Cycles

Ok, this had been my infertility blog, that turned into an adoption blog, that turned into our life while we waitied for an adoption blog, but let's get back to the roots...

I think deep down I always knew something was up.  I never had normal cycles.  Ever.  My Mom could time her's to the hour of when it was coming.  Not me. 
Three weeks.

Five weeks.

Eight weeks.

Four weeks. 

I always just got a "surprise... here I am!".

Que infertility and then the very quick PCOS diagnosis. 

And then fertility cycles.

And four more miscarriages.

And giving up, grieving, moving on.

Getting back on birth control.

Starting the adoption process.

And then, out of no where a conversation started by my husband about going off birth control.  The decision to not 'try' with injections and ultrasounds, but just be hormone free.  And see what happens.  But knowing our family would grow through the blessing of adoption. 

For the first time in my life... I had a 32 day cycle.  And then.  The next month, another 32 day cycle.  What was up?!?  I was wondering if it would happen 3 times in a row.  Nope... it turned into a 40 something day cycle, and being the crazy person I can sometimes be, I peed on a stick. 

Shit.

I mean, I knew it could happen.  We weren't doing anything to prevent.  I just didn't know... we didn't think.  Now what.  My bottom bathroom drawer has over 20 of these.  Positive tests.  I just can't bring myself to throw them away.   Weird. yes.  YES.  Maybe it's my one thing I use to cling to the children that never were.  The only proof that for a while, a short moment, they existed. 

Now what?  I knew what a call to my doctor would cause.  A prescription for injections, blood thinners.  Come in for Betas.  Wait for the news.  Repeat beta.  Numbers dropping.  Stop injections.  It was the weekend, and I knew that nothing could be done until Monday.  So we just waited.  And I thought shit. shit. shit. 

I tested again Monday morning.  No longer positive.  I didn't need to go to the doctor.  I had done this often enough.  I knew what it meant.  Betas were dropping.  It was over.  My cycle started the next day.  And I got further confirmation that I was indeed pregnant. 

Do we count it.  Do we add another tick mark to the chart under 'losses'.  Do we even need to?  My history already raises flags, one more isn't going to make it 'worse' or be the tipping point to be referred to a specialist.  I'm already long past any 'flags' that needed to be raised. 

So, I guess I need to come up with a new phrase in my story.  Seven losses. 

But still we wait for our adopted child to come home to us.  That is where our heart is, though moments (or days, or weeks) are discouraging.  We wait.

It has been a month, I just started my next cycle (36 days?), and I'll admit there was some relief.  Just a normal, old plain cycle.  (I do have an app that shows my 'ovulation and fertal days', and my husband was shunned during those times!).  Only a one other person outside our marriage knew I was pregnant, for those two days.  I've revealed it to a couple more since then.  But as my header says, this is real.  It's our story.  So it's a chapter that must be written.  I started miscarrying a few hours before my sister in laws high school graduation.  Not fun.  I was in horrible pain, emotionally and physically, angry at my husband for suggesting we stop birth control (though I agreed, my anger was completely misdirected to him at that point), thinking 'oh shit, now what', and dealing with a less then helpful step daughter that afternoon.  I'm sure to his family I seemed like a huge b-i-t-c-h.  I knew I couldn't get through much conversation without yelling or crying, so I just didn't talk.  I zoned out.  I wasn't present in the moment.  I was trying to protect myself.  And them from me.  But still, they had no idea... just saw my attitued.

Discussions

Since our failed adoption, I've had several in depth discussions.  The 'whys were asked.  Travis and I went into this adoption fully trusting in God's plan. 

When we started thinking about adoption, we prayed, and both felt yes.
When picking domestic or international, we prayed, and both felt domestic.
When picking an agency, we prayed, and both felt our agency as right.
When picking the timing, we prayed, and both felt this was the time.
When picking the pictures, the info to share, we prayed, and selected.
When picking if we should go for the 'unique situation' we prayed, and felt yes.
While getting ready for the matching meeting, we prayed, and felt calm.
While wondering if we should be at the hospital when she delivered, we prayed, and went.

Our whole journey, we got 'yes, yes, yes, yes...'.  And then a screeching halt, NO.  This is not the child for you.

I've almost, kinda, sorta accepted this.  It's part of the plan, yadda, yadda, yadda.  I still don't understand though.  And there is a big difference between accepting and understanding. 

Some of the conversations have gone like this...
"There was another event in your life you needed to focus on before your child came home"
"You were put in their lives, to show them what a healthy, loving relationship looks like, and to share the love of God with them."
"In 5-10 years, you will occasionally think about that little boy, and quietly send up a prayer for him, and you might be the only ones that every pray for him."
"There were issues with the baby/situation that you were being protected from"
There's lots more, but you get the point...

All of these are great, and one of them might be the reason.  I don't know.  I'm not sure we'll ever know.  Again, I've accepted that situation we went through, this is part of our story. 

But all this conversation has made me think of our miscarriages.  Several of the same people that I had the above conversations with, suggested that we were given that situation to deal with, so that at some point, down the road, when another young couple is going through a similar loss, we can love them, support them, and be open to them. 

Valid point.

But I knew grief after my first miscarriage.  I knew grief even more after my second (the 'big' pregnancy). 

I didn't need my third.
Or fourth.
Or fifth.
Or sixth.

I didn't need to experience that loss 6 times to learn a 'new grief', a 'multiplied grief'.  I knew grief before the last four came along.  So I ask then, what was the point in those last four?  

Again, these are discussions that I have with some friends, cry with my husband over, and wrestle with God about. 

I wonder if I'll ever know.