Our Waiting Room

Flash Fiction

2010-08-25T14:08:00.002-05:00

I've been looking through a genre called Flash Fiction to find interesting pieces for my students. This is basically a short short story, brief, concise, and to the point. However, it also contains the traditional story arc of longer pieces. As I combed through my own desktop, I came across this piece, which I wrote at some point this summer--it's a bit of a haze. Thought I would share it with you here, since it's based on my experience. Bear with me--I've never written flash fiction until now.

Hope

In that moment, as her daughter’s head brushed her own, she felt the smallest inkling of motherly feelings. She spoke, something generic like, “Hey baby,” but the intonation was husky, bearing the weight of her dreams. Her daughter looked at her—not an unfocused glance, like all the books had said. No, the blue, almost black eyes stared into her own, as if to say I know more than they think I know. I see you and I know you’re my mother and I am deeply delighted by that reality. No one else knows me quite like you do.

Months later, after the NICU bills begin to arrive, Isabelle knows that this moment saved her in the midst of wires and shots and Lumbar punctures and blood draws and EKGs and CT-Scans. This moment told her that her daughter would survive the Group B infection that threatened to hi-jack her tiny body. This moment held her up when the nurse practitioner voiced threatening words like, “mental retardation” and “paralysis.”

She pushes the stroller with her eleven-month old daughter safely tucked inside, away from the southern sun, and tells a friend about the birth, skipping the part about the nights spent in NICU as still too real to repeat. As they walk through the bird exhibit and smile at the long-beaked toucan, Isabelle says, “In that moment, I knew Selah was a fighter. I knew she would surprise everyone.” It isn’t until she speaks the words that she realizes the significance of that moment, that one look into her daughter’s eyes could convey so much truth. Strange it had yet to occur to her, but the passage of time often opens our understanding to a depth not yet realized.

She looks down at her daughter, encased in pink and brown stripes, covered with a shadow of the miniature stroller awning, and watches her knowing eyes follow the short flight of the colorful-beaked bird. She points and squeals, kicking her strong legs and flailing her arms in the direction of the caged bird. “Look. Bir’, Bir’,” she repeats as she looks back at Isabelle. In the still blue eyes of her daughter, she knows her hope has not, is not, and will not be cut off.

THE END

*Bonus points if you can find the religious allusion in the last few words of the story. :) I'm such a teacher. :)

Back in Session

2010-08-23T14:12:00.003-05:00

School started earlier this August, and my life feels as if I daily press fast-forward from 7:30-4pm Monday-Friday and attempt to slow down and enjoy Tim and Macie the rest of the time. Today Macie came up to school (with Tim--she's not driving yet) to eat lunch "with" or rather "on" mom. The recent school policy this year is that children are not allowed on campus during school hours, and who should happen to run into me, my husband and my four month old? Our headmaster, of course. Thankfully, he was gracious and didn't attempt to remind me of the new policy declared in a first-of-the-year faculty and staff meeting. He asked a few questions about Macie and shook Tim's hand and let us do our thing--or rather Macie do her thing, which was to be carried across campus to a little room off the library, eat heartily, and then spit up.

Although I still haven't cried about going to back to work yet, I definitely feel the pull between professionalism and mommy-hood. I wish I could only teach while Macie is napping and then rush home whenever she wakes up. I also wish that I didn't feel this tug to be excellent at my job and excellent for my baby, but since the tug-of-war does exists, Macie always wins. Even if it means sneaking her on campus under my shirt. I'll just look REALLY pregnant again.

2010-07-22T16:05:00.003-05:00

I'm sure Tim could tell (probably because I told him in no uncertain terms) that I felt irritated with him when he came home today. You know where he had been? Work. And Target. To get prescriptions. The nerve.

But me, I'd been at home doing dishes, vacuuming and hanging out with a baby on my boob. I knew my frustration held little logic, but I couldn't help feeling the NEED--yes, need-- to get out of the house. I'm up at my office right now, filling out health insurance paper work, thinking about how I need to print off a few coupons before I go to the grocery store, and loving every moment of my sense of freedom. I love my baby, but I must say that I love her even more after being out a couple of hours. Of course, that said in three more weeks I return to school full time, and I'm sure I'll be writing pitifully sad blogs about how much I miss her by then. Oh, the tugs and pulls of learning motherhood while maintaining self-hood. I know that's not a word, but my brain is on half-power (back from 25% before she started sleeping through the night) and my time out is quickly dwindling since baby Bird will want to be fed soon. Gotta go print some coupons. What a delight! For real.

