Updated with new questions at bottom
My new attempt at having a spirit of contentment is already being put to the test: Our adoption tax credit application is officially being audited.
While this is probably an annoying and mildly anxiety-producing exercise for the average adoptive couple, for us it will likely mean we won't be getting any money. While our claim is completely legit (our adoption actually cost more than double what we would get from the tax credit), we unfortunately didn't keep a good record of things at the time and we didn't pay with personal checks, so we can't just ask our bank for copies.
There is still a tiny sliver of hope that our attorney has the records in question, but we've already asked once via email to no avail (we called, but the secretary is very busy). Tomorrow we will start hounding them, though, until we find out for sure. I'm just not counting on what we need being there.
We'll still send what we have (mainly, a receipt from the attorney), and it'll likely be weeks before we hear whether it will be enough (my guess is that it won't be).
We've had about a week and a half to let this sink in, which is when we first saw it posted online that we'd be getting a letter in the mail (today we received that letter), but it still hurts a little. But I'm trying to remember what I told Ryan that first night - that by God's abundant grace, we don't need the money. We currently only owe family a relatively small amount and we will be able to pay that back over time. We were blessed to have such generous friends and family who gifted so much to us, and we were able to pay back a large loan last year. We are going to be okay. We don't owe a bank. We won't lose our house over this. It could be a lot worse.
All this will mean (other than that our generous relatives whom we still owe will have to bear with us a little while longer) is that we won't be getting a big fat check that would change our lives. And that's okay! We don't need our lives to change. We were going to be prudent and use it to start a savings account, but thank God that's all we had planned for it (okay, I have to admit, I daydream about using a hundred dollars of it for different things here and there - it'd be a drop in the bucket!).
I did kind of secretly hope the money would be there in case we wanted to pursue another adoption, but I can't worry about that now. How and when our family grows is in God's hands, and I can't be upset about something that is completely out of our control.
God is so good. I have not shed a tear over this because it is not a make or break situation. It's just money. This is an easy cross to bear when you think of what others are dealing with tonight.
It's just another way I can work on being content, living with what we have and not wanting more. Like $12,000 more.
And, now that I think about it, God may have purposely laid the groundwork for me to begin working on a spirit of contentment just in time - the confession where my priest mentioned it came just two days before first hearing of a possible audit.
I like to think that God is in all of this, watching out for us. Not letting us go off track with jealousy and anger. Something about that seems so nice and gives me great peace with it all.
Of course, if my prayer buddy does want to say a few prayers that the attorney miraculously has copies of the cashier's check, I wouldn't mind. It's not entirely over yet.
****
Update - Okay, so I figured I'd add some more specific information to this post in the hopes that someone reading this may be able to offer some insight. Here's the thing - we were very excited to get down to Louisiana to pick up our daughter and instead of depositing money loaned to us from our families in our account first, and then paying with a cashier's check of our own, we had my parents and Ryan's parents give us cashier's checks that we gave directly to the attorney (dumb, we now know. We can tell ourselves until we're blue in the face that we should have been more patient and put the money into our account, but we didn't, and so there's no point in it dwelling on it now [sorry, that was just a personal pep-talk]).
I can't assume we're the first people to ever need the adoption tax credit to pay back adoption loans. While we've paid them back in part, we need the credit to pay them in full. Makes sense, right?
So have any of you had a situation like this? Did you claim money on the tax credit that was essentially a loan you still owed? Did the government require proof that you were in the process of paying? And did anyone out there do what we did and actually have someone other than themselves pay the expenses????? I'm guessing not. Gosh, that was dumb.
Thanks for your help. And to answer Char's comment below... I honestly had no idea that the bank keeps a record of a cashier's check. We will definitely be calling our families tomorrow and begging them to contact their financial institutions!
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Contentment
Two weeks ago I was in confession, admitting sins of jealousy and just generally not being happy with what I have, when the priest spoke up. This particular priest doesn't usually have much to say in the confessional, at least to me, so it intrigued me immediately. He told me I needed to have a spirit of contentment and gave some other good advice that I instantly knew I would forget. And I did. But the phrase "spirit of contentment" hasn't left my mind since.
I have thought about it. Struggled with it. Tossed it around and decided I know I need it, I want it, but I have absolutely no idea how to obtain it.
What I have no trouble with is outlining how I am not content.
Most of my discontent centers around finances, not surprisingly. If only we just had a little more. I wouldn't have to worry about the grocery list, or that dreaded second week of the pay period. Our kids could go to private school. We could have cable t.v. and a van. And maybe a nicely landscaped back yard.
