Game Over. The End.

"You can't live like this. We will need to schedule a hysterectomy or you will be in serious trouble..."

It was the word I have been dreading for an entire decade - hysterectomy. Fifteen surgeries, countless doctors appointments, shots, drugs, acupuncture, begging and pleading, praying. None of it worked. Just like that, my dreams were being shattered and the door to carrying my children was closing a lot faster than I imagined.

Is there anything else we can do? Can you save it one more time? I just want one pregnancy.

"No. It's impossible. Look at these scans, I have never in all my years of practice seen this. It is over, Mary. We tried everything we could."

It was like an out of body experience. I felt my husbands hand on my leg. I heard him sigh and start to ask a question, but I wasn't there anymore. I couldn't catch my breath, and I didn't want to. I wanted to rewind my day and go back to being a busy mom chasing after my kids. I knew I was sick, I could tell my body was shutting down. I could hardly walk up stairs without seeing stars, my hair was falling out, and I was tired all the time. I could no longer lay on my side or stomach from the pressure of the giant tumors taking over my abdomen, but there was comfort and solace in not knowing what was wrong with me. I wanted to be whole again, but without any of the hard stuff. No shots, no medicine. I just wanted to be me. 

I snapped back when I heard the doctor ordering the dreaded prescription that would help shrink the tumors in preparation for the surgery. I could almost taste the metal in my mouth, the nasty taste I instantly had when I got the injections. Please no! I have been here before - weight gain, hot flashes, hair loss, and extreme bone pain. Yay! Not to mention the cost of this nasty drug...nothing like paying for complete and total misery. I begged the doctor to think of another way to make this as painless as possible. Three doses. The max a person can have before it begins causing permanent bone damage. 

I couldn't see straight. I couldn't even cry. Not one tear. The doctor asked me if I had any questions. I couldn't have even told him my name at that point. I wanted to get out of there as fast as I could. Hadn't I been through enough already? 

As we walked to the car, we had a weird sense of relief. This giant question mark had hung over us for five years. Would we conceive? How? Would we be one of those couples who adopts a few kids and then oopsy, who knew?! But no. It was done. The question mark was turning into a period. Final. Game over. The End.

Why did I have no emotion? Why no tears? My world was crashing down, the moment I had dreaded was here and I couldn't even cry. Was I out of tears?

It hit me. I had been waiting for this. I was ready to give up, to throw in the towel, to be done. For a few years, I was over it. I was over the pain, the waiting, and the pressure from others to conceive. I was a mom to two beautiful girls - THAT was my dream. Of course, I was brokenhearted that I wasn't the one who got to carry them, to feel them move for the first time. But their stories, my story of becoming their mom, wouldn't fit if I had experienced those things. I wanted Hannah. I wanted Eden. And if I had given birth to them, they wouldn't be MY Hannah and MY Eden. It doesn't work that way. My heart had accepted the defeat that a hysterectomy would bring. I was relieved that my doctor was making this decision for me. I was oddly excited for the chance to be alive again, and I didn't have a choice. It was time to be done, and this time it wasn't my decision. It was out of my control.

Eventually, the tears came. I cried a lot. Like for three solid months. I was in agony. My bones hurt down to my pinky toe. One emergency hospital stay and the decision to move forward with the surgery was yet again confirmed. I needed those suckers out, and fast. They were literally sucking the life right out of me.

In this dark and lonely time, God showed himself. He brought friends who hugged us, fed us, encouraged us. They helped us with our girls, brought care packages, dinners, and flowers, they loved on us when we needed it most, and we knew we weren't alone. He also gave us peace - a feeling I didn't know was possible when diving into something so tragic and horrible. This was our story. We were starting to own it and accept it.

If I had experienced this when I was 21 years old, the first time a doctor had mentioned doing a hysterectomy, I would have died. It was the process that needed to happen. I needed this to play out exactly like it was for this to be okay. And God knew, like He always does, exactly what my heart needed.

I held my babies, held my husband, and held on to the peace that only God could give me for the next three months.

