Dear Birth Parents

George and I have officially been approved. We've "passed" the home study. Frankly, it never occurred to me we wouldn't pass and I'm glad I never realized it was a possibility as it would have been one more thing for me to stress out about. With the home study done, we've been working on our profile. The profile is essentially where George and I market ourselves to a potential birth mother. We write on many different topics all intended to give the birth mother a feel for who we are. We also have to write a letter to the birth parents-- straight from the heart-- below is ours:

Dear Birth Parents:

Thank you for taking time to learn about us, we are George and Angie. Although we have tried hard to imagine how difficult this decision is for you, we know we can’t ever fully understand. But please know this, should we become a part of your decision, we will honor your courage and selflessness and make sure your child knows of this and of your love for him or her.

We met the week of 9-11 while living in Washington, DC. We became great friends and even gave each other dating advice. A year or so later, we started dating and have been together ever since. We moved to Colorado in 2005 and married in 2006. Our relationship is built on a foundation of friendship and love. We are best friends and know each other better than we know ourselves. We look forward to sharing George’s generosity and compassion and Angie’s enthusiasm and strength with your child as he or she grows and matures.

In our home, your child will be surrounded with warmth and love. Our friends and families have wanted this for us almost as much as we have—and together we will provide your child, with the love any parent, grandparent, aunt or uncle gives their child, grandchild, niece or nephew. We will love your child even before we meet him or her. We will shower your child with hugs and kisses, he or she will even get puppy kisses from our dogs Happy and Porter. Your child will not want for affection.

In our home, your child will be provided with endless encouragement. We want your child to know no bounds to what he or she can do. Growing up, we were both taught the value of hard work and education. Every success we’ve achieved can be credited to our hard work and pursuit of education and it is our intent to teach this same value to your child. Whether ballerina, President of the United States, Olympic Athlete or nuclear physicist, we will do everything in our power to help him or her realize their dream.

In our home, your child will know fun and laughter. Humor and fun have played an integral part in our lives and we love to make each other laugh. We will live for the sound of your child’s laugh. We will play games and read books. We will play catch in the yard and build forts and imaginary castles. We will play hide and seek and throw the ball for Happy and Porter. After a day playing in the snow, we will curl up by the fire to warm our hands and toes. We will play and swim in the pool and cool off during hot summer days by eating ice cream. We will hike and camp and enjoy the beautiful Colorado outdoors. Most importantly, we will cherish our time spent together as a family.

Our journey to become parents was one filled with challenges and heartache but ultimately led us here and for that we are grateful. We are honored and humbled at the opportunity to parent your child. We will love, support and nurture your child unconditionally. We are excited to start this new chapter in our lives and watch each other become Mom and Dad.

If you choose adoption and choose us—your child will know of your strength, courage, love and selflessness. We look forward to keeping you involved in your child’s life by sharing milestones and stories with you through photos and letters. It is a privilege to be considered in this important decision and hope this letter is able to provide you with some measure of comfort.

With all our hearts,

George and Angie

A new appreciation for me.

George and I have been going through our homestudy, which is a necessary step in the adoption process. For the last and final meeting George and I met individually with the social worker. Prior to that meeting we had to fill out various questionnaires. The questions focus on describing our childhood, our relationships with our parents at various times growing up, drug and alcohol abuse, issues in our marriage and so on. I had a lot of trouble answering many of the questions-- these weren't fill in the blank questions, rather check the box (es) that best describe blank-- for instance check the box(es) that best describe you as a child. Shouldn't be too difficult, right? I did not have a Norman Rockwell-esque childhood and I struggled with how honest to be when answering questions. I didn't want to jeopardize our chances of becoming parents. For instance, describing myself as a child-- I really don't remember how I was as a child-- I don't remember being happy, I don't remember being sad, I don't remember being carefree, I simply don't remember. Describe your relationship with your dad-- I had 30 to40 adjectives to choose from, yet none of them seemed to quite fit-- I marked the box "other" and hand wrote "complicated". It seemed every other question caused me considerable pause as I struggled to answer. In the end, I was as honest as I could be. While I came to terms with things from my childhood and adolescence many years ago, its still not something I enjoy rehashing.

