It Was Bound To Happen Sometime

There may have been a few times in my life when I have been accused of being a bad driver.

OK, there may have been a lot of times in my life when I have been accused of being a bad driver.

For the record – I have never been in a major accident, never had any points deducted from my license, and I actually haven’t gotten any tickets at all in almost 6 years.

Knock on wood.

I also drove on California highways for 3 years without incident, and drove myself from San Diego to Alaska in 4 days without a single problem.

Not to mention, I think I have adjusted pretty well to driving in icy conditions over the last few years.

But… I have also been known to lose concentration at inopportune moments. Now, don’t get me wrong – I am not the girl making reckless moves while speeding precariously through traffic and only narrowly avoiding other drivers.

In fact, nothing about my driving style would ever be considered aggressive at all.

I am instead the girl who might get so caught up in her head that she ends up dipping 10 miles below the speed limit without noticing, or the one who in the midst of a conversation fails to realize how close she is to the edge of the garage as she’s pulling in.

I’m a responsible driver (more or less) when it comes to the rules of the road, but… I lack focus.

Which is why all of my driving mishaps are typically little things that are completely avoidable.

The kind of errors that give my friends plenty of ammunition when the subject of my driving comes up.

Friends who, for the record, have always been more than happy to let me be the driver on any of the many road trips we’ve taken over the years. They just also like being able to give me a hard time.

And in turn, it would appear that I enjoy providing them with loads of material.

I stranded my car today. This is now my third winter in Alaska, and for the first time ever I managed to get myself stuck in the snow.

No easy feat when you have a 4WD vehicle.

But I promise you, I made it look simple.

I was pulling into a parking lot on my lunch break, and for reasons I can’t even fully explain – I completely bypassed the cleared driveway in favor instead of the sidewalk area that all the snow had been pushed aside to.

Now, it doesn’t look like much snow, but let me tell you what – I was almost immediately stuck. As soon as my front tires made it over the hump, I knew I was in trouble.

Actually, that was the first point when I realized that I had done anything wrong at all, but that’s really beside the point.

My back tires simply were not going anywhere. I tried everything. Accelerating forward. Putting it into reverse. Rocking back and forth.

Nothing worked.

And, there were people watching me. No doubt wondering what the heck I had been thinking.

I mean, there was a perfectly cleared drive just 5 feet away from where I had chosen to pull in.

Meanwhile, I was humiliated. So embarrassed I could barely breathe. Wondering to myself how it was that I was going to get out of this mess.

Sure only of one thing; I did not have it in me to ask any of these random strangers for help. I was far too horrified for that.

So instead, I started calling friends. Hopeful that someone (anyone) would have some advice for me. But as I was going through the numbers, there was a knock on my window. And on the other side stood a man asking if I needed any help.

I got out of the car and explained how stupid I felt. How I should have known better.

And you know what? He could not have been nicer! Kept telling me that this is what happens in Alaska. That it's something everyone has done once or twice at least.

A fact which I have a hard time believing, but I wasn't about to argue.

Shortly after, 2 more guys walked over to offer their services. I kept explaining that I was from California (neglecting to mention how long I had been up here - because really, once you realize this isn't my first winter; all excuses go out the window) as they literally pulled out shovels and started digging me out. I offered to help, but they each insisted I get back in the car and stay warm.

It was 30 degrees out. Not cold enough for me to have to retreat to my car. I could have stood out there for hours. But I got in the car as instructed, because I simply did not know what else to do.

After they had me push down the gas a few more times, the decision was made that I would simply need to be towed out. And low and behold, one of the guys had a rope in his car. So they rigged me up to one of their trucks, and within minutes I was out of the snow. My car actually drivable again.

I got out and thanked these men profusely. Offered to buy them lunch. To thank them in whatever way I could. But none of them would even consider this. They shook my hand and each took off in separate directions before I could even get their names. Leaving me in awe of the people in this world who are so incredibly kind while expecting absolutely nothing in return.

Meanwhile, my pride was a little bruised over my less than stellar driving skills. As I turned around and realized how many people had been watching this little endeavor, I am fairly sure I turned a few different shades of red.

There is nothing quite so embarrassing as making a truly stupid move, and having to face the fact that there were more than a few strangers around to witness it.

It was bound to happen sometime though. And as I told a friend of mine tonight, I’m still living, breathing, and loving.

So really, what do I have to complain about?

I just won't be going back to that particular eating establishment anytime soon.

Random Acts: Revealed

I just have to let you all on in something kind of cool that happened to me over the weekend.

I was caught. Found out. Discovered.

One of the recipients of a Random Acts Disk managed to find their way to my blog. Because it turns out that I’m not as incognito as I would like to believe. In fact, a simple well worded Google search about random acts disks basically leads directly to this space.

Which is exactly how this person found me.

I opened up my e-mail on Saturday morning to find a comment on my random acts post thanking me for the disk.

Of course it had to be a post where I had pointed out how dirty the car I left the disk on was. I immediately slapped my forehead in embarrassment. But if it’s any consolation, the reason I picked that car was specifically because of how dirty it was. I am girl with a filthy car herself, so I can totally respect anyone who realizes how silly it is to wash your car this time of year in Alaska!

Still, initially I wasn’t sure if it was legit. I mean, how simple would it be for just about anyone to comment on that post thanking me for the CD? It’s not like I pay attention to serious details when I’m doing this. I live in such a fear of being caught (and having to explain to a stranger why I’m leaving a CD on their car) that I am usually pretty quick about it when I do it. So really; anyone could say it had been their car and I would never have known the difference.

But then, I looked over at the commenter’s Twitter page and I discovered that they had Tweeted about getting a random acts disk the day before. Hours upon hours before I had actually written about dropping one off that day.

And since I’m not leaving Random Acts disks around town every single day, there was no way they could have simply guessed that I had the day before I wrote about it.

It was legit! This person who had received one of my disks had found me! And thanked me! And actually appreciated the gesture!

Yep, I was pretty much on cloud nine for the rest of the weekend.

Because while it’s nice to do something like this completely anonymously, it’s also nice to know that the gift has been well received.

That the recipient didn’t think this project of mine was weird or ridiculous.

That they had enjoyed the tunes enough to find me and thank me.

Now, I do wish I could make myself a little less easy to find, but I suppose there’s nothing I can do about that at this point.

Either way, it’s exciting to know that someone received a Random Acts disk and enjoyed it.

Exciting to know that I really did bring a smile to someone else’s face.

Because let's be real; wasn’t that always the goal to begin with?

Focus on Love

I woke up this morning totally unaware of the lesson that awaited me at church today.

One of those lessons that was a reminder of God's ability to give us all a little push from time to time.

I was tired, and cranky, and didn’t really want to go at all. The truth is that had I not been signed up to volunteer in the nursery again today, I likely wouldn’t have gone. I’m leaving on Thursday, and there is still laundry to be done, a bag to be packed, and things around the house I would like to accomplish before I come back. Because who knows how long it will be before I feel up to mopping again after this surgery.

But, I was scheduled to volunteer in the nursery, and that wasn’t a responsibility I was willing to simply forgo. So, I got myself up and out of bed and into the shower to start my day. Already ticking off in my mind all the things I would need to accomplish once I got home.

Already bypassing my time with God in my head in favor of the “more important” tasks I would need to accomplish after I finished my Sunday duty.

Please tell me that I’m not the only one who does this? The only one who gets so caught up in “life” that sometimes she forgets to slow down and spend some time with God?

Needless to say, I was distracted. And when I got to church and worked my way up the stairs to the Sunday School classes, I was already thinking to myself that I wished I didn’t have to be there today.

I was greeted by a sign on the year 3 room, saying that the 3 year olds would be in with the 4 year olds for today only.