The New Empowered Me

2010-06-27T16:49:00.002-05:00

During my pregnancy, I felt weak and vulnerable. My back ached, my stomach developed indigestion nightly, and I walked (ie: waddled) slower and slower as my belly grew. I knew that in case of emergency, my options would be limited to waddling away as quickly as possible from danger. I would be unable to defend myself and concerned only about protecting the tiny life inside.

Here's me eleven weeks later, and I feel a strange sense of empowerment. Though I'm a self-proclaimed feminists, a few of the 60s generation women had it wrong when they claimed that motherhood somehow weakened the fairer sex even more. Pregnancy, maybe. Motherhood, never.

An example: About a month ago, I had reached the end of one of my many ropes, and I handed Macie to Tim and headed to Jamba Juice, merely for the sake of alone time. I headed to the one closest to home, even though it was dark outside and I've heard that the area is known for occasional drug deals amongst the posh addicts in Houston. When I rolled in, the parking lot was packed with bikers, teens, smokers, chatters--a rather eclectic group.

During pregnancy, this kind of busy, festive atmosphere made me a bit nervous, in part because I felt crappy enough and didn't want to deal with crowds and in part because one just never knows what could happen in a crowded parking lot at night. But on this night, I noticed the shift that motherhood had brought. On this night, I parked close, wound my way directly through the web of people, feeling the entire time as if my invisible super-motherhood cloak kept anyone from bothering me. I'd been to hell and back a few weeks earlier and no one was gonna mess with me, The Mom.

I've experienced this same sensation in a couple of other settings--with and without Macie. I know that realistically, I'm no more invincible than ever. But in semi-threatening situations part of me thinks, "What the heck are you gonna try that will remotely resemble the kind of pain that comes from being cut open without receiving the proper pain meds until hours later? How are you gonna say anything more frustrating than sleepless nights and days in NICU? Can you even begin to understand the fierce protection I feel for my baby--and myself, since I'm not wanting to leave her side anytime soon?" If I encounter anyone stupid enough to try to mess with me (or Macie, God forbid) during a superhuman-mommy moment, good luck to them. I'd just smile and say: Bring it on.

The Younger Generation

2010-06-17T21:24:00.003-05:00

I know several couples who have recently attempted or will soon attempt a fertility procedure. All of the women attempting these procedures range between 25 and 30 years old. The "reproductively challenged stereotype" is transitioning from the mostly late-30s to mid-40s range to a wider spectrum of ages. Is this the inevitable result of better technology? Are women now more proactive at a younger age because the options seem doable? Even semi-affordable? And fairly effective?

I'm excited to see friends attempting (successfully) to expand their family through IVF and IUI (and adoption!), but it saddens me that so many must go through painful moments to finally meet their child. I've also noticed that because of the infertility struggle, I often pad comments about having another child with "If we have another child . . ." or "If we are able to have another child . . .". I believe (and I hope) the reality of the complexity of creating life will never escape me.

My thoughts and prayers are with my many unnamed friends who are currently on the expansive road to meeting your child. Check out this editorial for a reminder that you're not in this alone:

http://women.timesonline.co.uk/tol/life_and_style/women/families/article5599066.ece

Many women walk the same road.

The Critic in Me

2010-06-10T14:02:00.003-05:00

Mornings are my favorite time with Macie. Whether it's 4:30am or 10:30am, she is typically happiest in these morning moments, smiling and cooing and wooing me into a state of extreme, mushy in-love mommy-hood. Often, I lie in bed and watch her sleep and I wonder if, when she is older, she will believe that I love her so much that I can't stop staring at her. These moments make everything--the costs, the lack of sleep, the change of schedule, the poopiness and spit-up worth the effort.