Sitting with the social worker and talking through my answers, was emotional to say the least-- we sat there for almost 90 minutes. George's session lasted 30 minutes. George did have a Norman Rockwell childhood-- he really did. To his knowledge there were never any problems or issues-- everything was just fine. Of course that wasn't the case, but he never knew that--his parents never fought in front of him and shielded him from virtually every and any potential conflict. This tactic, while well meaning, created a different set of issues as George emerged into adulthood-- but for all intent and purposes, George's childhood was happy and carefree.

My discussion with the social worker led to a light bulb moment-- as we went through my life talking through everything, I realized on paper I have every right to be unstable-- but I'm not, I have every right to be beat down--but I'm not, I have every right to be in need of serious therapy--but I'm not. I am resilient. I am strong. I have taken every punch life has thrown at me and I'm still standing tall and proud. I feel wiser beyond my years and I am certain all these things will make me a better parent.

What I Learned on Vacation.

In no particular order:

1. Happy (one of our dogs) is Houdini incarnate. Night one of vacation- George and I grabbed a bite to eat, the dogs stayed in the car-- also in the car was all our food and plastic jugs of water. Now mind you we have a Subaru Outback with the dog guard, so they were in the hatchback area-- food in the backseat. When we came out from the restaurant, Happy was in the backseat in the middle of devouring the food--- Cliff bars, trail mix, fruit snacks, dog treats, etc. She also stepped on and punctured one of the water jugs, thus causing water to pour out all over the backseat. How was Happy able to knock the seat down and get out of the hatchback area? Why did she enjoy Cliff bars more than the trail mix?

2. Just because the calendar says August, doesn't mean it won't snow.

3. Bugs; I don't like them. I try to act like bugs don't bother me, but the honest truth is I get a bit squeamish. Especially with flying ones that remind me of a big ass tick and make a thud sound when they hit the car. One day when we were driving through the Many Glacier area of Glacier National Park-- we had pulled off to the side of the road. We were told a grizzly and her cubs were expected to come through the meadow we were at. So there we sat waiting. I was standing up through the sun roof, when I started to hear "thwack"-- couple seconds later "thwack"- few seconds more-- "thwack" and so on. This flying-beetle-tick bug was all over the place and the hair on the back of my neck started to stand up. I started to panic a bit (on the inside), but managed not to completely freak out. A bit later when we were back in the car driving, I felt something on my neck and practically went into a panic convulsion. George- who nearly drove off the road due to being startled from my body suddenly jerking, pulled over. He barely had the car stopped when I whipped open the door and practically ripped my shirt off to get the bug off of me: there was no bug.

4. Leave the dogs at home. While, overall I enjoyed having them on the trip. They are limiting. In National Parks you can hardly have them anywhere and though we managed to find places both outside Yellowstone and Glacier to day board them so we could go enjoy the parks, we always had to make sure to be out of the park early enough to pick them up.

5. Don't be afraid to have lunch with people you don't know. We had lunch one day at a little cafe known for their pie. The place was packed and there was a wait. The restaurant asked if we wouldn't mind sharing a table with two other couples-- we said "sure"-- though a bit hesitant. It was a great lunch-- one couple in their fifties was from Alberta, and the other couple, late sixties, was from the area. We had a great conversation. The Alberta couple had recently climbed Mt. Rainier and was in town for a wedding, and the other told us about Huckleberry Ice Cream. A couple times a year this couple makes the trek from their home to Glacier (about 2 hours)-- they stop for Huckleberry Ice Cream on the way over to the cafe for lunch, they then head back. They were adorable, they were what I imagine George and I to be at that age. Still razzing each other and thoroughly enjoying spending time with each other-- still.

6. It's not nice to scare older people. I scared the crap out of that adorable couple I mentioned above. The gentleman left his jacket at the cafe and left before we noticed. We turned it in to the cashier. While in line to get back into Glacier, I saw them in the line next to us-- I jumped out of the car and ran up to their window from behind, when I placed my hand on the car and started talking to them they gasped and recoiled as if they were about to be car jacked-- I'm lucky I didn't cause any heart attacks. He did, however go back to retrieve his jacket.