I wandered into the year 4 room unsure of what was going on. The teacher in that room informed me that the woman who normally teaches the 3 year olds class had felt the need to sit in church with her husband today. She didn’t say it in a bad way at all. In fact, she was completely understanding of this need and very warm and genuine as she described it. But she told me that she had volunteered to teach both classes for the day, and that because she already had volunteers of her own – my services would not be needed.

“Why don’t you head downstairs and enjoy church today?” she urged.

And already, I was laughing. Because I knew in my head that had this been just a regular Sunday for me, I would not have come at all today. And yet, here I was… being pushed into service.

I immediately knew that God wanted me in today’s sermon.

Which is why I couldn’t help but laugh some more when not 5 minutes after I had sat down, the worship leader began to talk about abortion.

Now, you have to understand… my church doesn’t touch on these topics very often. We are more of a service-oriented church, welcoming and open to everyone. It’s one of the things I love so much about where I go. There is no judgment exhibited in the sermons. No hard and heavy proclamations made. And even when the touchy subjects are touched upon, they are done so in such a respectful manner that it is difficult not to hear the message.

But no, abortion is not a regular topic of conversation at my church. And given the timing, I found myself just looking up to the sky and smirking as I thought “Yes, I hear you!”

The reason the topic of abortion came up this morning was because of a nationwide effort amongst churches to promote life. Apparently this was an effort that was supposed to go underway last week, but for whatever reason my church wasn’t able to show the accompanying video at that time. So, they showed it today. And the pastor then launched into the churches own stance on the subject.

He started by first offering nothing but love to those who had walked that path. He didn’t want them to think for a single second that they were being judged within the confines of this church. He prayed for healing for them. For the ability to move forward from that place. For the willingness to forgive themselves if they by any chance were still struggling with guilt over their choices.

Because he was clear that God did not want them punishing themselves (or allowing others to punish them) anymore than they already had.

And then he called for volunteers. Not to picket, or to spew propaganda, but to instead counsel women who may be struggling with this choice. To offer them hope and alternative options. To give them other choices if perhaps they were unsure of the choice laid out in front of them.

I have to say, that is a pro-life movement I could get behind. One that doesn’t condemn or try to force views, but rather gently offers alternatives and a helping hand. Because while I am pro-choice, I am not pro-abortion (meaning that while I will always respect the personal choices of others on this topic, the choice of abortion will also still always be one that hurts my heart). And I do believe that for those who are unsure, guiding them in another direction is perhaps the most incredible thing we can do for them.

I swear to you, I felt like I was sitting there having a conversation with God though. Giving concessions and shouting to the skies “yes, I hear you!” And laughing the entire time, because it felt like getting a playful shove from above.

For the record, I am still pro-choice. This one sermon did not suddenly change my views. It's an issue that I truly feel is made of a million shades of gray, and while I can proclaim loudly that I myself would never have an abortion, I am not willing to angrily push that choice upon others who have walked a path I could never possibly comprehend. But, I am thinking about volunteering with the organization my church has set up. Perhaps when I get back and am feeling more healed. I’m not sure yet how I would cope with counseling women considering abortion, but it’s something I at least want to consider doing. Because while I am pro-choice, I do think that for those struggling with that choice – offering alternatives and aid is an incredibly noble cause. Helping women to choose how I myself would choose (rather than trying to force upon them a set of ideals with judgment and condemnation) sounds like something I could get behind.

And something I was meant to hear today.

The pastor then launched into a sermon with a focus on love; on finding love within the scripture. He made a point that really struck me at the time. He said that if the teachings of the bible are leading us towards judgment and hate, we are reading it wrong. We are teaching it wrong. He said that the bible leads us to love each other. To welcome each other in with open arms despite any past sins each of us may have committed. Because none of us is clean. None of us is pure.

One of the things that pushed me out of church in the first place was judgment. The judgment I saw mostly directed towards homosexuals after my mother came out as a lesbian. It was (and still is) something that stuck with me and marred my view of religion. That kind of judgment and hate is not what the bible calls for though. It is instead something that many believers fall to. Forgetting their own sins as they pick apart the sins of others. As they determine a list of sins they feel is more detrimental than all the rest.

Forgetting that the bible tells us a sin is a sin is a sin. That they are all equal. That lying, or judgment, or gossiping are all right up there with the rest.

None of us is innocent.

There are too many churches that forget that though. Too many believers who would have you believe they have not fallen claim to sin. That they are above those who have. But it simply isn’t true. We are all sinners. We all falter. We all make mistakes.

And the bible teaches us to focus on love all the same.

I am the first to admit that I judge – most harshly, I judge those who judge. Because I cannot stand the condemnation I see so often. Because I find myself wanting to rally against anything that even kind of resembles the judgment I saw directed towards my mother as a young child. Because I want nothing more than to tear down those who so misread the word that they determine their place on this earth as above that of anyone else’s.

As if they believe they have somehow been granted the superior ability to proclaim the course of punishment God has laid out for anyone who in their eyes has strayed.

My reasons for judging don’t really matter though, because I do it. I condemn judgment. When in reality, I should be focusing on love. On showing those who judge a better way with love. And patience. And grace.

I try to rally against judgment, when instead... I should simply be setting a better example.

Yes, it was a lesson I needed today. One that I likely would have skipped had I not already been scheduled to work upstairs. One that I wouldn’t have heard at all had I not been directed to go back downstairs and sit in on the sermon.

God has a sense of humor.

And today, he definitely had me laughing.

But... he also had me listening.

The Sperm Book

I have this notebook. I created it months ago, and it has been sitting in my closet ever since. For whatever reason though, I decided to pull it out this afternoon. And now… I have no idea what to do with it.

It’s my sperm book. The collection of information I had on my donor that I thought maybe one day any baby to be might want to have. It’s separated and tabbed because I’m an overly organized freak like that, but it’s the information held within that has me pausing right now.

This book was supposed to be something I would one day pore over with my future babies. Describing to them the stranger who had once upon a time helped to contribute to their existence.

Only… they obviously don’t exist. Those babies to be will obviously never be.

So, why do I still have this book? And why am I so reluctant to throw it away now?

There’s part of me that keeps thinking it’s a story to tell. Something I should hold on to if only because one day, it will be funny to look back on. The time in my life when I bought sperm, and felt the need to document everything I knew about that sperms original owner.

(Everything except that his quality was only ranked as fair, which I obviously didn't find out until after the fact. A little known secret in the sperm buying community... you don't get a sperm analysis until the day of fertilization. Which could be at least part of the reason my 10 eggs only led to 3 embryos. His fair sperm combined with my fair eggs did not equal excellent embryo production. Not that I'm bitter or anything.)

But do I really need a facial features report on my donor in order to make that a story worthy of telling? Would anyone hearing the story really need the visual this notebook provides?

I’m a girl who hates clutter. I never keep anything. I am not sentimental, and I don’t typically hold on to things that serve no further purpose in my life.

And this book? It serves no further purpose in my life.

But it feels so bizarre to let it go too. The donor profile, his essay, the staff impressions, the Keirsey Report… it all seems like such personal information to just toss into the trash. Even though I don’t know this person. Even though I no longer have any connection to him at all. Even though I never will.

I still feel weird about tossing this book I put together not too long ago with all kinds of hopes and dreams for the future in my heart.

I started thinking about it, and wondering if the families I donated my eggs to once upon a time have a similar book dedicated to me. Obviously, their book would be much thicker, as the information available on egg donors far surpasses the information available on sperm donors (I swear, they probably could have filled 2 books on me in photos alone). But, I wonder if they still have it. If the family that was able to conceive looks over it from time to time with their little ones who now must be nearing 3. And if the family who was not able to conceive had the same difficult time throwing away my information as I am having now.

It’s just weird. Another piece of the puzzle that eventually I am going to have to let go of, since obviously nothing ever came of the sperm that is described within this book. But I can’t help but think about all the hopes I had for it. For what the future of this book would mean to my family. For the answers it would hopefully give my children until they were old enough to decide whether or not they wanted to use the open ID option to contact him and find out more.

