I Still Believe in Miracles

 

I can't help but be in complete awe watching our embryos.  Just a glimpse of life as it begins... and in our case, ends.

Twelve beautiful chances at life... twelve reasons to be thankful... twelve potential lives, some gone within hours.

What you're looking at is our Embryoscope.  Something our clinic, MCRM (Missouri Center for Reproductive Medicine) offers for an additional cost to their patients.

Our embryos never left the incubator.  You're seeing a time-lapsed video of the many photos they were able to take of our beautiful babies from the point of fertilization all the way to Day 5.

I am so grateful we chose to do the Embryoscope program.  I would recommend this program to anyone going through IVF, however, it's not a program many clinics offer.

Why did we chose to do Embryoscope? 

1.  We wanted to see our babies.  Our first cycle, we never saw a picture.  I think this made it harder to grieve when the cycle failed.

2.  We knew a failed cycle was a possibility.  We thought the Embryoscope program would allow us to have a better idea (well, the doctors) should things go wrong, where they went wrong.

3.  If it succeeded, we thought it would be an amazing piece of their life to have.  IVF is a part of the baby's journey.  Part of our journey.  To have it captured in this way... incredible isn't a strong enough word.

4.  It's safer for the embryos.  Without this program, they would need to be taken out of the incubator at certain points to monitor growth.  While the environment is sterile and safe, any extra precautions we could take were going to.

I feel a sense of closure I don't think I would have had if we hadn't done this program.  Life is precious and beautiful.  This video proves it.  

 

I wish I had more poignant things to say this evening, but I don't.  All I have are these videos.  I pride myself on speaking from the heart, and lately my heart feels pretty plugged up.  So I'm not going to sit here and pretend I have something earth-shatteringly beautiful to say when I don't.

I just wanted to share our babies with you.  Call me crazy for calling them our babies, that's ok.  But, they are our babies and always will be.

Here's a look at the three that made it the furthest.  It's still crazy to me that we are able to see this - literally life beginning before our eyes. 

I still believe miracles happen.  Ours is just still in the making.

Love,

Kristy

An Open Letter to The Children I Never Met

If you'd like a little bit if our backstory, click here.  It's far from the full story, but I can't sleep and I think it's because this is weighing so heavily on my heart.

An Open Letter to the Children I Never Met

Hello, sweet angel.  You probably don't know who I am, as we never really met.  I never carried you inside of me.  But I know you.  I knew you came into the world on March 12th, 2015.  You were the only one who made it.  I'll admit.  I was scared for you.  Because you were it!  THE one.  Of 6 potential babies, you were the only one who made it.  But I was also hopeful for you.  I felt in my heart you were a fighter.  I loved you from the moment I found out you existed.  You want to know your nickname?  It was Nemo.  You were our Nemo.  Before I even knew you existed, I started making plans for you.  Your nursery was going to be Peanuts themed, with an emphasis on Snoopy.  I bought a Snoopy special for your room and secretly pinned Snoopy-themed bedding, mobiles and other items on a Pinterest board only I could see.  Your daddy and I were already discussing names.  I was giving your daddy a hard time about what I pictured you would look like - his beautiful bright blue eyes, my thick, black hair.  A perfect mixture of the two of us.  

I imagined in my head the ways we would surprise your sister.  True, by blood, she would be your half sister, but a sister nonetheless.  She knew of our plans for you.  She wanted you, too.  We couldn't wait to include her in the plans, discussing which appointment she could come to where she could meet the doctor that helped make the miracle of you possible.  An appointment for her to hear your heartbeat and see you the first time.  Shopping trips together to help pick out clothes for you.  


On your third day in this world, I found out you were still fighting.  You were our bright star,  just as I was my parent's bright star.  Your daddy and I waited with baited breath at the church in my hometown while your cousin was getting baptized.  I got the call just before the service started and broke down in tears of joy.  I told your daddy, MiMi and Papa, Aunts, great aunts, great grandmas, and other important people in your life that you were fighting, and that in just two short days I would be carrying you in my belly.