Don't get me started on the house. I spend a lot of time upset at its very small size, our dreary neighborhood and, until last summer, the fact that it had only one bathroom (thanks to my awesome father-in-law, we have now increased our bathroom count by a half!). Our bed is broken and I covet one day owning a dresser and bedside tables that are not hand-me-downs from my childhood.
I could go on and on. Yes, I spend way too much time thinking about what I don't have.
A couple nights ago I was thinking about this and started to wonder if maybe we were considered lower class. At least we must be lower middle.
Oh, how embarrassingly naive I was. Painfully naive.
I couldn't find a consensus about exact income levels and class, but it's safe to say no one would consider us lower or even lower middle. Oh no. By some accounts we would even fall into the upper middle class.
That was the kick-in-the-pants I desperately needed.
More than half of the country makes less than we do. Or, I should say, more than half of the country makes a lot less than we do.
In my little world, everyone has a lot. People own big homes, pretty furniture, shop at Target whenever they want, and their kids are dressed beautifully. The church I attend, the stores I frequent, the museums, the parks - they are all, for the most part, filled with people who have a lot of money. They drive vans, eat out, hire babysitters, and own iPhones and iPads. They aren't filthy rich, but they are living well.
I was starting to think everyone did. But they don't.
Just because I don't know them doesn't mean they don't exist. Just because I don't drive through their neighborhoods or go to their churches doesn't mean they aren't there. Maybe I should start going there more often.
The fact is millions of people have less than I do. Millions of people probably dream about owning our tiny house, or our two cars. They probably long to live in our safe neighborhood where their kids can play in their fenced-in backyard without fear of being shot. They wouldn't mind that the fence isn't a privacy fence, or that it's broken, or that we can't afford to fix up the half of our yard that doesn't have grass.
While I wish we had a little more so I could buy my kids more new clothes, millions of people would be more than happy to get a summer wardrobe at the nice Salvation Army down the street. They'd have a field day in the bags of my clothes that I've sent to the attic because I don't like them much anymore. And they'd surely eat well on the food we can afford, even on a tight budget.
And school? I'm pretty confident they'd be more than thrilled to live in our very sought-after public school district.
It's so easy to focus on what I don't have. It's human nature to want more comfort, to pay too much attention to what those around you are doing, buying, consuming. But it brings me great stress, so why do it? Comparing myself to others doesn't make me happy. It stings.
Having a spirit of contentment, on the other hand, would be so freeing. To truly be happy with what you have or, for that matter, with nothing (because, really, it's about being happy separate from material things, isn't it?), sounds liberating.
It's what we are called to do: Indeed, religion with contentment is a great gain. For we brought nothing into the world, just as we shall not be able to take anything out of it. If we have food and clothing, we shall be content with that. (Timothy 6:6-8)
Our possessions are temporary. It's not why we're here. They don't make us holier or improve our relationships. In fact, you could make a strong argument that they do the exact opposite.
Three years ago, I would have sworn to you that I would know true contentment if I could only have a child. I would have bet my life on it.
And what am I doing now? I am praying and hoping for another. Not a second, but a third.
I highly doubt my priest remembers my confessions, or even knew for sure that it was me two Saturdays ago, but if he did, he could definitely draw the conclusion that I have a serious problem with contenment. Maybe that is why he said what he said - he was tired of hearing the same confession from me, that I always want what others have. Wanting children is noble and good, so perhaps there is more patience there. But now it's getting silly.
My pride is hoping that it was, instead, the Holy Spirit nudging him to offer the contentment advice. I suppose it doesn't matter, though. It's between me and God and He surely knows I need help.
So what am I going to do about it? I'm not sure. I think I need to change my outlook. Try to remember those who have less than I do. Every time I am jealous of a material item someone has that I don't, I will remind myself of the average income in the country and the harsh reality that so many live with so little.
I will try to remember that if I am truly happy, I could live free of things. And, in that spirit, I will try to get rid of things I don't need and stop myself from buying new. See if we can live with less and make it more like a game (it worked with cutting cable!).
I'll also remind myself that my husband works hard for us (two jobs) and provides us with so much. To be anything less than content is a slap-in-the-face to him. And I'll also tell myself that we'd have a lot more money if I worked. I absolutely love being a stay-at-home mom to Clara and Luke and I'd have it no other way. So if I put it in that perspective, I am content with what we have (or don't have).
I remember years ago, when we lived in a bigger home, visiting a friend whose house was much smaller than ours. I thought it would be so nice to live more modestly, have less to clean and less clutter. Less to worry about, I thought. That just goes to show that my problem with discontent may have less to do with wanting more, and more to do with wanting something different than I have.
I can only hope that I can begin to look at my surroundings with rose-colored glasses. That I can see and appreciate all that I have, apart from the material, and that I can truly have a spirit of contentment. Because, honestly, with my loving husband and two beautiful kids, our families and friends, and my faith, I have more than I could have ever dreamed.