However, in my emotional gushing, I don't want to downplay the difficulty of parenting. Tim and I are now glad that God gave us six years together before inserting a baby into the mix. One of the recent struggles came with being criticized-for the first time (to our faces at least) about balancing a baby with other commitments. Our friend's statement to Tim referenced, "how hard things are now with the baby." A seemingly innocent and obvious remark, but once I spoke with him and delved deeper, I found that the remark wasn't so much the fact that he noticed how hard parenting is but rather that he noticed how hard our parenting has been on fulfilling our previous commitments. I appreciated his forthrightness, but I didn't feel that he appreciated the utter exhaustion (and hormones on my part) that leads to forgetfulness, irritability, lack of logical thought processes, etc... But perhaps I didn't appreciate these either until I experienced them for myself.

How many times have I criticized someone in a circumstance completely unlike my own? How many times have I spoken unkind words because someone let me down, and I didn't feel the reason was justified? May this criticism serve to remind me to be patient and thus quell the critic in me.

Time

2010-06-01T13:32:00.002-05:00

Time has taken on a whole new meaning with Baby Bird. It's strange that it took us almost three years to get to this place of parenthood. It felt sooooo very long waiting and trying and waiting and being disappointed. Now, it feels as if those trials were truly momentary and fleeting in the face of my baby girl's smile each morning--that's usually the only time of day that the smiles happen. She's definitely not like her momma in that way--morning is the only time I usually do NOT smile--until now.

Even daily routines seem to have taken on a whole new dimension of time. Once upon a time I was able to dress and get out the door in twenty minutes. Now, I know to expect at least double that amount of time, and if I'm really in a hurry, triple it. This morning I was on my way to SBUX--where I now sit typing with her by my side--and after bathing, dressing, and then bathing Macie, she proceeded to have a blow out #2 in the towel I was drying her off in--all over me, the towel and her once-clean feet and legs. Suffice to say, we didn't leave for another hour or so.

People keep telling me, "Enjoy this time. It goes by fast." I'm sure it will, though it doesn't feel very fast right now--probably due to sleep depravation. But I don't mind this kind of slowness after the waiting to see her heartbeat, her tiny body, her face. In my opinion, each day may pass as slowly as possible, keeping her hands tiny, her head bobbing, and her mouth grinning every morning. I'll enjoy this baby-era as I await the next.

Moments with Macie

2010-05-14T09:45:00.003-05:00

Life is different now with a baby, kind of like that commercial that claims, "A baby changes everything." She does. And now I realize my own naivity about this parenting-thing.

First of all, Macie changes my schedule and my plan. She doesn't always fit into the nice little time frames I expect. Especially when I change her and then she poops again and then she poops again and then she . . . you get the idea. Or when I go to pick her up to make it to band practice on time and she has baptized herself in a regurgitated milk bath.

Secondly, Macie changes our marriage. Instead of two to consider, there's three and the third doesn't often let us get enough sleep to have a rational discussion. Tim and I are learning to communicate in a whole new way instead of just assuming that the other (him) knows when (I) NEED to sleep in order to maintain sanity. I will say that in 5 weeks we've learned about one another on a whole new level, adoring and caring for our baby together, and we realize how important our "No fighting after 10pm" rule really is.

But now for the third and best way that Macie has changed everything. Last night I cuddled her next to me in bed before handing her off to Tim so I could sleep before the next feeding, and I experienced once again a moment that makes being a mom worth any inconvenience. She didn't do anything profound, just let me hold her and in that holding I experienced the joy of her. Her pink softness. The curve of her cheeks. The way her eyes mirror mine. The scent of baby-ness. The smooth softness of her miniature hands. The warmth of her frame curling close as she fits perfectly against me--just as she did when she lived inside. A lovely peace fills me in such moments of wonder. I look forward to many more.

My Sleeping Beauty

2010-05-03T13:34:00.001-05:00

Yes, this is what Macie does most of the time right now--except at 4 am.

Macie after her 10-day Spa Treatment (in the NICU ;))

2010-04-30T19:20:00.002-05:00

3-Week Thoughts

2010-04-30T14:45:00.001-05:00

Macie is settling nicely into a routine--though I'm told that routines change regularly with little ones. She eats, she enjoys "awake time" and then she sleeps. And then so do mommy and daddy--as much as possible!!!