Now… it’s all kind of pointless. And yet, I still can’t throw it away.

Will someone please come to my house and do it for me? Because this is just lame.

I have a book about overpriced sperm sitting in my closet.

If that doesn’t make me weird, I don’t know what does.

Random Acts: Day 27

I have to say that I left work yesterday both grateful and anxious that it the weekend was beginning.

Grateful, because it had been a long and busy week.

Anxious because... it's almost time for me to leave for California. I only work a half week next week, and then I take off on Thursday morning. I have a ton to do between now and then, and almost don't feel like I have enough time to do it all. Plus, my surgery is now just a little over a week away.

And as excited as I am for an end to this pain, I am also a bundle of nerves regarding all the "what if's" that surround any surgery of this kind.

It's possible I sent a friend the log in information for my blog just the other day. You know, just in case I die under the knife or something.

She laughed at me and called me over dramatic, but I had to remind her that if Mandy Moore can become comatose and brain dead after routine surgery, it could happen to any of us.

(Just for the record - Mandy Moore is, to the best of my knowledge, still alive and kicking. That was a Grey's Anatomy reference for those of you too cool for TV!)

Obviously, I don't actually think I'm going to die. But you know, I'm covering all the bases. And doing what I do with everything that makes me nervous... making fun of it until it seems less scary.

I had dinner last night with that crazy friend of mine, and on the way home I pulled into a parking lot and left a Random Act's CD on the windshield of the first car in the lot.

A silver SUV that was quite possibly even dirtier than my car, which is no easy feat seeing as I take very little interest in cleaning my car. Especially this time of year, when it's just going to get dirty again.

The next song on the playlist has a message that I would probably do well to remember over the next few weeks. A message about letting go, and allowing God to take the reins.

Something I could definitely be a little better at.

Because let's face it; I tend to worry. Probably far more than is ever actually necessary.

So, I'm working on letting go and letting God.

And succeeding maybe half the time.

Baby steps people, baby steps.

Let Go, Lindsay McCaul

We’re ALL Crazy

I have this friend. This amazingly sweet and genuine friend. A girl who is one of the most driven women I know, while also possessing a killer sense of humor and the ability to be kind to everyone.

Her only real downfall, is that she’s crazy.

Now, to be fair, I think she would fully agree with my assessment here. In fact, my guess is that she is currently reading this and laughing hysterically.

Because she knows… she’s crazy.

You see, this friend of mine has a dilemma. She is the most even keeled, upbeat, fun to be around person you have ever met. I have honestly never in our entire friendship felt even a moment of harshness or irritability from her. As far as I can tell, she never gets irritated with anyone. Except her boyfriend that is. And even then, only when she’s on period.

In fact, this dear friend of mine has gotten into the habit of dumping her boyfriend. Every month. Right when she starts to bleed.

This has been going on for months now. I’ve honestly lost track of how many times she’s dumped him so far. And so this afternoon, when I got a message that she had started her period and dumped her boyfriend yesterday… all I could do was laugh.

She knows she does this. She always regrets it in less than 24 hours. I’m not sure they have officially been broken up for any longer than that even once. So, she realizes she does this even when it’s not really what she wants.

But she can’t stop herself.

Because she’s crazy.

Thankfully, he has come to realize this as well. When she and I got a chance to catch up this afternoon, she said that the two of them had already talked today as though nothing at all had happened last night. Apparently he has decided that the best way to handle these situations is to simply ignore them. Let her throw her hormonal fit, and then move on.

And she is more than happy with this resolution as well. Because she really doesn’t want to break up with him. She’s just crazy.

Although, I do have to say that I’m not sure what’s going to happen if the day ever comes that she really does want things to be over. I doubt that he would believe her at this point. Heck, for all I know; he’s simply started to filter out the words “we’re done” entirely.

I tell this story only to illustrate a point. The point being: We are ALL crazy.

Even the most put together and capable amongst us. I’m pretty sure it’s a female thing. Something missing from our genetic makeup that makes us ALL a little bit… special.

I know I personally have an issue with letters. I send them. These long, drawn out, dramatic letters. Anytime my heart ever gets hurt in the least, I pen a 10 page diatribe telling the perpetrator exactly how I feel about what they’ve done.

These are the kind of letters that you are supposed to write for your own well being and then never send. Except… I send them. I always send them. I can’t help myself. I get worked up and upset and this force takes me over. I become determined to ensure that nothing is left unsaid.

I do not like words left unsaid.

The problem here of course is that these letters are hardly ever well received. In fact, most of the time I think they’re laughed at and then passed around amongst friends.

Because sending a letter like that? It’s something only a crazy chick would do!

I consider it a testament to my growing maturity that Mr. Fix-It has still yet to receive a letter from me. But I am not naïve enough to believe that I have outgrown my craziness. I know it’s there. Lingering in the background. Just waiting for the next event that pushes me over the edge.

And then that person had better watch out, because I’ll tell you what – I can write a mean letter.

I’m crazy. Most of my friends are crazy. I’m willing to bet that you’re crazy.

We are ALL crazy.

And I think the men know it.

I think they recognize that not a one of us is sane.

We are ALL crazy.

And it’s in their best interest to just deal with it.

A Choice

This is one of those posts where I wish I could turn the comments off. Mostly because I am not looking to embark upon a debate or in any way incite the masses. But, I am in a position of needing to clarify myself. And I’m not sure how else to do that without simply diving in head first – hoping that those who may happen upon this post while in search of a debate will recognize that this is my opinion and my opinion alone.

I am not looking for a fight.

A few days ago though, as I typed away about my feelings regarding miracles and God’s hand in those who can and cannot get pregnant, I used the phrase “women who choose to abort” a time or two. I now know that there was at least one of you out there reading who was hurt by my need to touch on such a sensitive topic, and I can only assume that there may have been others who felt the same way. Others who got the impression that I was judging them for choices they have made in their lives, when nothing could have been further from the truth.

As a result, I am going to open myself up to the firing squad now in an attempt to clarify and set the record straight regarding my feelings and my views. Because the truth is that my intention here is never to hurt anyone. And while I recognize that it would be almost impossible to never offend at all, it is something I like to try to set right when I can.

So here it is: I am pro choice.

That’s right. I am an infertile woman who desperately wants nothing more in this world than to be a mommy, but I am still pro choice.

I am also a woman of faith who truly believes that life begins at conception, but I am still pro choice.

And finally, I am a woman who mourned those failed IVF cycles as though they were miscarriages (because I honestly felt like my babies had died), but I am still pro choice.

(Courtesy of Google Images)

I am pro choice because the truth is, I do not believe it is my right or place or purpose to push my ideals and beliefs upon another woman’s body. Abortions pain me. They truly break my heart. I know (and have always known) beyond a shadow of a doubt that an abortion would never have been an option for me.

But, I can and always will respect the rights of other women to choose.

Just as I wanted that same respect to choose IVF for my own body, even while I knew that there are those who would disagree.

It’s my body, and my life; I would never want someone thinking they deserved reign over that. Therefore, I would never presume to have reign over those aspects belonging to another woman.

Further, while the act of abortion is one that will always make me very sad, it is not one I judge. I have actually stood by two close friends in my life while they made that choice. One was years ago, and I was there for her from the moment she got her 2 lines to the second that baby was no more (and throughout the healing that took place after). The other was more recently, and as she spoke to me about her guilt regarding her unwanted pregnancy when she knew how much I wanted to be pregnant myself, I listened to her and reassured her that she could not make decisions for her life based on how she thought I would feel about them.

Both were women I considered to be close friends, and while I did not understand their choices; I respected them. I continued on loving them each just the same.

And I can honestly say that to the best of my knowledge, neither has ever regretted the decision she made. While there have been hurts along the way, both remain confident that they made the best choices for themselves at the time. And that too, I can respect.