I have thought about it. Struggled with it. Tossed it around and decided I know I need it, I want it, but I have absolutely no idea how to obtain it.
What I have no trouble with is outlining how I am not content.
Most of my discontent centers around finances, not surprisingly. If only we just had a little more. I wouldn't have to worry about the grocery list, or that dreaded second week of the pay period. Our kids could go to private school. We could have cable t.v. and a van. And maybe a nicely landscaped back yard.
Don't get me started on the house. I spend a lot of time upset at its very small size, our dreary neighborhood and, until last summer, the fact that it had only one bathroom (thanks to my awesome father-in-law, we have now increased our bathroom count by a half!). Our bed is broken and I covet one day owning a dresser and bedside tables that are not hand-me-downs from my childhood.
I could go on and on. Yes, I spend way too much time thinking about what I don't have.
A couple nights ago I was thinking about this and started to wonder if maybe we were considered lower class. At least we must be lower middle.
Oh, how embarrassingly naive I was. Painfully naive.
I couldn't find a consensus about exact income levels and class, but it's safe to say no one would consider us lower or even lower middle. Oh no. By some accounts we would even fall into the upper middle class.
That was the kick-in-the-pants I desperately needed.
More than half of the country makes less than we do. Or, I should say, more than half of the country makes a lot less than we do.
In my little world, everyone has a lot. People own big homes, pretty furniture, shop at Target whenever they want, and their kids are dressed beautifully. The church I attend, the stores I frequent, the museums, the parks - they are all, for the most part, filled with people who have a lot of money. They drive vans, eat out, hire babysitters, and own iPhones and iPads. They aren't filthy rich, but they are living well.
I was starting to think everyone did. But they don't.
Just because I don't know them doesn't mean they don't exist. Just because I don't drive through their neighborhoods or go to their churches doesn't mean they aren't there. Maybe I should start going there more often.
The fact is millions of people have less than I do. Millions of people probably dream about owning our tiny house, or our two cars. They probably long to live in our safe neighborhood where their kids can play in their fenced-in backyard without fear of being shot. They wouldn't mind that the fence isn't a privacy fence, or that it's broken, or that we can't afford to fix up the half of our yard that doesn't have grass.
While I wish we had a little more so I could buy my kids more new clothes, millions of people would be more than happy to get a summer wardrobe at the nice Salvation Army down the street. They'd have a field day in the bags of my clothes that I've sent to the attic because I don't like them much anymore. And they'd surely eat well on the food we can afford, even on a tight budget.
And school? I'm pretty confident they'd be more than thrilled to live in our very sought-after public school district.
It's so easy to focus on what I don't have. It's human nature to want more comfort, to pay too much attention to what those around you are doing, buying, consuming. But it brings me great stress, so why do it? Comparing myself to others doesn't make me happy. It stings.
Having a spirit of contentment, on the other hand, would be so freeing. To truly be happy with what you have or, for that matter, with nothing (because, really, it's about being happy separate from material things, isn't it?), sounds liberating.
It's what we are called to do: Indeed, religion with contentment is a great gain. For we brought nothing into the world, just as we shall not be able to take anything out of it. If we have food and clothing, we shall be content with that. (Timothy 6:6-8)
Our possessions are temporary. It's not why we're here. They don't make us holier or improve our relationships. In fact, you could make a strong argument that they do the exact opposite.
Three years ago, I would have sworn to you that I would know true contentment if I could only have a child. I would have bet my life on it.
And what am I doing now? I am praying and hoping for another. Not a second, but a third.
I highly doubt my priest remembers my confessions, or even knew for sure that it was me two Saturdays ago, but if he did, he could definitely draw the conclusion that I have a serious problem with contenment. Maybe that is why he said what he said - he was tired of hearing the same confession from me, that I always want what others have. Wanting children is noble and good, so perhaps there is more patience there. But now it's getting silly.
My pride is hoping that it was, instead, the Holy Spirit nudging him to offer the contentment advice. I suppose it doesn't matter, though. It's between me and God and He surely knows I need help.
So what am I going to do about it? I'm not sure. I think I need to change my outlook. Try to remember those who have less than I do. Every time I am jealous of a material item someone has that I don't, I will remind myself of the average income in the country and the harsh reality that so many live with so little.
I will try to remember that if I am truly happy, I could live free of things. And, in that spirit, I will try to get rid of things I don't need and stop myself from buying new. See if we can live with less and make it more like a game (it worked with cutting cable!).
I'll also remind myself that my husband works hard for us (two jobs) and provides us with so much. To be anything less than content is a slap-in-the-face to him. And I'll also tell myself that we'd have a lot more money if I worked. I absolutely love being a stay-at-home mom to Clara and Luke and I'd have it no other way. So if I put it in that perspective, I am content with what we have (or don't have).