My mom asked me yesterday if I felt any different emotionally with Macie finally resting on the outside instead of growing on the inside. My response surprised me: my feelings haven't changed much. Of course, now I have a face to put with the name, but I felt the same protective, intense love for her then that I feel now. I considered the reason for this and came to the conclusion that it must be because I feel as if I've had to fight for her, protect her, nurture her since the Day 5 Embryo Transfer. Because this wasn't a normal, "surprise" pregnancy, I saw her grow and change at every juncture. Also, because this wasn't a "normal" pregnancy, I felt the fear of losing her at many junctures as well.

A couple of weeks before I went into labor, I told one of my fellow IVF friends, "I don't feel like this is really going to happen, that I'm really going to get to take my baby home." I knew that this was illogical, but I also knew that the reason for these thoughts was because I had experienced so many baby-disappointments over the past three and a half years. Every time that stick only showed only one line, loss became more and more of a reality.

I know it seems that perhaps I had some kind of sense that I would have problems in delivery or that Macie would end up in NICU, but in actuality, I never considered these possibilities. Several people asked me if labor scared me, and I quickly answered, "No. I had to deal with six weeks of two hysteroscopies, an egg retrieval and an embryo transfer to get her in, so it can't be that bad getting her out." What I didn't expect was for my baby to go into distress, for me to endure a painful C-section (with an epidural that had been inserted 10 hours earlier rather than a fresh spinal and an anesthesiologists who didn't give me the correct, standard pain meds for recovery), to go almost 48 hours without eating more than the "clear liquid diet", to have a false-negative Group B Strep test that would affect my baby, and to not get to see her for 20 hours after surgery. A strange grief accompanies the loss of those first few joyful moments and hours with a baby, especially when those hours are instead filled with uncertainty. (One nurse practicioner who briefed Tim described Macie's potential long-term problems as "paralysis on her left side" and/or mental retardation due to brain trauma.)

Despite all of the hectic drama of the past few weeks (or months), however, I rejoice today that Macie is home and growing strong at 3-weeks old, without any noticeable effects from her birth trauma. It's been a long ride, one that has only just begun, and I can't wait to see where it takes our little family.

Macie Unplugged

2010-04-18T21:23:00.003-05:00

This is Macie Grace without all the wires and plugs. I'll be so glad when all the NICU pokes and prods are finished!

Costs

2010-04-17T08:59:00.001-05:00

Fertility Costs: $14,000
NICU Costs: $100,000
Macie Grace: Priceless

Pictures coming as soon as I can find a moment when I'm not sleeping or feeding!

Macie Grace is Here and Fighting!!!

2010-04-12T21:46:00.003-05:00

Macie Grace arrived at 4:40pm on Friday, April 9 to a very tired mommy. We went to the hospital on Thursday around 5p.m. because my doctor thought I might be in labor even though my cervix only dilated an inch and wanted to observe me for the night. At 2:30am, my water broke and I moved to labor & delivery. I labored for 13 hours, progressing to 7-8cm, before the doctors called it quits and took me into a C-section. By then, I felt sick--throwing up, a blood sugar drop to 58, shaking uncontrollably. I was ready for her to come out in whatever way necessary. Macie weighed a surprising 7lb 6 oz even though she was only at 36 weeks and 6 days.

I wasn't the only one who had a tough day though. Macie contracted Group B Strep during labor and delivery (I had tested negative the week prior) and so began fighting infection within her first moment of life. She is currently in NICU and is progressing rapidly each day, adding new reflexes and proving tests negative. We have a strong woman in the making.

I love to watch her get feisty during bath time (which I got to help with last night) and I love knowing that she likes her head stroked and hates having her feet touched--probably because she's afraid of another heel prick. She rarely opens her eyes right now, although I'm sure we miss some of the action since we can't spend all day in the NICU, but when she opens them, she looks like me! I am sitting next to her "pod" right now, watching her pull at her monitors and rest under the blue lights that help get rid of jaundice. I dread going home without her again but hope that tomorrow will provide an accurate time-table for her recovery (hopefully no more than 10 days). Please pray for her quick and full recovery and for my emotional stability during this time of running back and forth to the hospital while trying to recover from the C-section.