So, when I made the mention of “women who choose to abort”, I just hope that everyone knows that wasn’t a statement made out of contempt or judgment. Rather, it was a statement made out of sadness. Because I know that abortion is not an easy choice to make, nor is it a simple path to walk. And while those I know who have been through it have not regretted their choices, I also know that if they had been given the opportunity – they each would have preferred to simply not have been in the position to make that choice at all. So yes, it does make me sad that they would get pregnant and I would not. It does sting that they would be the ones “blessed” with that gift they didn’t even want, while I am left trying so desperately to no avail. I am willing to bet that most women who have walked that path would have far preferred that life to be placed inside someone else. Someone who was actually mentally and physically in the place to take on that responsibility. I don’t think many would say that they were glad for the experience, or that they would want to do it again. So in reality, it’s a sadness for both of us. For them given a responsibility they were not able to take on, and for me being deprived of a blessing I so desperately yearn for.

When I talk about those women who “choose to abort”, it is not out of disgust or rage. It is simply out of sadness. For both them, and myself. And I hope those that were hurt can see that. Can understand that.

It simply seems to me to be one of life’s bigger injustices. Not perpetuated by miracles or blessings, but rather brought on by biology and choices.

Because the truth of the matter is, there is only one simple thing that I begrudge those who choose the path of abortion.

Something they were given, that I was not.

A choice.

It’s one of those instances where I think both parties would have preferred the choice have been given to someone else.

Someone who would have chosen differently.

Someone who would have spent the rest of their lives thankful for the opportunity to choose at all.

I don’t judge that choice.

I just wish I too had been allowed to choose.

Blessed

I’m always intrigued by how different people tend to process the same information. It’s human nature I suppose. We all bring our own issues into each and every circumstance in our lives. And it sits there, in the back of our minds, clouding every interaction we have or witness throughout our days. Sometimes for the bad, but just as often for the good.

I found myself thinking about that today as I revisited in my head many of the issues surrounding infertility. How differently people view each of the choices we are all faced with depending on where we are on our journeys. It’s hard not to read someone’s story without taking aspects of it personally. Even if what was written was only ever meant to be the authors own reflection upon their lives, it’s difficult not to look at what they’ve put out there and try to determine how it reflects upon our lives.

We each do it. It would be almost impossible not to. Our personal lives and stories are always going to shadow how we view the world. How we view others.

In some ways, we are almost slaves to our pasts.

I bring this all up, only because it’s pertinent to how I read the lessons from the last week of bible study. How my life and my past caused me to filter out a smaller part of the study and somehow make it the bigger piece.

I’m speaking mostly about the friendship between David and Jonathan. It was such a small part of the 5 lessons for the week, but the bond between the two of them hung with me. Even as we touched on issues such as jealousy and other negative spirals, I remained fixated on David and Jonathan. On their unrelenting friendship. The clear love they had for each other.

I was touched by their connection. And even though I have read David’s story before, for some reason that aspect of it really stood out to me this time.

Perhaps because it got me thinking about the friendships in my life that mean so much to me. I don’t know how it happened, but I have been blessed with some friendships in this life that I wouldn’t trade for anything. Women who I know I could call upon at all hours and they would be there for me in whatever way I needed. Women I would trust with my deepest darkest secrets. Women who will put me in my place when I am wrong. Women who are always willing to walk alongside me.

Women who know me inside and out and still love me.

For whatever reason, making these kinds of friendships has always come easily for me. In my adult life, it hasn’t mattered where I’ve lived or what I’ve been doing; someone has always come into my life who was clearly meant to be there. And those friendships have endured, so that while I have a few up here in Anchorage with me now – I also have a handful spread out across the country. And while I may go weeks without talking to some of these women; whenever we do get the chance to catch up, it is always as though no time has passed at all.

There have been so many times I have been left in awe of these friendships of mine. Wondering how it is that I got so lucky. I was talking to Dr. Headshrink about that today in fact. Explaining to her how incredible some of my friends have been over this last year, and wondering out loud how it is that I’ve managed to form such close bonds with such amazing people. She hypothesized that it has nothing to do with luck. That it has to do with me. Something about me. Something I am putting out there. I think she was trying to get me to recognize some of the good qualities I myself have that in turn also make me a good friend, but you know what? I don’t buy it. And I told her that.

Instead, I think these friendships have been Gods way of keeping me on the right path in this life. Because it just seems far too coincidental to me that so many good, warm, genuine women have been brought into my life at exactly the right times for it not to have been the work of God. It’s no secret that my childhood left me with issues surrounding women. Surrounding trusting women. And I didn’t even really start forming strong bonds with other women until I was in my 20’s. I had a hard time letting anyone in at all to be honest. But somehow, these women found me. Found ways to get through my tougher shell. Ways to help me trust them. And the end result is these friendships that have now endured for years and years. With women who have never once let me down, or hurt me, or betrayed me. Women who I in turn would do just about anything for.

But, I know for a fact that all women are not so lucky. I see the friendships others have. The cattiness and gossiping. The backstabbing and competition. I’ve even had friendships like that (although, I am thankful to say that in my adult life I have always been able to walk away from those kinds of relationships pretty easily). I know how some women are. How arguably, many women are. So how could I not see it as anything other than a blessing that these truly amazing friendships have always found their way into my life? I don’t know why I’ve been so blessed, but I know I have been. I know that God has sent some amazing people into my life, and that they have all served such an incredible purpose for me.

I still have trust issues with women. It is still pretty easy for me to cut someone off if I feel like they can only offer me an unhealthy friendship. I walk away with ease from anyone who is clearly not suited for adult interactions or understanding of where boundaries lay. But the return for my ability to end those unhealthy ties before they even begin is that I am able to invest most of my time into relationships that matter. Friendships with people who are able to give as much as they take. Women who are strong and intelligent. Beautiful and kind. Warm and compassionate.

Women who I am proud to call my friends.

I don’t know how or why I have been so blessed.

But I will always be grateful for these women.

For their honesty.

Their laughter.

Their love.

And their incredible friendships I often feel I do not deserve.

Friendships I am blessed to have.

In Limbo

I’ve had a feeling that I can’t shake lately. I’ve mentioned it in a live chat or two, and in some of my conversations with friends in real life as well.

It’s this nagging voice in my head that is telling me that eventually (someday), I am going to need to let all this go. That in order to move on with my life, I am going to have to walk away from the infertility world.

Because, how long can you continue to linger after acknowledging truly that it will probably never be you who gets those two lines?

I’ve been feeling stuck lately. In limbo. Unsure of where my place is in this world, now that I am no longer actively trying to conceive. Now that I have come to the conclusion that I will likely never be actively trying to conceive again.

How long can you cling to the label of infertility and allow it to define you before you just get up and move forward? Onto the next stage. Whatever that may be.

That’s what my newest post is about over at Fertility Authority. I’m sure I’m not the only person who has ever felt this way. The only one who has reached the end of the road as far as fertility treatments are concerned, still with no baby in her arms. The only one left feeling like she no longer fits in, now that she is no longer trying.

I’m sure I’m not the only one who has ever been stuck in limbo.

So I would welcome your insights here. Because I have to admit, there is something about remaining enmeshed in the infertility world that seems unhealthy to me. Like I’m holding on to something I really need to be able to let go of.

For the time being though, things around here are going to continue on as usual. If only because I don’t know what the next step is, and I’m not sure how to simply scrap this part of my life and start anew. I don’t want you all to think I’m just going to up and disappear tomorrow, because that isn’t the case. I suppose I’m just… pondering. Trying to figure out what the healthiest thing to do is at this point.

But until I figure that out, I’ll still be here. In limbo. Connecting and interacting as best as I can. Talking about infertility, if only because it is a pain I know. An ache I can relate to.