7. When going hiking in grizzly country, it is best not to read about Timothy Treadwell aka "Grizzly Man" the night before. For whatever reason, George read quite a bit about Timothy Treadwell in particular, details of his death--which in case you're not familiar with his story-- was due to a grizzly attack. So, when we went for a hike a bit off the beaten path in Glacier and saw the "warning, you're hiking in grizzly country" sign at the trailhead, he started to get a bit concerned-- unbeknownst to me. When I asked the Ranger about bear sightings, he said the rule of thumb is you can see a bear (black or grizzly) on any trail in the Park. He mentioned to talk real loud and make noise on the trail. Off we started on the trail, within a few minutes George started clapping his hands and making a "woot, woot" noise. A couple minutes pass-- "woot, woot" another few, "woot, woot." He finally fesses up that he's a bit freaked due to what he learned of Treadwell the night before-- which he shares with me. A few minutes later, I'm clapping and wooting. Never did see a bear.

8. Yellowstone is cool, but Glacier...Glacier is my new favorite place.

One Year Ago

One year ago I experienced my first ectopic. It's funny what I remember from that time and how surreal it is to this day. While I don't remember the exact date of the surgery, I remember what day of the week it was... a Monday. I remember what I was wearing, brown capris and a white short sleeve blouse with a a green and red pattern. This post is a way to help extract my memories of that time, no matter how detailed and get it "on paper" as a ritual of sorts in hopes of finding closure to this event. Prior to this, I didn't know I could experience something worse than my miscarriages and after this event, miscarriage would be what I would hope for when I found out I had yet another failed pregnancy.

It was our third of three IUIs. The day before I was to take a pregnancy test, I started to bleed. My heart sunk, I thought the IUI failed-- AGAIN. I remember being upset and telling George my concern that if we can't get pregnant with all this help then it was never going to happen. I remember being relieved and annoyed I didn't have solace as my brother and his kids were in town visiting-- all this, one year ago.

About 7 to 10 days later I was still bleeding-- I remember thinking how odd that was, but given the Clomid and the stress I figured no wonder my cycle was "off." It was a Friday when I nearly called the doctor's office about my irregular period, but then I thought, "Let's not be paranoid or over react." That night my breasts started to hurt and dread came over me. Saturday morning I took a pregnancy test and immediately started to bawl--- positive... it was fucking positive and with all the bleeding I knew something was wrong. I called the doctor's office and was told to immediately come down to the office. The office open on Saturday was about a 45 minute drive-- and boy was it a long one. They drew blood, I asked for an ultrasound and wasn't given one. The nurse told me "Plenty of women have implantation bleeding." In between sobs I told her I know what implantation bleeding is (had it with pregnancy number #1) and THIS period-like bleeding for 10 days is NOT FUCKING IMPLANTATION BLEEDING!!!!!! I wanted to scream at her-- "I KNOW SOMETHING IS WRONG!!!!" I walked out of there with no ultrasound and no piece of mind. When the HCG results came back, they came back strong. I don't remember what the numbers were exactly and I suppose the specific numbers don't matter. I was told to go to my usual doctor office on Monday for another blood draw. Sunday night I noticed a discomfort on the left side of my lower back-- an ominous sign. All this, one year ago.

That Monday morning, I went in for my blood draw and asked to talk to a nurse. When she saw me she greeted me with a big "Congratulations!" My response was "Really? Cause I'm not quite feeling that." I explained the events of the last couple of weeks and mentioned the recent back pain, which I was still feeling. I remember her telling me to let her know if the pain turned into sharp stabbing pain. I remember thinking "Errrrrr...oooookkkkkaaaaaayyyyyy....that's an odd thing to say when you're telling me there is nothing to worry about." I remember telling George after the doctor visit "You watch, it'll be an ectopic" and his response "Way to be positive, Angie." All this, one year ago.

Later that day, my pain became more noticeable, but still wasn't a sharp stabbing pain rather a dull aching pain. The Doctor's office called in the afternoon and asked if I could come in for an ultrasound. "Finally...some answers!" I thought. I knew my feeling of bad news was confirmed when I saw the look on the technician's face. She explained what she was seeing--- she pointed to the dark spots on the ultrasound and said that was blood pooling. Even with that, the severity of the situation didn't register. I remember her asking me when was the last time I ate-- another ominous sign. I remember thinking, how nice of her to check to see if I'm hungry. I still didn't get it. All this, one year ago.