Waiting for Macie

2010-04-05T08:51:00.004-05:00

My mom says that pregnancy is by nature a temporary condition, and being a postpartum nurse and mother of four, she should know. However, after carrying this child for what feels like the duration of an elephant's gestation (see former posting in which I compare my fertility history to the largest land-dwelling mammal), I don't feel the end in sight. Instead, I feel muscles pulling and shifting every time I move. I feel fatigued after getting dressed and eating breakfast. I feel like if I sneeze, my baby might just fall out--which could be easier than labor. I feel Macie kickbox inside of me. I'd heard that the last month is tough, but now I fully believe it.

I've also heard though, that oftentimes moms miss the jabs and punches and kicks once baby is out in the world. I already fully believe this because no matter how often she stretches and turns, I never tire of watching this alien-like being roll my belly from side to side. Sharing my belly with her is an honor in moments like that.

Last night I dreamed that Macie arrived and a week passed. I went to breast-feed her and she wouldn't eat. I went to change her diaper and realized that in all my humongous baby bag, I didn't have a single diaper. Within moments, she started laughing at me, and within seconds, she turned into a punkish teenager who looked much like one my students (who are not typically punks, I must say). Perhaps life may feel as fast as that someday, but for today, I hope I can enjoy the small moments--even the pulls and tugs and discomforts--before my Macie arrives and turns into a teenager in the blink of an eye.

A Look Inside

2010-03-25T11:41:00.002-05:00

Above is a picture of our Macie at 34 weeks, 4 days. She has her daddy's nose, and I think she has my mouth. My mom pulled out baby pics of my siblings and weighed in similarly. I do know this though: I've never seen such a beautiful person in all my life. I never thought I would think this about a baby--honestly, they usually seem a little funny looking to me (as I'm sure this pic may to you). But as soon as I saw her, I was enamored. She's definitely ours.

Ready or Not

2010-03-19T19:57:00.002-05:00

I plan to bring home a baby girl, hopefully 7 pounds-ish, in approximately four weeks. Four weeks? Four weeks! This whole IVF & pregnancy ordeal is suddenly becoming so real. (As if poking around my insides and nether-region hadn't already convinced me of the reality.) So now what? I work for three more weeks. I complain (occasionally if Tim's lucky) about my back hurting. I drink Jamba Juice. I watch movies. I go to church stuff. I enjoy numerous baby showers (thanks, gals!). I read another book or two. And then, bam, I'm a mom? Really? Just like that?

After Tim and I visited the doctor today and listened to a rough time-table for Macie's arrival, I asked him, "Are you ready to be a dad in three-and-a-half weeks?" His answer: "I don't know." Well, daddy-to-be, too late now. I know it seems strange that a couple with fertility issues would have this dilemma. If I saw this blog, I would think, "If you're not ready after trying for three years, maybe it's time to put this idea on the back-burner." But whether we had to wait three years or five years or ten years and on and on . . . I think we would still have the same "Oh my gosh, we're actually having a baby" feelings.

That's actually part of the reason years ago I so wanted to have an "oops, we're pregnant" kind of baby-surprise. I wanted to feel that even though I didn't plan or work for a baby, God saw fit to grant one to me because I would be such an awesome mother. When that didn't happen, the doubts about me as that "perfect mother" set in with a vengeance. Maybe I wasn't supposed to be one after all. It seems that's a common feeling among the fertility challenged such as us.

But on this end of fertility treatment and pregnancy, fully knowing that the world is upside down and no list of qualifications or personality-drawbacks seems to determine whether or not one can make a child, I realize that I still have some of the same insecurities that beset me before Macie's creation. This afternoon as I rested (napped) I contemplated the question I asked Tim: Am I ready to be a parent in three-and-a-half weeks? Anxiety waited, ready to pounce on the question, but instead the first thought that came to mind brought comfort. I MUST be ready because she's almost ready to arrive. After all, she is what makes me "mom." I may not feel ready for 2am, 4am, 6am feedings. Or the nasty diapers. Or the crying--and how the heck do I know which cry means what? But someway or another, I trust that the One who put this baby together in the petri-dish (no, not Dr. Gill--who I highly recommend, by the way) and watched her implant on the bottom right side of my uterus (sorry if that's TMI) and then made her heart beat just on time knows exactly the right time for Macie to enter her destiny while mom and dad try to figure out how exactly parenting fits into our own.