And if you’re looking for someone who can relate, the Live Infertility Chats will continue on. I may take a week or two off surrounding my surgery (solely because I’m planning on being in and out of consciousness in the days surrounding being cut open), but we are still on for this weekend. If you’ve never participated in a live chat before, you're really missing out. We’ve been doing this for close to 5 months now, and it has really become a place of such amazing bonding for the women who participate. It’s the one hour every week on the community that is dedicated solely to infertility and those who have walked this path. We would love to have you join us and share your story. And I have to boast a little, because last week we did have a dear friend break down and pee on a stick mid chat – and the news was so good! Maranda (one of the lovely women I met during my last cycle in Seattle) was blessed with her two lines and was able to rejoice with this group of women who had been pulling for her. So you see – we celebrate with each other just as much as we vent! And we would love one more friend to be rooting for.

If this sounds like something you would like to get involved in, all you have to do is head over the community at 3:00pm Alaska time and click on the discussion titled “Live Infertility Chat”. Feel free to jump right in and introduce yourself to us! If you want to catch up on past chats first, you can do so here:

Live Infertility Chat: Week 19

Live Infertility Chat: Week 18

I’m looking forward to seeing you there ladies. And who knows, maybe one of you has exactly the insight I need as I try to navigate my way through limbo!

Riding Solo

I like to believe that I have eclectic music tastes. That I can get my head bopping to just about any tune. That I can find the deeper meaning behind the lyrics and the soul beneath the rhythm.

I like to think I’m a musical connoisseur.

Which is why I hope you’ll forgive me when I reveal to you some of my trendier favorites as of late. Music I’m not even kind of proud to admit liking, but that I find myself singing along to nonetheless.

And just so we’re clear – I do not sing well.

First up: Taylor Swift. Now, as a girl who used to frequent open mic nights and made a point of dating guitarists, I am fully aware right now that I should be ashamed of myself. Admitting to liking Taylor Swift is right up there with admitting to liking Justin Bieber.

Oh wait. I already did that too.

Whatevs. I don’t care. The girl has a new song lately that totally has me stopping in my tracks every time I hear it. Just listen to the lyrics, and I’m sure that those of you who have been around for any extended period of time can figure out why it speaks to me. It's like the chick got all up in my head or something:



So there it is. I’m a closet Taylor Swift fan. I will not apologize.

But I will hopefully redeem myself (if only slightly) with the song that has practically become my mantra over the last few weeks:



Yes, it’s true. I have found myself singing along to Jason Derulo. Almost daily in fact.

And not just singing either. It's possible that there may be some dancing in front of my mirror as well. My own personal mood lifter.

Because let's face it - I do feel better after proclaiming my S-O-L-O status to my mirror with Jason Derulo as my guide for some reason.

Not just because of my lack of a man either. In reality, I actually used to really love being single. I loved my freedom. My ability to do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. The feeling of having no one to answer to. So often lately though, I find myself wishing for more. Wishing for the baby. The love. The happily ever after.

When the truth is; I was pretty gosh darn happy before I ever found myself yearning for any of that. I really was. I had a good life. The kind of life where I could pick up at the drop of a hat and move across the country if I wanted to. Where I could travel, and drink, and date, and… be free to be me. Whoever it was I decided that person was from day to day. I took care of myself. Completely and wholly. And I was happy. Really and truly happy.

Somehow though, in my quest for something more, I have forgotten how to do that. How to be happy with the life laid out in front of me. How to enjoy my freedom. The peace and quiet I am able to come home to after a long day, and the wild and crazy nights I’m still able to indulge in whenever the mood strikes me.

I was so ready to move on to that next step. And the truth is, I am still ready to move on to that next step. I am still ready to find love, and I am more than ready to have my baby in my arms. But in the interim? The time between now, and when that dream actually becomes a reality?

I’m riding solo.

And the truth is – that really isn’t such a bad thing.

In fact, it used to be a life I adored.

So yeah, I’ve had Jason Derulo on repeat more times than I care to admit over the last few weeks.

But you know what?

Now I made it through the weather
better days are gonna get better

I’m riding solo.

And I’ll be damned if I’m not going to make the most of it.

Random Acts: Day 26

I have started to get oddly anxious about leaving random acts disks on people's cars.

I don't know when it started, or why, but every time I drop one off now; I am more and more afraid of getting caught.

I'm pretty sure I can't think of anything more embarrassing than trying to explain to a total stranger why I'm leaving a CD on their car. I can only imagine that I would stammer and stutter and make a complete fool of myself.

"I just wanted to put a smile on your face" doesn't sound quite as cool when it's being said face to face with someone I've never actually met before.

Neat idea in theory, but completely dorky when you try to explain it to someone in person.

So, I've started to become a bit more covert. Looking around for minutes before hopping out of my car. Ensuring that no one (and I mean no one) is around to spy me dropping disks on people's vehicles like the random acts fairy I fancy myself to be.

I left one in the parking lot of the chiropractor’s office yesterday. Because yes, I did return. If only because I would really like to get my back to some level of normalcy before being trapped in bed for a week post surgery.

Plus, it kind of has the perfect parking lot for disk dropping.

And in keeping with yesterday's theme of hope for one day, the next song on the playlist is:

Matisyahu, One Day



P.S. I'm getting kind of ridiculously excited to bring a few of these disks to Cali with me. I just picture these tunes belonging somewhere with surf and sand and sun.

Unanswered Prayers

I am of the belief that every baby is a miracle. That each and every life brought into this world is a gift from God.

(Courtesy of Google Images)

But I have a confession to make. Every time I hear a pregnancy announcement made under the premise that it was God’s answer to prayers, there is a part of me that shrinks back as though stung. Recoiling from the shock. The indication that God answered their prayers but not mine. That God wanted them to be pregnant, but not me.

And while I recognize that people aren’t saying that at all when they praise God for their blessings, I can’t help but feel it. As though they have conjured up this image in their heads of a God sitting on high picking and choosing who does and does not get pregnant.

I just can’t imagine that’s how it actually works though. Not with all the babies brought into this world by women who clearly don’t want them. Women who make the decisions to abort them, or have them with no real ability to care for them. There is too much abuse, and neglect, and sadness for me to believe that God chose those women and families to have babies over the homes where they would be nurtured and loved and cared for. If God was sitting on high picking and choosing whose wombs to bless, I have to believe that He would choose stable homes. Loving homes. Homes where children would be given the best of the best.

I just have to believe that He would choose better.

And I’m not even saying I would qualify under those guidelines, because I know that in my current single state I would be lacking in certain parental areas. But… I have to believe that if God really were the one behind the placement of each and every one of these miracle babies; there would be no more children born into the arms of mothers who are wholly incapable of caring for them.

I think it all has far more to do with biology. And free will.

Because we all know how I feel about free will.

I just can’t believe that God would choose a crack head, or a woman who is only going to abort, or a teenager still a child herself to bless with a pregnancy and not me.

I just don’t buy it.

So I can’t help but think that my inability to get pregnant isn’t so much an unanswered prayer as it is just one of life’s circumstances. One of those things that simply happens. And while I believe with all my heart that God can turn this entire situation into something good, I don’t necessarily believe that He created it. Or that He chose not to answer my prayers while in the same moment answering the prayers of others.

Granted, if I had achieved a pregnancy, I’m sure I would have done the same. It’s in the nature of anyone with faith to want to attest all of our blessings to God. But if we’re willing to accept that sometimes bad things just happen as the result of free will and circumstance, isn’t it just as logical to assume that good things can happen in much the same way?

It's all just so damn confusing though. Trying to wrap my head around it is exhausting.

Because where does the difference lie? Why are we so quick to attribute the good in our lives to God, but not the bad? Where does the distinction come in? How do we know when something is God’s will, and when it’s just… free will? When something is an unanswered prayer, versus simply being an unrealistic prayer? When a miracle is really just… biology?