I remember texting George, "Confirmed ectopic, waiting for Doctor." His response was something like "Bummer, you ok?" I didn't have time to respond because the Doctor came in. With each sentence she uttered it landed like a punch to my face, I felt my head recoil with each blow. She confirmed the ectopic and mentioned I would need surgery-- BAM!--first blow. I remember still not getting it- as I was thinking "ok, later in the week looks good for me." But the Doctor continued-- "We can't let you leave, you need surgery immediately. Your fallopian tube has started to rupture resulting in internal bleeding which is causing your back pain--BAM! --second blow-- this is the blow that lead to the lightbulb illuminating-- now I was getting it and the shock started to set in. "There is a possibility you may loose your tube," she said --BAM!!-- final blow. I started to cry-- I remember saying "I would have been better off never getting pregnant." The thing I wanted most happened but quickly became a curse-- all this, one year ago.

While I was being delivered the news, George googled ectopic and realized how serious the situation was-- he was already getting ready to leave work when I called. The Doctor's office was busy trying to get surgery time scheduled and I was left to sit in a room to take it all in. I went into a practical thinking mode: What about the dogs? George will have to stop home and take care of the dogs. Should I ask a neighbor to drive George? Having two cars at the hospital would be inconvenient. I needed to ask George to call my Mom. Guess I should call my boss and let him know I won't be in for awhile. All these things were going through my mind-- I did call my neighbor and ask her to drive George to the hospital, I called my boss to let him know I was going into surgery that night and didn't know when I would be back to work. I called George to update him.

I was then walked over to the hospital for admittance, by this time my back pain progressed making it difficult to stand up straight. There I was by myself waiting for surgery... it was unclear whether George would make it in time and I never felt more alone. I called my friend Chris who dropped everything to come and sit with me--I was so grateful. George also made it with only minutes to spare. The Doctor and Anesthesiologist were walking through the surgery-- a laparoscopy. They explained my abdomen would be filled with gas, they would make to two incisions one on each side and remove my tube. I remember grabbing the Doctor's arm and asking her to back up, pointing out she said I would definitely loose my tube. She paused and said "Yes, remember we talked about this?" I started to tear up and responded "Yes, but I left that conversation thinking there was a bit more hope." I remember looking at George and Chris, Chris was crying as well and George looked grim-- all this, one year ago.

The great thing about laparoscopy is, barring no complications, they send you home to recover once you are conscious. When I awoke, George and Chris came back to recovery. I remember the look on George's face when he saw me. He went pale and had a forced smile, but his eyes were filled with concern. I remember Chris commenting that I had no color. It wasn't until George was helping me get dressed that I caught sight of myself in the mirror and understood his reaction. I was indeed white as a ghost and my face was very swollen-- not looking my best! I was home by 10 that night, with Vicodin and prescription strength Ibuprofen in hand. My recovery took two weeks-- longer than I anticipated but went well overall. One side effect of the laparoscopy is the effect of the gas left behind. Often, not all of the Carbon Dioxide is able to be extracted from the abdomen, the gas left rises and can cause pain throughout the back and shoulders. This happened to me and honestly was the worst pain I ever felt. No amount of painkillers would get rid of it, the pain went up my spine and through my shoulders. When I moved, tears would stream down my face. This only lasted about a day and once over my physical recovery progressed. At the post-operation visit with the Doctor I remember asking her thoughts on why the ectopic got so bad so quick-- typically ectopics become life-threatening at 9 weeks and I was only at 5 1/2. She told me she thought it likely I had more than one fertilized egg in the tube. Ouch...yet one more thing to add to the heartache-- all this, one year ago.

George and I started to see a therapist to help make sense of this event and to help us deal with the emotions of infertility. I remember being surprised at the feeling I wasn't done with trying. But as the months progressed, it became clear this one event caused us to diverge from the path we were on. And when I refer to the "event," I am not just referring to the ectopic-- but everything else that came with it-- the severity of it, the life-threatening nature of it, the shock of it. The resulting path led us to the end of fertility treatments and to the realization that pregnancy isn't in the cards. Life-changing to say the least.

All this, one year ago.

Moth or Butterfly?

Lately I've been giving a lot of thought to what it means to survive. In my "about me" sentence at the side of the page, I mention I'm a thirty-something woman struggling to survive the journey of infertility and while true, I'm struck at how profoundly sad that statement is. I mean, who wants to just survive? Who wants to be in a place where the best you can do is go through the motions of life every day-- an empty shell of the person you use to be? That's kind of how I feel-- I'm not living, I'm surviving. I still need to put on a facade, build a protective wall around me and avoid almost all things "pregnant." I'm still mending, scar tissue continues to form over my wounds and as with the physical scars I've gained during this journey, I'll have these emotional scars forever. They're my battle wounds, each has a different story to tell.