I remember years ago, when we lived in a bigger home, visiting a friend whose house was much smaller than ours. I thought it would be so nice to live more modestly, have less to clean and less clutter. Less to worry about, I thought. That just goes to show that my problem with discontent may have less to do with wanting more, and more to do with wanting something different than I have.
I can only hope that I can begin to look at my surroundings with rose-colored glasses. That I can see and appreciate all that I have, apart from the material, and that I can truly have a spirit of contentment. Because, honestly, with my loving husband and two beautiful kids, our families and friends, and my faith, I have more than I could have ever dreamed.
Monday, March 19, 2012
What a trip
A week ago yesterday I got in the car with my two babies and headed out on a 500-plus mile trek through four states. It was my first time driving up north alone with both babies outside of the womb (Clara and I did it when I was about six weeks pregnant).
We had just made the exact same trip less than a week earlier, but I had my husband with me then. We didn't expect to be making such a long car ride again so soon, as my youngest sister had more than a month to go until her due date, which meant I had about a month to mentally prepare for the intimidating journey.
But she went into labor much earlier than expected and Clara, Luke and I had two days to prepare to head to NY to spend a week at my parents' house. I would help my sister during her first week home from the hospital. And I'd actually be of real help since it was such short notice that my mother couldn't get the time off right away.
We weren't exactly sure what I was going to do with my kids while I was at my sister's house, but we just made a leap of faith that it would work out and it did - my mother was praying for someone to watch them when a name popped into her head. She called her and she said yes. A huge weight was lifted.
The eight-hour ride with the kids went so amazingly well that I'm sure it was all the prayers. Little Henry, weighing around 6 pounds by the time I met him, had to stay in the hospital longer than expected, but he finally came home on Tuesday. He's doing wonderfully and is a great baby.
What a blessing it was for me to spend all that time with my new, adorable, teeny, super-alert nephew. I was so lucky to have someone to watch my kids so I could concentrate on Henry, especially because I don't know how long it will be until I will see him again.
It was weird waking up early every morning, getting myself and the kids ready and then having a sitter take over. It was very different for me, to say the least. I definitely couldn't do it all the time, but knowing it was just for a week was nice. A little mini-break from the daily grind.
And it was so awesome to be able to just take off for my parents' when I wanted, one of the many perks of being a stay-at-home mom. And I'm thankful Ryan was willing to give us up for an entire week (don't feel too bad for him though, he made the most of his temporary bachelorhood, even hosting a poker night!).
He did miss us terribly though, and we missed him. But it was great for the kids to spend time with their cousins and grandparents.
Yes, we were just there the previous weekend for my sister's baby shower, but I really think the two trips in quick succession really allowed Clara and Luke to feel super familiar with their relatives.
My sister and her husband are doing great. They are complete naturals.
I will say, though, that Henry is an incredible baby. I warned my sister of how something like a dairy allergy can creep up around four weeks and your sweet baby can become a crazed monster, but something tells me that's not going to happen with this little angel.
I got in three different photo shoots with the new baby while I was there, which I had been planning for months. Two with just him...
And one with him and his parents.
Every night when I'd return home to my parents' and put the kids to bed, I'd jump on the computer and pour over the pictures and do some editing. I love that part even more than taking them, I think.
Our babysitter couldn't watch them on Thursday so we headed to the town where Ryan and I lived before moving to Virginia so the kids could visit with Clara's Godparents, their children, and another friend and her kids. We had a great visit, and even left with a ton of dress-up clothes, some toys, and a bike helmet for Clara! (Not the one pictured here, but she did think this was the greatest...)
Yesterday was our day to head home. It was sad to leave but great to get back to Ryan. The return trip was just okay - nothing can compare to the amazing drive up, plus my audiobook failed to download so I was left listening to Yo Gabba Gabba! on the iPad playing in the backseat.
I started feeling sick almost immediately upon entering Virginia, which was either entirely coincidental or means I'm allergic to where I live.. literally. Either way, my cold/sore throat was even worse today, but at least Ryan let me catch up on sleep while he caught up on diaper changes.
It wasn't easy feeling like a single mother for a week, and that was with a sitter and two helpful grandparents. But nothing replaces another parent. I'm so appreciative of all he does. Just the sharing of duties, you know? Having someone in it as completely as you are.
So we'll try to get back into the swing of things this week. And I have a lot of posts swirling in my head, like another sudden weight gain (progesterone strikes again?), some new blood tests, and words of advice in confession that I can't stop thinking about.
But, for now, here's one last picture of Henry and me. Can you tell I'm in love?