God created us to procreate. He made our bodies in such a magnificent way that reproduction was possible. So, when any of us conceive, is it really a matter of God choosing us to bless, or is it more a matter of free will colliding with biology? The logical outcome of trying to conceive (or not inhibiting conception) simply coming true?

I hope I don’t offend anyone with these questions. That I don’t leave anyone thinking I’m ungrateful, or losing my faith. Because neither is true. I have been feeling God in my life more and more lately, and that feeling is not fading. But I suppose I’m just wondering how all the pieces fit together. How it is that we determine God has chosen to bless us rather than someone else. Why we are all so willing to accept God’s will… so long as it works out exactly as we prayed for it to.

I am not questioning my faith, or God, but maybe I’m questioning how I believe. And the expectations I rather unfairly lay upon His feet.

Where my failings are in all of this, rather than His.

Because if I’m being completely honest?

I spent much of today wondering why I didn’t get my miracle.

And the only conclusion I could come to is that it just doesn’t work like that.

Sometimes biology is just biology, and free will leads to obvious outcomes.

But in the back of my mind, I know. A baby is always a miracle.

And I suppose I can only pray that one day I too will be blessed.

Invisible Pain

I was told by a coworker last week that she sometimes forgets anything is wrong with me at all. That it’s hard to tell just by looking at me that I may be in pain. That I may be hurting. That there may be a disease inside of me ravaging my insides.

It’s probably hard to tell by reading here, but in my day to day life; I don’t talk much about endometriosis. Or pain. Or infertility. I try to go through my life and conversations leaving those harder parts out. I do this for a million different reasons, but for me the biggest one is this; I don’t want to appear weak. I don’t ever want to appear weak.

A lot of endometriosis sufferers are the same way. It’s hard to describe an ailment that no one can see. Difficult to discuss pain that is to the outside viewer invisible. We all easily empathize with the person with a broken bone or stitches. We quickly understand and recognize their pain. But the same isn’t true for endometriosis. To the outside viewer, there is nothing there to confirm the complaints. So complaining at all becomes uncomfortable. As though you’re opening yourself up to judgment and questions.

So I don’t. I don’t discuss my pain. I go through my day as best I can with a smile on my face, consistently counting down the hours until I can get home to my heating pad. But never eluding to more hurt than those around me really need to know.

The pain has been getting worse though. As the weeks have passed since this last IVF, the pain has definitely increased. And it has remained high in my abdomen, making me progressively more nervous about how far this disease has spread at this point.

If we’re being completely honest, there is also a mental element there. Yes, the pain is wholly physical and real, but mentally I know what that pain means. I know what the underlying cause is. The disease that has spread throughout my body and threatened my dream of being a mother every step of the way. Were this pain caused by something else (pregnancy for instance) it’s fair to assume that it would be a pain I would be more willing and capable of handling. But as it is, it’s a pain brought on by nothing good. And as such, all I want is for it to be gone. For the disease to be eradicated from my body.

But describing that to others is difficult. Putting into words how I feel about this pain is tortuous. I am not a complainer. Not a whiner. Not a fan of appearing weak. And while I would probably be much more apt to show off a broken ankle and lament about the hurt; with this I often keep my mouth shut.

Because there is nothing to show. No proof to provide of my pain. No justification to lend to my words.

(Courtesy of Google Images)

Endometriosis is often described as an invisible disease, because to the outside observer; there’s nothing there to observe. It can’t even be diagnosed without surgery. And the pain can’t be quantified in any way shape or form.

To most in my life, I appear healthy. And the reality of the situation is, I am healthy. I don’t get colds or flu’s. I don’t get knocked down by strep or pneumonia. It’s rare that I ever complain about feeling ill at all in fact. I don’t even have a general health practitioner. In the 3 years that I've lived in Alaska, I've never needed one. I am healthy.

Except for this disease. This invisible disease, lending constantly to pain and anguish. This disease that is so hard for me to put into words for those with questions. And so often, I don’t. I don’t say anything. I go about my life trying to live as normally as possible. Striving to be the perfect picture of health, even when I know how far from the truth that is.

For those who know about my upcoming surgery without knowing much more about my condition, it must be confusing for them. Confusing that I would need to travel outside the state to see a specialist when day to day I seem so normal. So healthy.

To them, it must seem as though there is nothing there that needs to be fixed.

But I know. I know what this surgery means. I know that I will wake up likely feeling better than I have in the last year. That the pain of healing won’t hold a candle to the pain I’ve been in so regularly up to this point. That within a week I will find myself thinking about how I didn’t even realize how awful I had felt… not really. Not until I felt better again.

I know this, because it’s what has happened my last two surgeries. I know this, because I expect the outcome to be even greater this time around. With this specialist doing everything he can to eradicate my body of every last bit of this disease.

This invisible disease.

I’m lying in bed on my heating pad as we speak. Aching in ways that scare me. Because I can’t help but visualize what all that aching means. What further damage is being done.

But I’m hopeful. Hopeful that a month from now, this aching will be a distant memory. That a year from now, it will continue to be a thing of the past. And that as the years go by, I will find myself forgetting more and more what it felt like to be in this pain.

I want to be the healthy girl on the inside that I portray myself to be on the outside.

Free of invisible pain.

Of interior aches.

Of an unrelenting illness.

No longer the girl feigning health and comfort.

But the one actually experiencing it.

And in this surgery, I am finding hope.

The Nursery

I was interviewing potential roommates this afternoon, and I found myself discussing with a total stranger something I originally had no intentions at all of mentioning.

I caught myself telling this girl that the room I was now renting out had originally been intended to be used as a nursery.

And it dawned on me; maybe that’s why I’ve been so reluctant to finding a roommate. Why every girl I’ve met thus far just hasn’t seemed right.

Maybe it’s more the fact that putting someone in there feels like admitting defeat. Like recognizing that it won’t be a room meant to house my babies anytime soon.

It’s silly really. The room is completely empty. I have nothing in there at all. I spent most of last year refusing to buy any baby things until I had my two pink lines (a decision I am now beyond grateful I made – because staring down an unused crib or bouncy chair every day is just not something I think I could handle), but I also refused to put anything else in that room. I had no intentions of turning it into a guest room, or an office, or a workout area. None of those uses would have fulfilled the true purpose I had for the room in my mind. So instead, I allowed it to remain empty. Waiting for the day when I could construct the crib, and the changing table, and the rocking chair. The day when I could hang the mobile from the ceiling and paint the walls in varying shades of brown and pastel.

(Courtesy of Google Images)

In all that waiting however, I did absolutely nothing at all with that room. And now, it’s just reached a point of absurdity. An empty room with no use or function. One which certainly isn’t going to become my nursery anytime soon.

So considering the fact that I have all kinds of baby making debt, and adding in the reality that this room is never going to be my nursery (at least - not in the foreseeable future), it's silly for me to not get a roommate. To not share the spare bedroom and bathroom with someone who could actually help with the bills. Someone who may even become a new friend. A person who could be around to watch scary movies with me, and whine about boys, and give opinions on outfits before date nights.

I’ve had so many amazing roommate experiences in my life, it really is just silly that I would be so reluctant to getting one now.

And the only real explanation I can come up with is that I’ve been covertly trying to protect my nursery. Trying to preserve all the possibilities that room once held.

But it’s time to let that go. Time to abandon the nursery and move forward.

As difficult as that may be.

I think I found the new roommate to be this afternoon. She was a very sweet college student who seemed like she would be the perfect person to share my little home with. Plus, she is moving out of state at the end of the semester, so she only needs a place for the next 3 months.

Which right now, sounds ideal to me.

Because, while I am trying to be a grown up by acknowledging the fact that the nursery was never meant to be… I think I like knowing that it will only have to morph into something else for 3 very short months.

And then, maybe I can reevaluate. Either find myself another roommate if this all works out, or…

Turn that space into a gym and call it a day.

No Rest For The Weary

Have you ever had one of those days?