Our experiences make us who we are and who we become. It remains to be seen the impact the last three years will have on the totality of my life. I feel like I'm in a cocoon waiting to emerge. How will I emerge? As a moth or butterfly? If I continue to "just survive" I will be on the moth track. However, if the last three years result in my becoming stronger... wiser... even an eventual better parent... if I don't allow the last three years to take away from who I am, rather add to who I am... if a persevere... if I overcome, that may put me on the butterfly track-- a beautiful, majestic butterfly at that.

Remembrances of Infertility: Miscarraige #2 March 2009

When we finally started trying again after the first miscarriage the biggest problem I thought we've have is controlling our fear of miscarriage when I got pregnant again-- which surely would happen in short order. But that didn't happen and when it didn't, my OB/GYN suggested we go to a specialist. We had been going to see an infertility specialist for a couple of months-- most of that time was focused on a diagnosis, which of course there was none. I fell into the category of "unexplained infertility." I had just completed the Clomide challenge and we decided to take advantage of the Clomide and try our first IUI, which failed. To further the frustration we could not do another cycle right away because I had a cyst on my ovary. With that, George and I decided to give it a whirl naturally...and it worked... I was pregnant. I remember taking a pregnancy test early and initially not seeing a double line. Later when I looked I saw a very faint line. I took another, this time the line was not as faint but still questionable. I wasn't messing around with the third test, I went digital this time and when the hour glass finished I saw the words "pregnant." I was excited, scared, apprehensive and above all cautious. I remember thinking what great timing-- we hadn't yet invested a lot of money, time and emotion into fertility treatments. My Doctor mentioned it was not uncommon for the effects of Clomide to linger and likely assisted in my getting pregnant. George was thrilled, immediately starting "Googling" daycares-- which is interesting, as I am the planner in the family, the one that looks ahead-- and here he was planning for something a year out. He wanted to tell his Mom and Dad-- I hesitated...I asked if we could wait until we saw the heartbeat. I wanted to wait until we made it at least that far. I remember driving to a blood draw appointment and telling George that I didn't "feel" pregnant and how that concerned me-- George admonished me for not being positive. I responded this wasn't about being positive, this was about how I was feeling. As it turned out, my intuition was correct. My HCG levels were no longer increasing. The whole "pregnancy" lasted all of 10 days or so, but that didn't lessen the heartache. With that news all I had to do was wait for the miscarriage-- which came about a week later. If I am going to compare miscarriages, the first would be in the devastating category, this one was a step or two below. Was it that I was more prepared? I don't know. I think with the first I felt like I had been to hell and back emotionally speaking-- it truly was the shattering of innocence. This was something less that that. What dealt me a deeper blow was when I returned to work to discover a co-worker was pregnant-- her first. That started an emotional tailspin for me. I started asking all those useless questions: Why her? Why not me? I remember thinking I take better care of myself than her, I'm healthier, I'm more fit, I'm thinner-- all the things that really don't mean a hell of a whole lot-- I mean drug addicts get pregnant and can carry a baby to term-- certainly my body is a better suited? Bottomline is when your body betrays you, you look for the why. Unfortunately, the why often remains elusive--a lesson I would continue to be challenged with in my third and fourth failed pregnancies.

Finality

I walked through my doctor's door for the last time today. I needed one last follow-up ultrasound to make sure everything was OK-- which it was-- ovaries all clear of cysts. I then met with the nurse for the last time-- Lisa was with me through my whole year of hell. I knew I was likely to get emotional when I saw her, which of course I did. For one last time the doctor's office witnessed my tears. We talked about why I was crying and much of it had to do with the finality of the visit, of letting go of what I hoped and wanted. I so desperately wanted to have an experience resulting in joy and happiness, instead my experience resulted in pain and anguish. It doesn't help that every other week it seems I find out some one else I know is pregnant and no matter how happy I am for them, it still hurts. It still is a slap in the face, still a reminder of something that'll never happen for me. Lisa did tell me something I needed to hear, she said "You have such amazing strength, you took every punch that came your way and didn't falter. I know that something good is waiting for you around the corner, I can feel it." God, I hope she's right.