We had just made the exact same trip less than a week earlier, but I had my husband with me then. We didn't expect to be making such a long car ride again so soon, as my youngest sister had more than a month to go until her due date, which meant I had about a month to mentally prepare for the intimidating journey.
But she went into labor much earlier than expected and Clara, Luke and I had two days to prepare to head to NY to spend a week at my parents' house. I would help my sister during her first week home from the hospital. And I'd actually be of real help since it was such short notice that my mother couldn't get the time off right away.
We weren't exactly sure what I was going to do with my kids while I was at my sister's house, but we just made a leap of faith that it would work out and it did - my mother was praying for someone to watch them when a name popped into her head. She called her and she said yes. A huge weight was lifted.
The eight-hour ride with the kids went so amazingly well that I'm sure it was all the prayers. Little Henry, weighing around 6 pounds by the time I met him, had to stay in the hospital longer than expected, but he finally came home on Tuesday. He's doing wonderfully and is a great baby.
What a blessing it was for me to spend all that time with my new, adorable, teeny, super-alert nephew. I was so lucky to have someone to watch my kids so I could concentrate on Henry, especially because I don't know how long it will be until I will see him again.
It was weird waking up early every morning, getting myself and the kids ready and then having a sitter take over. It was very different for me, to say the least. I definitely couldn't do it all the time, but knowing it was just for a week was nice. A little mini-break from the daily grind.
And it was so awesome to be able to just take off for my parents' when I wanted, one of the many perks of being a stay-at-home mom. And I'm thankful Ryan was willing to give us up for an entire week (don't feel too bad for him though, he made the most of his temporary bachelorhood, even hosting a poker night!).
He did miss us terribly though, and we missed him. But it was great for the kids to spend time with their cousins and grandparents.
Yes, we were just there the previous weekend for my sister's baby shower, but I really think the two trips in quick succession really allowed Clara and Luke to feel super familiar with their relatives.
My sister and her husband are doing great. They are complete naturals.
I will say, though, that Henry is an incredible baby. I warned my sister of how something like a dairy allergy can creep up around four weeks and your sweet baby can become a crazed monster, but something tells me that's not going to happen with this little angel.
Then there's his hair. It's already legendary.
I got in three different photo shoots with the new baby while I was there, which I had been planning for months. Two with just him...
Every night when I'd return home to my parents' and put the kids to bed, I'd jump on the computer and pour over the pictures and do some editing. I love that part even more than taking them, I think.
Our babysitter couldn't watch them on Thursday so we headed to the town where Ryan and I lived before moving to Virginia so the kids could visit with Clara's Godparents, their children, and another friend and her kids. We had a great visit, and even left with a ton of dress-up clothes, some toys, and a bike helmet for Clara! (Not the one pictured here, but she did think this was the greatest...)
Yesterday was our day to head home. It was sad to leave but great to get back to Ryan. The return trip was just okay - nothing can compare to the amazing drive up, plus my audiobook failed to download so I was left listening to Yo Gabba Gabba! on the iPad playing in the backseat.
I started feeling sick almost immediately upon entering Virginia, which was either entirely coincidental or means I'm allergic to where I live.. literally. Either way, my cold/sore throat was even worse today, but at least Ryan let me catch up on sleep while he caught up on diaper changes.
It wasn't easy feeling like a single mother for a week, and that was with a sitter and two helpful grandparents. But nothing replaces another parent. I'm so appreciative of all he does. Just the sharing of duties, you know? Having someone in it as completely as you are.
So we'll try to get back into the swing of things this week. And I have a lot of posts swirling in my head, like another sudden weight gain (progesterone strikes again?), some new blood tests, and words of advice in confession that I can't stop thinking about.
But, for now, here's one last picture of Henry and me. Can you tell I'm in love?
Friday, March 9, 2012
Clara and Luke's new cousin
My sister had her baby last night nearly five weeks early. Everyone is doing great and little Henry James is absolutely adorable!
He weighed 6 pounds, 6 ounces at birth, and is 19 inches long.
My sister's water broke yesterday afternoon at her work baby shower and my other sister drove her to the hospital. About eight hours later, the baby was here!
Clara and Luke can't wait to meet their cousin. But, for now, picture texts will do.
 |
| Right after he was born and already looking at the camera! |
He weighed 6 pounds, 6 ounces at birth, and is 19 inches long.
My sister's water broke yesterday afternoon at her work baby shower and my other sister drove her to the hospital. About eight hours later, the baby was here!
Clara and Luke can't wait to meet their cousin. But, for now, picture texts will do.
And I can't wait to meet him either! Hopefully it will be soon. We're still ironing out the details. I want to snuggle him!
Welcome to the world, little Henry!
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Strangely familiar
I so thought it'd be easier this time around...
