Days Go By

"Day Turns into Night" by KayBird

My days are turning into nights and one month just runs into the next.  Am I coming?  Am I going?  I don't know, but I'm not there yet!

Woah.

I think I just wrote my first lyrics to a song for the everybody.  But seriously, it sure goes by so fast.  And now I just sound old...

But today marks a new day!  Ok, it's really day 3.  Or Day 5, depending on how you look at it.  Evening 3, to be more precise.  Evening 3 of Clomid.  I read somewhere that taking it at night makes the side effects.  I then read somewhere else that while this is true, taking it in the morning increases the chances that follicles will mature before IUI.  I've since stopped the Google madness.

My dosage has increased from 50mg (1 pill) to 150mg (3 pills).  The pharmacist gave me a sympathetic expression when I picked up the medication.  He asked if I had any questions.  I didn't.  He wished me luck.  

Awkward!

50mg produced multiple follicles, but only one that was fully developed.  Our first treatment in April was unsuccessful, but is used as a baseline to proceed. So forge ahead we will!

So as days go by...I feel good.  No hot flashes (yet).  No crazy food cravings (yet).  No nausea or feeling like a fish full of eggs that needed to be gutted (yet).  Nothing exciting to report (YET!). 

The Promise of a New Day

I cried today. I cried for the first time in over a month. The last time, I blamed clomid and estrogen. Today, I blame a weary heart.

It's strange, really. While I'm taking myself way out of my comfort zone today, I do have a full day and weekend planned here in Oshkosh. As I prepare for it through the ritual of morning, I seek ten minutes of personal development and ten more minutes of God. I found myself searching a bit harder for inspiration of happiness. Something. Anything on this gray and cloudy day.

Then, as I sat down to catch up on a few bills online, I got to the one I had been avoiding; the reproductive center. Once it was done. I cried. And I haven't stopped.

I cry because I feel so blessed to have family who paid this for me. Family members who not only gave their hard-earned money towards Baby Reuscher, but gave their love and their hope. And while a ridiculous notion, I cry because I feel like I failed them. I cry because our first attempt in April was a bust. I cry because I wasn't able to try again in May. I cry because I'm scared about trying again. I cry because last time I sat on this couch alone, I didn't leave it for days and I've allowed this moment to take me back to that time when I mourned the loss of my Nugget.

So I pay my bill. I give myself 10 minutes of grief. I write to you all. And I move forward.

Because as I type, I just realized that the sun has come out. The sky is bright with scant poufs of soft white clouds dancing way up high, drawing my eyes towards the heavens and reminding me of the promise of the rainbow. The Holy Spirit inside of my is strong. Today, it leads me back to peace and personal greatness!

The Waiting Game

This was an eventful weekend! 

It began Friday morning with an appointment at the reproductive center to monitor the progress of my cycle. An ultrasound showed four follicles, with only one being matured over 20mm. This was considered 'good enough' and so I received an hCG shot to trigger ovulation. 

After work, Todd and I had a date with our Littles. I began feeling nauseous.

Noah and the Great Flood

And so it was, in the beginning...

As the ultimate story of faith, sacrifice and hope began to unfold on the movie screen, so did the genesis of my emotional meltdown. Epic. Apocalyptic. And completely hormonal.

Let's back up a few days.

Seeing Red

Ok, I might be going through an identity crisis with this new baby thing. Some might see it as acting out, as searching, as reaching - but I prefer to interpret my actions as brave.

That's right. BRAVE.

Finally, at 41 years old and after having a major mortality-checking life event shake all the cobwebs out down to my core, I feel BRAVE. Bold. Daring. Strong. Spunky!

And lately, every time something small happens that makes me ultra-aware of my own fragility, well, I just remind myself that I am still in control. That God molded me as a creative individual with free will and a free spirit, and as long as my spirit dwells in his (and remember that...ahem...HE is REALLY in control here) - then he's cool with expression!

OK, I'm reaching there. What I wanted to voice this time was red. Poetic as it might seem, one thing just led to another...

Bean

Bella (my 80 lb. German Shepherd) and I were playing lazily on the bed last Thursday night. She likes to talk (a lot), so it would be rude of me not to talk back. The conversation turned to me tugging at her poor teddy bear and telling her she needed a real baby to cuddle and protect.

"Belly-Bean need a Jelly-Bean?" I asked. That's one of my nicknames for her: Belly Bean or just Bean.

From then on, I couldn't get it out of my mind. While I miss my Nugget, I'm ready to try for Jelly Bean.

Hope Does Float (and stings a little, too!)

Acknowledging loss after my miscarriage was important to me. 

I experienced most of the mourning process alone and worked through it so quickly - too quickly - squeezing in rides on the emotional and hormonal roller coaster between rides on Southwest and United Airlines. Work obligations monopolized my time and lonely hotel rooms occupied my space. As the dust began to settle, I felt empty. I felt numb. I felt like a fake.