On March 17th, 2015, I was preparing for you to be transferred to me - my first contact with you.  But I got a call from the nurse.  A call I wasn't expecting.  You stopped growing.  You were what they called "arrested".  In that moment, sitting in my car in the parking lot while your daddy was working until it was time to transfer you to me, I broke down in tears.  As much as I wanted to believe you were maybe just delayed a bit, I knew deep down God had already called you home.

For months, I thought of you.  I still think of you.  Every milestone we would have had together - every trimester, the time we had expected to hold you in our arms... I mourned.  I cried.  I loved you and I lost you before you even had a chance to know me.  It was a very hard year for us, because we thought you would be here.  Our little Nemo.

One the one year anniversary after you went to heaven, we lit a candle for you.  I picked out as close to Aquamarine as I could.  Your light shined brightly and burned for more than 24 hours.  That candle now sits in our house, with a onesie I bought for you after we found out you went to heaven.  I'm not sure why I bought it, other than I felt compelled to as a symbol of hope.  That's your onesie, though.  You may never wear it, but it's yours and always will be.

This year, in October, we tried again.  Don't worry, I never forgot about you.  I found myself terrified that we would get the same calls.

I was terrified, but I kept up hope.  We didn't tell your sister this time, though.  We didn't tell many people because it was very hard to have told your family and our friends about you, only to have to tell them we lost you and there would be no baby in our arms.

You had two siblings join us on October 24th, 2016.  Once again, like you, these two were special.  Because of 14 potential babies, only two of them made it.  Two more fighters, just like you.

To our October babies... we knew that one warrior had gone before you.  We prayed and prayed and waited anxiously to find out how much you had grown.  We had plans for you, too.  We had new names picked out.  And, although your sister didn't know about you, we had plans to let her paint a picture in your nursery, because she loves art and does beautiful work.  

We planned on having you tested to make sure we knew you would make it once you were transferred to me.  We had a transfer date set.  I was excited about possibly transferring both of you.  I pictured telling our family on Christmas that you would be joining us next year - either as one or as a pair.

I was also scared for you.  You see, we lost your older sibling more than a year ago.  We were so scared we would lose you, too.  But we kept up the hope, and continued to make plans.  I diligently researched names, trying to find names with the perfect meaning.  You were going to be our beautiful, bright flowers.

We also decided we wanted a video of you.  From day one to day five we wanted to watch you grow.  We couldn't wait.

Both of you fought to day three.  They told me one of you was looking better than the other, but I chalked it up to maybe one of you was just a late bloomer, and kept holding onto my hope that soon, we would be finding out more abosbut you.

I had to wait the weekend to find out how you were doing.  It was torture.  Waiting is the hardest... I hope you have more patience than I do.

On October 31st, I found out that two days before, you stopped growing.  They gave you another day, and I know you fought as hard as you could to be with me, but God called both of you home to be with Him and the sibling before you.

I cried.  Your dad cried.  I couldn't believe that we would never hold you.  I would never be able to count your fingers and toes.  I would never be able to see your eyes open for the first time, waiting with anticipation to see if they were a deep brown like mine or a bright blue like your daddy's.  I wouldn't be giving your big sister a teddy bear with your heartbeat recorded in it for her to listen to.

I still can't believe you're gone.  

All three of you will be remembered.  How could I forget you?  You were part of your daddy and me, regardless of the fact I never carried you in my belly.  

It's comforting to know that all three of you are together in heaven, waiting for us to one day join you.  I can count your fingers and toes then.  I can hold your face then.  I hope you've met your great grandparents and your great Uncle Jay.  I know they'll look after you until we get there.

Soon, I will carry a physical symbol of you near my heart.  All three of you.  I love that.  It was your daddy's idea.  He's a pretty amazing man, and I know you would have made him - us - proud.

I may never have met you on this earth, but this is just a resting place - you were just called home sooner.

And, until we meet you in heaven and can tell you ourselves... I want you to know we love you.  You were loved the moment we knew you came into existence.  Actually, we loved you before then.  Nothing will change that.

Love,

Your mommy and daddy

Heavenly Father, please watch over our angel babies.  I may not understand now, but deep down I know you brought them to you after five days for a reason.  I will try my very best to trust in You and Your plans.  Please also be with all of the other babies called home all too soon.  Called home too soon for those left here on earth, with parents still here trying to understand why You brought them to heaven so early in their lives.  Please be patient and understanding with the loved ones of these angel babies, as we don't always understand why You work the way You do.  There are days we feel it is unfair and we find ourselves angry at You.  Please have mercy on us during those times, yet help us not to lose sight of You.  It's in Your name I humbly pray, Amen.