I started taking compounded progesterone a couple days ago. I took half a dose at night (50 mg) simply because I didn't know how to tell if it was peak-plus-one any earlier than bedtime (heck, I don't usually know what was peak or peak-plus-whatever until I look back at my chart days later!), and I thought I had to take the two pills at different times of the day (I've since learned I can take them together).
I woke up at 5 a.m. with terrible nausea, thought I had the stomach bug. I went back to sleep and woke back up around 8, still sick. By 9, it was gone.
I figured it was due to the progesterone - causing me to feel something akin to morning sickness - so I took just half the dose again that night. That was yesterday. This morning I woke up with no nausea, but terrible cramping. It lasted a little longer, going away around one this afternoon. But I had pain on my right side (my ovary?) that lasted all day.
I'm taking it orally and a nurse told me this afternoon to keep taking it (the FULL dose) until my doctor is back in the office next week.
The reason I'm on compounded progesterone in the first place is because I can't handle prometrium. I get bad headaches on it. But I'm also suspicious that it caused weight gain and mood swings.
I'm hoping that my body is just getting used to this progesterone, and that the nausea and cramping will go away soon. But the nurse said it could last more than a week. That freaks me out because I can't just sit around with nausea and cramping when I have two babies to take care of.
So I am left with the decision to keep taking something that makes me ill, in hopes that it will go away two weeks from now...or give up on a treatment that I likely will need if I ever hope to conceive again.
It's not a hard decision - I will choose feeling well and caring for my babies because I can't take care of them when I'm sick, even if it's just a week - but it doesn't come without sadness.
I'm not making any decisions just yet. I'll give it another day or two. But a week or more? I just can't. (And, on a side note, I have to travel alone, just me and the kids, eight hours in the car this weekend. Not possible with nausea.)
So I'm kind of sad tonight, and getting down about not having properly functioning reproductive organs. My body can't even handle progesterone. It can't get pregnant (except for one glorious time!) and it can't birth a baby.
And I'm sad thinking about how I might need another surgery. The pain on my right side could be another endometrioma. I'll wait until it gets worse, then ask for an ultrasound. That's what happened two years ago when I needed emergency surgery.
But now, surgery with two babies at home? That terrifies me. Terrifies me. How would it even be possible? I don't have any family nearby. The surgeon is two hours away. I'd likely have to have a laparotomy with a six-week recovery time because that's what I've had every other time I've had surgery. I can't even think about it because it's too much to wrap my mind around.
And in this scenario, surgery wouldn't be optional, like it wasn't optional last time. As far as I know, you can't take medication to shrink endometriomas like you sometimes can with regular cysts. You can't just wait it out if it's causing you pain.
I'm getting ahead of myself. I should stress that this is just me worrying about the possibility of needing surgery. No one has told me I need it. It's just worst-case-scenario. I'm still hoping the pain could be from something else. Can progesterone cause pain in the ovary you just ovulated from?
It's just that I had hoped I was healed. We talked about it as early as when I got my positive test. I was thinking about the future even then. I told myself how there aren't a ton of blogs about secondary infertility a year after conquering primary infertility...That it seemed like a lot of women with secondary infertility didn't have difficulty the first time...That it wouldn't happen to me. I'd get pregnant right away and not have to go through more surgeries and medications (especially since I wasn't taking anything when I conceived before, so there's nothing to try again).
But it's all strangely familiar now. The worries, the fear, the treatments, the medications, the side effects.
It's easier going through this with babies, for sure. But it's different, because I don't have the time and energy to devote to infertility anymore. As we all know, it's like a full-time job. Now it takes me weeks to call the doctor's office with a question.
I don't know if I have it in me this time around, and that scares me. I want it badly. I want to grow our family, but there just aren't enough hours in the day.
I'm going to take a deep breath and calm down. Hopefully I'll wake up tomorrow morning feeling fine. And if I don't, it's not the end of the world. I'll stop the progesterone if I have to. I had low progesterone when I got pregnant with Luke and wasn't taking anything then either.
I'm starting to think that our next baby (thinking positive here!) will have to truly be born out of prayer. If I get pregnant again, or if we adopt again, it will have to be with God moving mountains. And MAJOR mountains, because I just can't give the same effort I did before. And we can't afford to adopt again.
So I'm leaving it ALL up to Him.
With God all things are possible. I should know that as well as anyone, and it will be what I repeat to myself in my moments of doubt. With God all things are possible.
I started taking compounded progesterone a couple days ago. I took half a dose at night (50 mg) simply because I didn't know how to tell if it was peak-plus-one any earlier than bedtime (heck, I don't usually know what was peak or peak-plus-whatever until I look back at my chart days later!), and I thought I had to take the two pills at different times of the day (I've since learned I can take them together).
