and my bullheadedness. We are thankful that we can continue with totsicles we already have and with a doctor we've grown to love and trust. We are hopeful that our potential gestational carrier will become part of our family, and that in the end, we'll get the baby God meant for us to have. 

 

I was telling my family last week that I don't know for certain how all this works, but I hope that the soul of our past babies get to go back into the heavens and wait their turn to be picked again. I hope that they will make their way down to Earth someday in a body that is strong for all 40 weeks and will be greeted with the same love and excitement that we had. My sister, Katie, said "Yes, those souls are back out there. But the soul meant for you and Will is still waiting."  

 

So with that, we wait with hope.

Love to all,
Kendall and Will

Today is a hard day.

Today marks eight weeks of pregnancy. Today also marks the day that we were told the heartbeat has stopped. I'll have surgery later this week to collect embryonic tissue for testing, in hopes that it may bring any answers.

It's almost funny, actually. Last night at bible study our book was talking about Jesus' miracles in the book of John. It raised the question "why are the signs or miracles in the book of John numbered?" Jesus' last miracle in that gospel is His resurrection. It's His 8th sign. After 7 miracles comes His last big miracle that brings peace and new creation. I actually thought to myself last night, "OMG! I'm on miracle of week 8 and am beginning to finally feel peace. Good one, Apostle John!" (Obviously that's not the point of the book or the miracles, but I'm only a selfish human and liked imagining it was Jesus doing a 'Wassup Kendall, this message is for you' type thing.)

If I'm honest, Will and I are not good.  Today is a hard day. Will stood beside me with our video camera ready to film the heartbeat as we were told the news. We are surprised. We feel angry. We feel confused. We wonder if our journey to parenthood ends here, or if we have it in us to continue to surrogacy. We wonder what any of this was supposed to teach us. We wonder how many times we can repeat "This can only make us stronger!"

Mostly, we're waiting for the next miracle, and the peace and new creation that comes with it.

Love to all,
Kendall and Will

A Day for the Books.

If I could describe the past 24 hours, it would definitely be a mix of tears and curse words and tears and hugs and tears. I didn't know it was possible to cry this much.

 

On Tuesday I traveled to Dallas for work. It was a quick day trip, and I thought it would be perfect to distract myself the day before our big appointment. Without going into too many details (mostly because I probably still have PTSD from the experience), I miscarried in Dallas. I was scared and sad and just wanted to be home. I landed at the airport with Will waiting for me, and my wonderful friends Kate and Russell were there to drive my car home. I can't tell you what that night was like. We cried A LOT. The only silver lining was that while I was at the airport in a lot of pain, I bought little Tylenol packets in an airport kiosk. Turns out I was too panicked to read them, and they were Tylenol PM. So after a near overdose of that, the only blessing was that I could sleep.

 

The next morning we went to the appointment. We didn't do my morning shots, because what was the point? We wanted to make sure there weren't any complications from the miscarriage and move on. I was holding Will's hand looking away from the ultrasound screen, and the nurse says "well, there's the heartbeat. Do you want to hear it?" Yep. There was a freaking heartbeat, people.

 

I couldn't hear it because I was sobbing too much, so she calmly let us get our act together, and then showed us again. I am still in a fog from the entire appointment. The only two things I remember are a strong little heartbeat, and through my sobs my husband saying "wait- are you KIDDING me??" (A quote that has been repeated many times since, and one that I will never let him live down.)

 

She then explained that I have a hematoma (aka: a big pocket of blood) next to the placenta that is bleeding. (Hence my experience in Dallas.) This can be dangerous, so we're working on getting that under control. I asked how worried we should be, and she said "We're not going to overreact, but we don't want to under-react either." So I'm going to adjust some of my blood thinner shots and estrogen, and hope it begins to shrink. The worry is it continues to grow and causes bleeding issues, and/or separates the placenta from the uterus. We go back on Tuesday to see if it's any smaller and to discuss next steps.

 

We've googled a lot, and there are lots of different answers. I read this can happen to 20% of pregnancies on one site, and on one site I read that it happens in 1%. The nurse said bleeding happens often, but hematomas are more rare. She also said more than 50% of women go on to have normal pregnancies. (Considering we were told this pregnancy had a 5% chance of working, we'll take 50% odds any day.)  We are not sure if this has been the problem with all my previous miscarriages, or if this is a new issue. (I realize that none of this information really matters, I just wouldn't have done my job freaking out if I didn't fully google stalk the issue.)

 

The rollercoaster of events ended with a moment we'll probably never forget. We know we're not out of the woods and there is still lots of uncertainty ahead. But there is one thing I know for sure; I have never heard a sound more beautiful than this totsicle's beating heart.

Today, we will celebrate.

Not long ago during a softball game, I hit a double. I am pretty sure the entire city of Houston was chanting my name as I rounded 1st base and landed safely on 2nd. (At least my team was, as this was as shocking as Janet Jackson's Nipplegate circa Super Bowl 2004.)

The past 48 hours, every time Will and I discussed how my HCG numbers HAVE to double, I kept thinking of my basically-a-home-run-double and wanting my little embryo to hit this one out of the park. If my numbers didn't double, we'd know it was over.

My nurse just called and my numbers went from 51 to 174. They more then TRIPLED.  (In softball talk, this Totsicle ran right through 2nd and is rounding 3rd.) Clearly this one takes after his/her over-achieving father.

I know last time my numbers were great and still it didn't work out. However, I won't let last time jade me. Today, I will celebrate and be thankful.