My Reason to Relax

2010-03-15T20:39:00.002-05:00

Last Monday, Macie and I had an adventurous day. I arrived at my doctor's office after a stressful day at work, rushing to get there on time, and the nurse found my blood pressure a bit higher than normal. I also had to discuss the fact that I'd spotted slightly that day, and between the two issues, they sent me directly to the hospital for observation. After a couple of hours, the hospital found all well and sent me home.

A crazy start to a busy week in which I met with 25 students regarding admission into National Honor Society, graded numerous junior research papers, and fielded dozens of questions from students. And now, I rest. Spring Break officially began today, and I've devoted my hours to napping, lunch with my sister, and napping. Although a pile of grading and prep work for my sub looms before me, I've decided to get to it when I get to it. In the meantime, Macie and I will relax in preparation for the big event which could be as soon as 3 weeks away. (I'm in Week 33 right now).

I justify my time of rest and relaxation with the knowledge of the risk of hypertension amongst PCOS gals. So far, I've dodged the increased risk of gestational diabetes. Now, I attempt to keep my blood pressure as normal as possible by enjoying Spring Break. Nice excuse, huh?

Fluffing my Feathers

2010-03-05T09:23:00.002-06:00

I believe I am now in the stage known as nesting. Unfortunately, as I told Tim last night, my nesting has nothing to do with furiously (or even non-furiously) cleaning the house. Obviously. And it has nothing to do with making sure my daughter has a place to sleep--still no crib. However, I did just spend the last few minutes cleaning my school desk, discussing missing work with students, and contemplating the best timing to take all their artwork/writing samples off the wall. I've arranged for a sub to take my advisory, and I'm anxiously hoping to meet final candidates for my sub position. And yes, I still have until April 9 to teach. What is this strange urge to get everything ready and in place right NOW???!!!

I also found myself unable to sleep earlier this week as I thought about the mound of grading from junior research to sophomore projects. I'm definitely concerned that Macie will make her appearance before my professional life is in order. Tomorrow marks Week 32, and although we'd prefer she stayed inside at least four more weeks, I'm happy to know that she would most likely be ready enough for the outside-world, even though mommy may not be quite ready yet. As of tomorrow: 8 months and counting.

I Want To Remember To Tell Her:

2010-02-23T14:58:00.003-06:00

My memory cells fry easily.

Example A:

Tim and I go to the video store every couple of days, and inevitably, every few times we visit, I will point to a movie and say, "Oh, this looks good!" or "Why don't we try this one?"

His response: "Kristen, we've already seen that one."

Kristen: "We have?"

Tim: "Yep."

Kristen: "I don't remember it."

Tim: "I know. But we watched it a couple of months ago."

Hopefully, the conversation ends with my brilliant, "Oh yeah" faint recollection, but sometimes I just can't grasp at the memory. So, in an effort to retain the experiences of Macie's pre-birth wonders, below is a record of a few tid-bits I hope to remember to tell my daughter someday:

1. Your daddy and I want to see you move around during ultrasounds, but you always relax and become kind of chill like you're having a baby-massage as the specialists moves the wand around my abdomen. Yesterday, he finally had to jab at you a few times to make you squirm.

2. You get hiccups AT LEAST twice a day, sometimes more, and it's often about a half hour after mommy eats.

3. You moved into the labor position early--around 25 weeks--hoping to see mom and dad sooner rather than later.

4. You have tiny hair on the back of your head--visible via ultrasound at 30 weeks.

5. You like music, especially when you're listening to daddy's band on Sunday mornings.

6. You respond to mommy's voice in the morning, and you jump around, making my entire belly jiggle, during bath-time.

7. You definitely have sleeping and waking patterns. You particularly like to be awake and active between 8:30-10:30am and 7-9pm.

8. You are loved by so many people you haven't ever met. Grow inside a little longer, little girl.

The Right Century

2010-02-11T08:13:00.002-06:00

Growing up, I loved reading books set in historical time periods. Louisa May Alcott's Little Women and Francis Hodgson Burnett's A Little Princess and The Secret Garden were some of my favorites. Currently, I'm reading a newly discovered author (to me, at least) Sarah Dunant, who wrote Sacred Hearts and Birth of Venus, both set in in sixteenth century Italy. Because of my fascination with stories set in times past, I've been fond of claiming that perhaps I was just born in the wrong century. Sure, I love our modern day conveniences (thank you, indoor plumbing and Jamba Juice), but something about the romantic elements of the past speak to me.