You know, the kind where you feel like you're running from the moment you wake up until the second your head hits the pillow?

Well…. I think I’m having one of those days. Even though my bed still seems so far away.

I had to get up extra early this morning in order to run to the hospital for some blood work.

Pre-surgery blood work to be exact. For the surgery that is officially now scheduled on the 8th of February.

I had to fast for this blood work, and when I showed up the nurse proudly proclaimed “Oh wow! We’re really draining you today!”

Not having any idea what she was talking about, I sat down and watched in horror as she pulled out 9 tiny little vials.

Yes, 9.

On an empty stomach.

It’s possible that I may have hobbled out of there. Working hard to ensure that I didn’t topple over as I dug through my purse in search of a granola bar after the draining was complete.

From there, I headed to my first chiropractor appointment. My back pain has just been getting worse since that lovely little fall on New Year’s Day, so I finally broke down and scheduled an appointment. I figured it would probably be best to get it looked at before the surgery, since I’m going to be spending a lot of time in bed after that point.

I had no idea first chiropractor visits were so intense though. This man had me strip down and don a gown for x-rays before spending over an hour talking to me about all that was wrong with my back.

I kind of felt like I was a grade-schooler getting reprimanded for breaking the rules.

He said he thinks he can fix the issues in my spine. Leftover issues from an accident in Mexico almost 10 years ago when I cracked 3 vertebrates – an injury I never really did much for beyond the initial chiropractor visits, because at the time I had no health insurance. What can I say? Once upon a time I was a stupid kid who played a little too hard! So yes, he thinks he can repair the damage there, but he’s guessing it will take 2-3 years of work.

I’m really going back and forth on whether or not I even want to go back. He said this latest fall probably just re-awakened that old injury (I had honestly been dealing pretty well with that pain for years before now), and that it will be the kind of thing that will always eventually crop back up if I don’t take care of it now.

But who has the time? I have a job, and a life, and there just aren’t enough hours in the day to add in one more regular doctor’s visit.

Still trying to decide how I want to deal with that one, I drove into work and was plummeted directly into chaos. Not chaos inflicted by anyone else mind you, but just one thing after another thrown my direction. I felt like every time I completed one task, two more appeared in front of me.

(Courtesy of Google Images)

I’m telling you; one of those days.

And now I am home, face washed, and about to apply a fresh coat of makeup. I’m having dinner with one of my favorite couples in just half an hour, and then from there I'm going to Mrs. King’s house for some much needed wine and bonding time. I’m thinking I'll get home a little after 1, and then I'm crashing. Sleeping in until noon at least!

It has definitely been one of those days. And it doesn’t help that the reality of surgery in just a few weeks has now hit me. I'll be flying to San Francisco on the 3rd of February for a pre-op appointment on the 4th. So, two weeks from yesterday I will be on my way. And there are about 1001 details I need to work out before that moment.

I just keep reminding myself though, that I am going to wake up from this surgery feeling better than I have in months. That the pain from healing is going to be nothing compared to the pain I’m in. That my energy levels are going to go up, and I am going to go back to feeling like myself again.

The old me.

The one who had it in her to handle days like this with ease.

Separate from the girl I currently am.

The one who really just wants to pop a pill and curl up with her heating pad for the rest of the night.

I’m going out though. I am going to enjoy my time with my friends, and laugh and smile and gossip and stay up far too late. Because I really don’t do that nearly enough. And because I am a girl who truly is blessed to be able to spend time with such amazing people.

Besides, it’s already been one of those days.

So it might as well turn into one of those nights.

Random Acts: Day 25

The temperature has finally risen back over 20 degrees here in the great white north, and we actually got some much needed snow over the last few days.

Not nearly as much snow as some of you in the lower 48 have been getting, but a nice little dusting at least.

Enough to cover up the ugliness that was left behind by that random thaw we had over New Years.

We have had some weird weather this month. It was over 40 at that point, and then dropped to almost 20 below last week. Fluctuations of as much as 60 degrees in a matter of days. It’s mildly bizarre.

But I’m hoping we have finally bounced back to a state of normalcy. Not too cold, and not too randomly warm for this time of year.

My pretty Alaskan winter just the way I like it.

And that snow actually set the stage for me to get back into the random acts game yesterday as well.

Upon my escape from work, I headed home and pulled up in front of the mailboxes. I hopped out of my nice and toasty car (thanks to that lovely remote start I had installed last month) and went to grab the mail when I noticed a woman a few cars over trying to rid her car of snow with her bare hands.

It did not look pleasant.

I grabbed the snow scraper thing I keep in the backseat of my car. This long tool that looks almost like a broom except with a flat edge on the other side of the brush. The ex actually put it back there for me during my first winter, and it has come in handy more times than I can count now. Which is nice, because I don’t think it’s something I ever would have thought to go out and purchase for myself.

So upon seeing this woman struggle, I knew I could help. It’s still too cold to be thrusting your bare hands into the snow after all!

I walked over with my big brush/stick/scraper thing and offered to lend a hand. A look of relief washed over her face, and she started explaining that she almost never parks out front and that her husband keeps their scraper in his truck. It took all of 2 minutes, and her car was all scraped off and good to go. We said our goodbyes, and each got back into our own vehicles.

I then happily pulled mine into the heated garage and wondered how I ever spent my first winter here without that luxury.

I love the snow.

I just love it more when I'm looking at it from indoors.

The Weight of The Unknown

It wasn’t anything that should have meant anything to me.

A random comment made on a Facebook page that wasn’t even his (because the truth is – the man doesn’t even have the internet at his house and couldn't be less interested in Facebook). It wasn’t even about him. At least, not directly.

But the minute I saw it, I knew.

I just knew.

The ex had moved on. Found someone else. Possibly even fallen in love.

And my heart sank. In a way I had never really expected it would.

After all, I had moved on. Hadn’t I? I’m the one who told him to lose my number those 4 months ago. I’m the one who proclaimed that we couldn’t keep hurting each other. That the cycle we had been in for the last 2 years wasn’t healthy. That it needed to end.

I’m the one who drew the line in the sand.

And then I’m the one who dated first. Who let someone else in. Who felt butterflies for someone other than the man who had been giving them to me since the day we had met.

I’m the one who chose this path.

So why should his moving on sting so badly?

In part, I think it was the not knowing. This all happened Tuesday night, and I sat staring at my computer screen for over an hour trying to determine if I was misinterpreting what I was reading. I attempted a little cyber stalking (in search of only clues), but getting any real kind of details from an endeavor like that is next to impossible when you’re talking about a man who spurns technology at every turn.

A man who truly is above it all in terms of internet communication.

One who actually would rather sit down face to face with his friends and a beer over tweeting with them, or writing on their walls, or posting on their blogs.

The thing that I had always kind of admired about him (and a trait I had even envied - since clearly I lack the same distaste for social networking), was the thing that was going to bite me in the butt in terms of finding out the details I desperately needed.

And so, I sat on it. Letting it eat away at me. The wondering. The worrying.

The weight of the uknown.

I toyed with the idea of asking him myself. Breaking the code of silence and crossing that line, if only to find there was no longer a line even available to cross.

But, I stopped myself short of that. Knowing a conversation like that couldn't have too many good possible outcomes.

Still… I had to know.

So last night, I broke down. I called his sister. Something I had been avoiding doing at all costs. I care about this family deeply, and really have tried over the last several months to keep my relationships with them separate from my lack of a relationship with him. I’ve never wanted any of them to think that I was only maintaining ties with them in order to keep tabs on him, because nothing could be further from the truth.

But in this instance, I felt like I had no other choice.

And so a few minutes into our conversation, I paused and said “I have something to ask you. And I’m pretty sure it’s entirely inappropriate of me to even ask at all, but… I just have to know.”

She must have been expecting it. On some level, she must have known this question would come eventually. Because as soon as I asked, she gave me as honest an answer as she could possibly manage.