We are off to Pace Family Vacation, the greatest time of the year. We will celebrate this week and anxiously await for the ultrasound in 2 weeks where we hope to hear a little heartbeat. Thank you to so many of you who have prayed and hoped and cried with us these past 48 hours. We made it another day!

Wahoo?

We're pregnant! WAHOO!!*

 

We went in this morning for the blood test to confirm the pregnancy. I was completely unprepared for bad news because we had a positive home pregnancy test, so I just went to work and waited on the call.

 

My nurse just called and said "You are pregnant! Congrats! However..." (Note: whenever someone says "however", make sure you take a deep breath before listening to rest of sentence.) She told me my "beta" number, the number that indicates positive or negative pregnancy, is low.  It is on the cut-off of indicating a positive pregnancy. But then she said "While low, we still remain hopeful as it still falls in the range of a positive test." (Translation: "Start panicking.")

 

We know that this beta number HAS to double every 48-72 hours to remain healthy, so we go back on Friday in hopes that it rises enough to still be considered a healthy pregnancy. If it is, we continue the waiting game until the ultrasound in two weeks. We do know that this indicates there is only one embryo. (Recap: last time my numbers looked great, and it wasn't until the ultrasound that we received the bad news.)  So for now, we just wait. You'd think I'd be getting better at this by now, but I think I'm getting significantly worse.

 

One of my best friends said, "It's fine! She's already a southern lady and is just taking her sweet time with those rising numbers! Don't rush the girl!" SO much love to all of those optimistic people out there. (One of our friends even calls herself a "5 percenter", as she's banking on the 5% chance this works.)

 

To our little embryo: If you hang on, I swear I'll be the type of parent that waits in line twice as long as other parents for "Frozen" paraphernalia. We love you so much already.

 

Love to all,

Kendall and Will

 

*I'm saying "WAHOO" because I want to be able to tell my future child, should this one hang on, that I was so excited when I heard the news. (And because if I say what I'm really thinking, my mom will probably wash my mouth out with soap.)

Onward.

We're ready to roll, folks. Today we got the go-ahead that Monday (6/30) will be our transfer date of two little embryos. (I don't know if I can still call them 'totscicles', as they're probably about to begin thawing...) Last time we knew the genders of the two embryos they transferred, but we've chosen not to know this time to help alleviate some anxiety. Sometimes, ignorance really is bliss.

Many have asked why I haven't blogged in awhile. The truth is that I haven't blogged because I didn't want to have to be honest about how I'm ACTUALLY doing. But when I started this blog I promised I'd always be open and honest, mostly because I wanted to remember how I truly felt when I looked back. So I will try to keep that promise to myself, even though currently it ain't pretty. (Disclaimer: I DID promise myself that when I thought I'd only have 3 entries before sending out my cute ultrasound while thanking everyone for their prayers. But fine, a promise is a promise.)

The past couple weeks have been difficult. I was talking to a friend of mine who is currently going through IVF and she said "Do you think it's possible for anyone else to know how bad this sucks?" She captured my thoughts in that moment perfectly. This experience is so isolating that sometimes you think you may be the only person to ever have gone through it. (Disclaimer #2: I know that's completely dramatic.) I think maybe it's just like anytime you have a dark cloud hanging over you, it's hard for others to know what the rain feels like to YOU.

The weeks before the transfer are filled with hormones, shots, and medicines that make you feel like a completely different person. (And by different, I mean crazy.)  I act and say and do things that are so out of character for me that it causes me to be even MORE upset with this process and myself. (I can usually "fake it 'til I make it" in public settings until I'm with someone that I don't have to "fake it" around. Shout out to those "someones", who somehow are all still speaking to me.) Perhaps the biggest truth is that for the first time since this process began, I decided I didn't want it anymore. I decided I was ok to move to Oregon and open up a winery. I decided that I was really good at some things, and having babies just wasn't one of them. I decided that Will and my dogs and my family and my friends were enough. (Disclaimer #3: I still may think that. Not sure I'm completely out of that "stage".)

Last week I was emailing someone who went through fertility issues a year ago and since then has become a dear friend and cheerleader. I was blunt and honest with her and admitted that I wanted to give up.  She basically said, "If you want to dream of opening up a winery, then do that! Daydream and research all you want! In fact, you SHOULD do that! What a great distraction! But you can't stop perusing another dream you're already in the middle of chasing."

Her words got me thinking of the summer that we had to learn the "butterfly" stroke on swim team. After I was forced to attempt the stroke at practice one day, I went home and immediately told my parents that I wanted to quit because doing the butterfly stroke made me feel like I was going to drown.  My parents said "OK, you can quit, but not until next summer. You decided you were going to do it this year, so you need to finish what you started." Throughout the summer's swim meets, I don't think I ever received anything other than the purple "disqualified" ribbon. It was a horrible summer. But ya know what? I didn't drown.

So onward we go. It doesn't matter that we're not skipping to the doctors' offices with lots of hope like we were last time. It doesn't matter that I cry constantly, or that I'm so anxious that sometimes I think my heart may beat out of my chest. It doesn't matter that we met with the surrogacy agency because we're fairly certain none of this will work. It doesn't matter that I curse the hormones every time Will injects them into me. It doesn't matter that sometimes I think "I'd be an excellent wine maker." Instead what matters is that we're moving forward, one day at a time, pursuing a dream that I once thought was attainable. (And in some moments, maybe I still do.)

Love,

Kendall and will

Ps. Final disclaimer: Will read this and would like to be clear that he's not a "Negative Nancy" and he is still full of hope and excitement. So go ahead and change all previous "we" statements to "me only" statements.  (If it's true what they say that "even if someone had to carry you across the finish line, you still crossed it", then thanks for carrying me, Willionaire.)