I woke up at 5 a.m. with terrible nausea, thought I had the stomach bug. I went back to sleep and woke back up around 8, still sick. By 9, it was gone.
I figured it was due to the progesterone - causing me to feel something akin to morning sickness - so I took just half the dose again that night. That was yesterday. This morning I woke up with no nausea, but terrible cramping. It lasted a little longer, going away around one this afternoon. But I had pain on my right side (my ovary?) that lasted all day.
I'm taking it orally and a nurse told me this afternoon to keep taking it (the FULL dose) until my doctor is back in the office next week.
The reason I'm on compounded progesterone in the first place is because I can't handle prometrium. I get bad headaches on it. But I'm also suspicious that it caused weight gain and mood swings.
I'm hoping that my body is just getting used to this progesterone, and that the nausea and cramping will go away soon. But the nurse said it could last more than a week. That freaks me out because I can't just sit around with nausea and cramping when I have two babies to take care of.
So I am left with the decision to keep taking something that makes me ill, in hopes that it will go away two weeks from now...or give up on a treatment that I likely will need if I ever hope to conceive again.
It's not a hard decision - I will choose feeling well and caring for my babies because I can't take care of them when I'm sick, even if it's just a week - but it doesn't come without sadness.
I'm not making any decisions just yet. I'll give it another day or two. But a week or more? I just can't. (And, on a side note, I have to travel alone, just me and the kids, eight hours in the car this weekend. Not possible with nausea.)
So I'm kind of sad tonight, and getting down about not having properly functioning reproductive organs. My body can't even handle progesterone. It can't get pregnant (except for one glorious time!) and it can't birth a baby.
And I'm sad thinking about how I might need another surgery. The pain on my right side could be another endometrioma. I'll wait until it gets worse, then ask for an ultrasound. That's what happened two years ago when I needed emergency surgery.
But now, surgery with two babies at home? That terrifies me. Terrifies me. How would it even be possible? I don't have any family nearby. The surgeon is two hours away. I'd likely have to have a laparotomy with a six-week recovery time because that's what I've had every other time I've had surgery. I can't even think about it because it's too much to wrap my mind around.
And in this scenario, surgery wouldn't be optional, like it wasn't optional last time. As far as I know, you can't take medication to shrink endometriomas like you sometimes can with regular cysts. You can't just wait it out if it's causing you pain.
I'm getting ahead of myself. I should stress that this is just me worrying about the possibility of needing surgery. No one has told me I need it. It's just worst-case-scenario. I'm still hoping the pain could be from something else. Can progesterone cause pain in the ovary you just ovulated from?
It's just that I had hoped I was healed. We talked about it as early as when I got my positive test. I was thinking about the future even then. I told myself how there aren't a ton of blogs about secondary infertility a year after conquering primary infertility...That it seemed like a lot of women with secondary infertility didn't have difficulty the first time...That it wouldn't happen to me. I'd get pregnant right away and not have to go through more surgeries and medications (especially since I wasn't taking anything when I conceived before, so there's nothing to try again).
But it's all strangely familiar now. The worries, the fear, the treatments, the medications, the side effects.
It's easier going through this with babies, for sure. But it's different, because I don't have the time and energy to devote to infertility anymore. As we all know, it's like a full-time job. Now it takes me weeks to call the doctor's office with a question.
I don't know if I have it in me this time around, and that scares me. I want it badly. I want to grow our family, but there just aren't enough hours in the day.
I'm going to take a deep breath and calm down. Hopefully I'll wake up tomorrow morning feeling fine. And if I don't, it's not the end of the world. I'll stop the progesterone if I have to. I had low progesterone when I got pregnant with Luke and wasn't taking anything then either.
I'm starting to think that our next baby (thinking positive here!) will have to truly be born out of prayer. If I get pregnant again, or if we adopt again, it will have to be with God moving mountains. And MAJOR mountains, because I just can't give the same effort I did before. And we can't afford to adopt again.
So I'm leaving it ALL up to Him.
With God all things are possible. I should know that as well as anyone, and it will be what I repeat to myself in my moments of doubt. With God all things are possible.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Anger update: Everything is my job
Thank you all so much for your comments on my post about anger. I not only learned a lot from your advice, but knowing that I'm not alone really puts things in perspective. Maybe I'm not a crazed monster. Or maybe we all are ;)
There have been times when I have swallowed a potential outburst and let it go. And there have been other times when the little voice in my head said, "don't do it...don't bring that up...it'll start a fight...do NOT do it..." and I still did it. And it started a fight.