Yes, he is seeing someone. Yes, it is exclusive. But beyond that, she didn’t know much. She hadn’t yet met this woman, and only knew the slightest of details. Just enough to be able to tell me that I hadn’t misinterpreted what I'd seen.

And my heart sank some more. Thanking her profusely for her honesty, I got off the phone shortly thereafter. Not wanting to burden her with my hurt feelings over something that really wasn’t anyone’s fault.

He’s moved on. And my sadness over that fact has surprised me. I’ve known all along that he’s been dating. That there have been multiple women.

But… I’ve also known that none of them had been able to break the same barriers I had. I’ve known that none of them could take my place in his heart.

And so, while I haven’t exactly liked the revolving door of women I’ve heard about through the grapevine of this small town… I haven’t really been overly bothered by it either.

But now, with this woman, there is something real.

And I can’t help but wonder if it rivals what we once had.

Is she getting the man I fell in love with once upon a time? The one who used to call me every night we weren't together. Talking for hours about the stupidest of subjects. The one who nervously waited weeks to kiss me for the first time, until we were at a point where I honestly found myself wondering if it was ever going to happen at all. The one who used to grab my hand and hold it no matter where we were or what we were doing. The one who proudly introduced me to his family from the very start. The one who was so sure of what we were meant to mean to each other.

Is she getting him? Because as much as I have missed that man (the one who was taken over by another who simply could not forgive the past), I’m not sure how I feel about someone else getting him.

I think I thought that if he ever decided to go back to being that man, I would be the first call he would make.

And now I’m realizing… that’s not exactly true.

I am fine though. No tears have been shed. No glasses broken. No profanities shouted out towards the sky.

I am fine. I will be fine. I will continue moving forward and dating and seeking out my own bliss.

Searching for the man I called for just a few weeks ago.

The reality of the situation is, I really do want him to be happy. I really do want him to find love.

Even if it isn’t me that makes him happy anymore. Even if it isn’t me that he loves anymore.

I want him to be happy.

And I know I’ll find my happiness as well.

This is just a blip on the radar of moving on. Just one more step that had to be taken.

I can be a grown up about this. I can accept it as just another nail in the coffin of us.

And I can be happy for him.

That is of course, unless he knocks her up.

In that case, I reserve the right to stamp my feet, shout out to the heavens, and kidnap their child.

Which I think would only be fair given the circumstances.

More Than Anyone Could Bear

I feel like I’ve been inundated with sad stories from within the infertility world lately. Stories that rip your heart out to hear, leaving you thinking “that just seems like more than anyone could bear!”

But something I’m realizing is that women are bearing it. YOU ALL are bearing it. Picking up. Moving on. Struggling forward.

It’s inspiring.

And that’s what my newest post is about at Fertility Authority this week. The hope that can be found beneath the rubble. The perseverance of those still fighting. The strength of the women who have been through more than anyone could bear.

And if there are days (or weeks) where you feel stuck beneath that rubble as well, unable to find your way out – there is a place you can go to talk to women who have been through the same things. Women who want to help each other discover that hope and survive the heartbreak. If you’ve never been to one of our Live Infertility Chats, I would like to encourage you to come and check it out this Sunday at 3:00 PM Alaska time. Just click on over to the community and join us. If you want to check out some past chats first, please feel free to do so here:

Live Infertility Chat: Week 18

Live Infertility Chat: Week 17

There will be days when what you’re struggling through will seem like more than anyone could bear, but I promise you – you can get through it. And we want to help you do that. Help you to cope, process, and find a way to move forward. This is a group of women that understands in a way that no one else can, and we want to be there for you!

Just as we’ve all been there for each other.

So, I hope to see you there.

And even more importantly – I hope you're able to find your way through the darkness. Until the day when you look back and realize you made it out.

You survived something that once seemed like more than anyone could bear.

And you are stronger because of it.

Hope Dies Last

“We tend to measure our obstacles against our own strength. Thus we often feel overwhelmed and defeated before the battle begins.” ~ Beth Moore, Seeking a Heart Like His

It’s only one week into the study I'm doing of David, and already I feel like I’ve been shaken. Reminded of lessons I swear I knew once upon a time, but have somehow forgotten in the midst of this battle against endometriosis and the ticking time clock I feel it has placed on my ability to be a mommy.

When we measure our obstacles against our own strength, we are setting ourselves up for disaster.

It is only when we acknowledge how much more powerful God is than we can even imagine, that those obstacles suddenly seem surmountable again.

Leaving Him out of the equation though… It just sets us up for failure.

And I can't tell you how many times in the last year I have left Him out of the equation. How many times I have attempted to bulldoze ahead. Carrying all the weight on my own shoulders. Determined to prove I could do it all on my own.

Only, when up against those obstacles, I have failed. Each and every time.

Last week’s lessons focused on the beginning of David’s story. His rise as God’s chosen one, precluded by Saul’s own fall from that very position. The lessons started out slow, and I honestly found myself a little bored. But as I worked my way through them, suddenly something clicked.

And I was enthralled by David’s story. The underdog, chosen and loved by God. Someone who stood in victory not because of his faith, but because of his God. The living, breathing, mountain moving God.

To take things on a completely different tangent, it reminded me of something I saw on Dawson’s Creek last week. Because yes, I am a giant dork who has been watching old episodes of Dawson’s Creek on Netflix for the last little while.

In this episode though, Joey was talking about some quote she had seen scrawled on a bathroom wall somewhere. “Hope Dies Last”. She was talking about how much it had struck her when she read it. How much it rang true to the current state of her life.

Then she paused and said “It’s all going to be OK. For all of us.”

And I was floored.

It’s true. Hope dies last. Even now, as much as I try to force myself to be realistic, I find myself holding out hope. Hope that one day, I may still get my miracle. That baby growing beneath my heart.

Hope dies last.

You look at David and you see a man with so much faith in his God that he truly believed he could overcome any obstacle. Even those that when matched up to his own strength should have seemed overwhelming.

He still trusted in God. In that hope that wouldn’t die. The belief that he would always be protected in the end.

I met with the small group from church last night, and we discussed the lessons from the week.

One of the lessons I had somehow missed seeing for myself was that of Jonathan. Of his perception of God’s ways. When preparing to go into battle in the beginning of the book of Samuel, Jonathan states “Perhaps the Lord will act in our behalf.” While he was sure that God could act on their behalf, he wasn’t sure that He would. Yet, he was still willing to move forward. Trusting in God’s plan irrevocably. Believing that even if God did not act on their behalf, and even if they did die right there in that battle; there would have been a reason. A purpose.

I want that kind of faith. I want to be that kind of believer. The kind that trusts that no matter what the outcome, there is a reason. And no matter what the obstacle, God can help me to overcome it.

I want to be able to remember that God is always championing on my behalf, even if I don’t see it. He has a plan.

The very last question that came at the end of the weeks study was one that wrapped it all up for me in a nice pretty little bow.

The question was asking if we could each remember a time when God showed His might on our behalf in a specific battle we have fought.

And it immediately hit me.

This surgery.

God’s hands have been on this surgery. On me being able to get exactly what I need exactly when I need it. The doctor coming forward to do what he could to help me be able to afford this. The push through the insurance loopholes. The expedited timing on the dates.

It is all God’s work. So very obviously Gods work.

Less than a month ago I was lamenting the fact that having this surgery would be impossible. That the obstacles were too much for me to surpass. But I was measuring those obstacles against my own strength, not God’s. Meanwhile, He was in the background. Crusading for me. Pushing for an outcome I hadn’t imagined.

And it just so happens that this surgery may be the one thing that could buy me more time. That could preserve some of my fertility. This surgery could be the key to my being able to have that miracle I so long for somewhere down the road.

I believe with everything inside of me that God has orchestrated it all. Helping me to find the relief I need, and the hope that had been fading.

Hope dies last.

And it is all going to be OK.

For all of us.