Since I've saturated myself with stories from earlier decades or centuries, I often read about the plight of women during these times, and musing on this reality has caused me to rethink my yearnings for the past. For example, I often wonder as I read, how would I have been treated as an infertile woman in the sixteenth century--or even the mid-twentieth century? Surely, I would have received pitiful glances from women who pop out a baby every other year and perhaps whispers about her "sad condition" might have followed in my wake. But what about the more practical problems?

In seventeenth century England, I would attempt (and fail) to produce an heir for my husband. In eighteenth century New England, I might have been labeled a witch and hanged for my inability to conceive (for surely some dark power is at work in such instances, right???). In nineteenth century Midwest, I would have tried to compensate for my "problem" by working hard alongside my husband to establish land that no one would inherit.

Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome was not even a term until the 1930s, and semen analysis (despite the fact that males historically received NONE of the blame for infertility issues) did not arrive on the scene until the 1920s. And, ultimately important to us, the great wonder of IVF was not even an option until the early 1980s. In light of these truths, I salute my fertility-challenged predecessors who walked through this journey without the kind of help, support, and options that I possess today. I am grateful for their struggle and perseverance that has helped lead to the modern-day advances that welcome another precious little-woman into this world: My Macie Grace. Thanks to these would-be mothers who have become a generation of "demi-mothers" to all of us who follow in their steps.

I Might Be An Elephant

2010-02-05T11:39:00.002-06:00

I recently came across a fact about our fine, extra-large gray friends: "The gestation period for an elephant is the longest of all mammals and lasts about 22 months (630-660 days), with only one calf being born." (Wiki Answers)

I've also been thinking about my fertility history and noticing a few remarkable similarities:

Twenty-two months ago, I had already spent a year and a half trying to become impregnated, so we decided to get serious. Lots of sex wasn't cutting it.
Twenty-two months ago, I was just having my own hormones tampered and played with in order to achieve the perfect balance in order to ovulate. Thanks, Clomid!
Twenty-two months ago, my body started becoming very confused as I pumped in pills, all as a lead-up to the happy shots that I would soon start using daily. All the fun surgeries were a bonus. :)

Twenty-two months. This has been a long journey, though much shorter than many other fertility-challenged friends I know. Totaled, our baby-making experience will equal three-and-a-half years by the time we see our Macie's face. But, truthfully, I wouldn't ever trade places with my non-elephant friends. She's worth the wait even though this pregnancy feels so very long. I think I may hop down to the zoo to commiserate with my four-legged, trunked friends.

Detention Time . . .

2010-01-27T07:19:00.003-06:00

For my students, not me. I'm proctoring the naughty kids right now as they write reflection essays to better understand their crimes. Although I'm on this side of the punishment, I feel at times as though I'm in some sort of cosmic game in which my insides are being poked and prodded and at any moment an alien will burst forth as in the popular 90's film. I know this pregnancy will end, and someday I will feel as if the time just flew past, but I don't exactly feel that way today.

I have a confession that I admit with a bit of unreasonable guilt. Yesterday, I just wanted the baby out--no, not really because that would mean she would be a tiny 2-pounder. But, selfishly, I wanted my body back. Just for one day. I wanted to take the belly off, placenta and all, hand it to Tim and say, "I'm going to Target." I miss Target. I think I've been twice, since the pain started at the end of December, and I'm having withdrawal.