The Journey Pendant

***This post was originally going to be "An Open Letter to The Children I Never Met", but I realized some background may be necessary.  This is a small but significantly meaningful part of our infertility journey together***

It's almost 3:30am and I cannot fall back asleep.  I think I have a lot on my heart and my mind.  As what should have been our transfer date nears, I find myself slowly realizing we failed a second cycle.  My brain recognized it happened, but only as an event - it almost still feels like it NEVER happened.  Or, something as normal as I had an appointment with a doctor, everything was standard, nothing to write home about.

I finally took the leap and requested our Embryoscope video and pictures of our embryos from our latest cycle be sent to us.  (FYI - Embryoscope is a unique process in which the embryos remain in the incubator during the 5 days, allowing the Embryologists to get more pictures of the embryo.  From here they can create a time-lapsed video of the embryo from fertilization to just before transfer.)  Doing so - without even receiving a response yet (as I sent the request on a Friday evening) started to break down the walls my brain has built to protect me.

For those who aren't familiar with our story, particularly the beautiful gift my husband gave me when we started our first IVF cycle, here it is.

Our first IVF cycle was in March of 2016.  Just before I started my medications that January, my husband (who was working for Helzberg Diamonds at the time) bought me a beautiful Journey pendant.  It became the necklace I only took off when I had to.  The necklace was a wonderful, thoughtful symbol of what was to come.  It was exciting. Every stone was a diamond - pure, clear, beautiful.

After our failed cycle, there was a period of time I was upset with my husband.  I felt like he wasn't hurting like I was and that he didn't understand the pain I was going through.  He never expressed to me how he really felt.  It seemed as though I was alone in my grief.

However, I know now he was grieving.  He grieved not only the loss of our single embryo and the outcome of our cycle, but also took on MY heartache.  He hated (and still does) that he couldn't take away my pain.

Just as I was beginning to vocally express my frustration with him for not opening up about how he felt, he surprised me.

I often visited him at work, and he usually took the time to inspect my jewelry (oh the perks!).  He wanted to take a look at the Journey pendant.  He told me a stone was loose and it needed sent off for repairs.  I thought nothing of it.  After all, I constantly wore it - loose stones seemed like a normal thing that would happen.

However, when I got it back... it wasn't the same.  In the very center of the pendant where there was once a diamond was an Aquamarine stone.  Aquamarine is the March birthstone, and he had it added to represent our angel embryo.  

He also traded out two other diamonds for Amethyst - our birthstone (February).  So, on either side of our angel embryo was "us".  It was his way of letting me know he also constantly thought of the embryo we lost.

It was the most thoughtful gift he could have given me.  It was his way of showing me he was grieving, too, and he thought of our angel embryo, too.  

I could now keep a symbol of our loss and heaven's gain close to my heart.  I sometimes find myself holding it between my fingers, sometimes consciously, sometimes not realizing I'm doing it, but when I do, I'm thinking about the little embryo that fought until day 5 before God called him or her home.

Fast forward to today.  In October, we lost two embryos.  Today we went and dropped off the necklace two have two more stones switched out.  There will be two pink sapphire stones (one of October's birthstones) surrounding the Aquamarine birthstone, and all three will be between our birthstones.

Three beautiful embryos, three beautiful babies in heaven.  As we were standing in the store, as I listened to the squeals of children, I held the pendant and began to cry.  Reality sinking in, little by little.  I turned to my husband and said through my tears, "at least our first baby won't be alone anymore", to which he replied, "I'm sure they're in heaven having a party waiting for us."  I found myself smiling through my tears and responding with some remark about how much trouble they're going to be in for throwing a party without talking to us first and that they're too young to be having parties.

So, that's the story of the Journey pendant.  I'll post a picture once it comes back to us. 

Romans 5:3-5 Not only that, but we also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, endurance produces character, and character produces hope. Now this hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us.

Much Love,

Kristy