But I think what I've learned from those times is to listen to that little voice. I know when something I'm about to say is mean-spirited, yet I used to talk myself into saying it. I'll just say it in a nice voice (ya, right)...he needs to hear it...I'm right. But it was a lie. Now some part of me is looking out for me (and him) by forcing me to face the truth. The voice may have been there all along, but it wasn't until recently that I gave it any credence or turned up its volume.
Since recognizing this voice I have still failed a couple times - the times when ignored it and went ahead with saying whatever it was - but just the simple fact that I now have a warning system in place is an improvement.
Another thing that has helped immensely is a wonderful bit of advice that a fellow blogger, and friend, gave me in a comment on my "Anger" post. Here's an excerpt:
For me I start my day saying EVERYTHING is my job. My husband and I are very traditional so I do all housework and he brings home the bacon. That being said IF he chooses to do something, I'm THANKFUL because that is not his job.
Now, I know not every family keeps the husband and wife roles completely separate. In our house, Ryan helps with some of the housework and he wouldn't have it any other way. But I think this advice can be applied no matter what the situation may be, including outside of marriage as well, with bosses, friends, and extended family. Here's how...
I spend a lot of my day trying to figure how to get out of work. For instance, I hate folding. Eventually my poor husband would find himself tripping over laundry baskets of clean clothes and spend a couple hours on a Sunday night folding every article of clothing we own. I had my excuses: I can't fold while the kids are awake because they plow through my neat piles, I'm too tired at night, I despise folding, I'm too busy with other chores, etc., etc. I hated that he ended up doing it, yet that hatred didn't outweigh my hatred of folding. I secretly hoped he'd fold, that I'd come home from grocery shopping and my clothes would be put away, an empty laundry basket sitting in our room like a beacon of hope.
It would also happen with more in-the-moment chores. I'd smell a dirty diaper and just hope and pray he would notice it and change it first. I'd sometimes do the same when it came to baths, feeding the kids, changing loads of laundry. You name it.
I was constantly trying to outlast him.
I'd even do it when there was no one else around. I'd put things off, trying to figure out how I could explain to myself (myself!) why something didn't need to be done right then.
I was operating on the premise that nothing was my job. Well, nothing other than nursing and cooking. Everything else was up for the taking and if I did it, then good for me.
So here's the thing: If, instead, I start out with the belief that everything is my job, then I can stop trying to get out of things. And, wouldn't you know, that's actually very freeing! I was expending a ton of energy trying to avoid chores, figuring out how I could get Ryan to do them, and thinking about how stressed they were making me. When you go into each day, each task, knowing it's up to you and you alone, you focus all your energy on the actual task at hand. Genius, right? Who knew?!
And, of course, if you do get some help, then it's just icing on the cake. It's an unexpected gift. Which is SO infinitely better than the guilt of watching someone else do a chore that you tricked/whined/begged your way out of.
Yes, Ryan still folds laundry at times, and he sure changed his share of dirty diapers today, but the difference is it wasn't because I outlasted him. It happened when I honestly wasn't expecting it.
I tell myself several times a day that everything is my job. And it actually makes me get off my butt and do whatever it is that I wish I didn't have to do. And guess what? I get it done and then get to sit back down and rest, knowing I did what I needed to do. That rest is so much more relaxing than the time I would have spent sitting and stewing over whatever it was that I had to do.
And now I don't get angry over something not done right, or about how much work I have to do. If I act as if everything is under my job description (even if it's really not), then there's no reason to get angry over someone's generous help that wasn't so helpful, or the fact that they didn't help at all.
It's really how we should face every day of our lives, no matter what our job is. Telling ourselves that everything is our responsibility helps us to focus on serving others and dying to self.
I went through a lot of my life wanting to be served and finding ways to make sure that happened. But that's not what any of us are here for. And it doesn't matter if it's in our job title, if we deserve it, if we work the hardest, if no one helps us - everything is our job and if the person you are working "for" doesn't motivate you, then do it for Christ, because that's who all of our work is really for in the end, anyway.
In my case, of course, I'm extra blessed because my bosses definitely motivate me.
There is much more I want to say about anger (including what I believe is definitely a hormonal component in my case - I was super happy and super energized right before ovulation last week) but I'll save that for another post. Right now my bosses are sound asleep and I have some folding to do.
Sunday, March 4, 2012
I like bribery
We live many states away from my parents, which means my kids don't get too see their Nana and Boppy too often. So my plan this visit was to get a photo of each of them with their grandparents that I could frame and hang in their bedrooms.
Of course, pictures of babies are always tough to get, especially ones you really want and have a limited time to capture.
We ended up with two cute ones. Not perfect, no outright smiles from the babies, but they'll do...
And I only got these by making a promise. A promise involving the iPad and Lion King.
In case I wondered if they'd remember the promise - oh, they did. I was asked about watching Lion King shortly after the little photo shoot ended.
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