Perhaps the frustration is intensified now that I know a possible cause, a backwards sort-of emotion, I know. We went to the perinatal specialist on Monday, and as he searched for our baby girl's head, he kept moving the ultrasound scanner lower and lower into my nether regions, saying (with his Eastern European accent) as he went, "Da baby is low, very, very low. Itz okay. She's just so low." Ah-ha. A lightbulb brightened in my mind. After seeing pictures of my cervix and my precious (yes, she's so precious despite the discomfort) Macie's head nearly rubbing against it, I realized that perhaps this is the reason for my discomfort. She's "in position," getting ready to meet mom and dad and Lolly and aunt Lindsay and Katie and fairy godmother Sarah and perhaps even Uncle Cody, who wants no part of this whole baby-mess. And she's keeping me off my feet as much as possible and aching to meet her--primarily for the utter and extreme joy I will experience at seeing her dimpled hands, bald head, creased elbows, tiny toenails, and soft cheeks and secondarily for the welcome gift of having my body back, though I'm certain it will be forever changed. I'll take it. Just listing her little baby parts reminds me that she's worth it, no matter how intense my own "cosmic game" seems any given day.

Random Thoughts From My Chair

2010-01-19T09:37:00.004-06:00

Today I began teaching my regular class load (we've had a short elective term for the past couple of weeks) from my lovely IKEA chair: http://www.ikea.com/us/en/catalog/categories/series/07472/

I confess that the view from here is rather sparse as I attempt to command the attention of my students, literally from below their level. My first class went so-so with the students often distracted by their laptops and often neglecting to pay attention to the bulging woman sitting low to the ground, feet-up in front of them. But this is my new life and my new view for a season, and if this perspective keeps Macie inside and growing strong, then I gladly accept the challenge.

After class, I went directly to the Nurse's office where I now sit amongst other invalids--all students (thankfully, none of whom have my condition). I arrived and told the nurse "I'm here to begin my daily regimen of sitting." Now, I sit here typing during chapel-time, waiting for the moments to pass until my next chance to get up and wander to my room or to the cafeteria or anywhere really.

One last confession: I feel a bit guilty for such intentional relaxation, because I've been feeling much better the past two or three days. My doctor thinks that the possible pre-term issues may have been caused by intestinal issues rather than contractions, although she still offered advice about how to avoid contractions yesterday at my visit. My immediate reaction is to resume my normal activity, to live my active life as I see fit, but as Tim reminds me, "You probably feel better because you've been resting." I hope he's right and that I'm not wasting my time. But I suppose it doesn't hurt to be careful. And my chair is rather comfy after all.

Irreplaceable

2010-01-13T21:41:00.002-06:00

Today I left work early once again because of pains that could be anything from a sour tummy to pre-labor. Unfortunately, everything is so squashed together that sometimes it's tough to know the difference. Thus, I came home after I finished teaching my classes, just like the doctor ordered. I put my feet up and fell asleep shortly after, and when I woke up, a sadness or sense of disappointment seemed to linger through the entirity of the day.

A conversation this evening with Tim helped bring the emotions to a head as I discussed releasing another one of my "duties" into the hands of someone else. So far, I've given up housework, cooking, going to the grocery store, exercise, and teaching standing up. Yes, I know this probably sounds wonderful to my overworked, exhausted friends, and it seemed so at first to me as well. But lately, as I've slowly given up more enjoyable tasks--frequenting Target, driving myself most places, outings with friends that involve any activity other than eating or movie-watching, and singing with Tim and the band--I've struggled against feeling useless, a mere vessel whose sole purpose is to fold my hands and wait.

I suppose I never realized how much of my worth I place in my usefulness and overall efficiency. Tim NEEDED me to keep the household running smoothly. My students NEEDED me to keep up with them. My friends NEEDED me to hang out with them. My church NEEDED me to reach out to women and to sing each week. Nope. I am not NEEDED--at least not to the extent that someone else might not easily "replace" the activities on my personal to-do list.

But, as a doctor friend of mine said recently, "Any monkey can hold a scapel and cut in a straight line. It's the personal touch, the bedside manner that counts." So it is with my life; it's not the things I can DO that give me purpose. Instead, it's the God I know, the person He is making me, and the people He leads my life to touch that offer me a sense of meaning, particularly during this time of rest and waiting.

The Westminster Catechism makes a statement I love, saying that "A man's chief end is to glorify God and enjoy Him forever." I am finding that at times (like this one) glorifying and enjoying Him means forsaking even good, right, and holy daily duties in order to lie still in his hand, trusting that his quiet, unmoving will is better than anything ony my to-do list. May I not chafe against this will, instead believing that He makes ME--just me, without all my actions and activities--worth enough to be irreplaceable as His child.