**This is deep and dark and way more intense than I generally like to be. But I need to share this. I need my readers who have walked this road with me to see exactly how this was for us. I have shared so much about our journey here and it only seems fitting that I finish the story out and allow you in on this aspect as well. I want you to know exactly what happened, and I want you to see how God redeemed even this. Thank you for being a part of this journey, for allowing me the space to share this. It is deeply personal and scary to share this, but I feel it is necessary. This blog got me through the beginning stages of my battle with infertility and it feels only fitting that I close that chapter out here too. I am surviving and thriving...and I want to make it clear that my faith and trust in God alone is what has brought me out of this dark time. 

Catch Up Time

Time to get back into a grove of writing! Man, have I ever missed this. This will serve as my catching up post and I will have to revisit a few of these topics as I go. My goal this New Year was to write 2-3 times a month. I have faithfully been writing for a blog called Life as we Learn it, but I am ready to dig back into my own personal blog, and spend some much needed time writing and reflecting on my life and day to day adventures.

My monthly adventures to my 30th birthday took a back seat in August. I had a doctors visit when we learned that my female issues were out of control and that I would have to have a pretty serious operation because of the damage...but not without hormone treatment first. My fibroid tumors were so large that they couldn't safely remove them without shrinking them first. The end result would be a hysterectomy, which I had successfully avoided since I was 21 years old. It really didn't take much convincing from my team of doctors once I saw the scans. My abdomen was the size of a nine month pregnancy and I had fibroids extending up into my sternum. It was a brutal few months of medication, doctors visits, and bed rest, all with two small children. It was a dark and trying time, but more on that later.

I had my surgery, turned 30, celebrated Christmas, and stood up in my cousin's wedding. My baby turned 3, we celebrated 5 years of marriage, and took a the trip of a life time touring Europe.

Now we are home. Hannah is busy dancing, playing with friends, and being absolutely adorable and funny. Eden is officially 9 months old and sweet as pie. She looks at you with those dark brown, Princess Jasmine eyes and it's all over. They love each other so much and we couldn't be more grateful to be their parents.

And Josh? I could not be more in love with him. We get better with age. It has been a hard 5 years, but we have learned to love hard, laugh often, and grow together. We learn more about each other every day and just can't seem to get enough of each other. He has been with his company for 11 years now and graduated from grad school with his MBA last December. He is right on the brink of doing big things. I am lucky to be his sidekick.

I am more content right now than I have ever been. I love being a mom and a wife and I am very thankful to be able to be home with my girls day in and day out. I am teaching Bible study, volunteering at church, and investing in some quality friendships. I feel like I am finally hitting my stride. I thought I would die when I turned 30, but I am embracing it and looking at it as a new chapter of my life. I am working out and learning what I had given up when I was sick for the past few years. Being healthy is something I will never take for granted again. And I am writing because it makes me happy and whole and helps me tap into my feelings.

Thank you for reading and for caring about my life. I will never get over the fact that people read what I write...it has always been a dream of mine to have people read what I have to say and I get to do that here.

Cheesecake Factory 

(where it all began!)

More to come, I promise!

June and July: BABY TIME!

Welcome to the world sweet girl!

 Eden Joy Meyer

July 3, 2014

5:14 PM

6 lbs 12 oz

19 inches

We were picked by Eden's birth mother over Memorial Day weekend, giving us plenty of time to make our way down to Ocala, Florida where she was born.  She is our little ray of sunshine!

June was a blur of preparing our house and getting ready to add a new member to our family. Since Hannah's first birthday, we have worked hard to prepare our hearts for this and to give this baby all the love and preparation that she deserved. It was our challenge to love her with our whole hearts even before she was ours, trusting that God would handle the tricky details that come with each adoption. The Lord kept encouraging us at every turn to embrace this new adventure and to place our hearts in His hands, as he already had the details all figured out.

We love Eden's birth mom. She is brave and strong. She had one goal in mind from the the very beginning - to give her daughter a bright future no matter how hard it would be on her. She was determined and made selfless decisions that have changed the course of Eden's life. When we talked to her over the phone for the first time, Josh and I quickly decided that our mission during this whole process was to give her as much love and support along the way as we could. We watched a young girl walk this road before, and we knew the mountain of emotion and pain that birth mom would have to climb and we wanted to walk right along side of her the whole way.

We had six whole weeks to prepare for her to come - what a gift after Hannah's crazy whirlwind adoption! So many amazing details went into this time of preparation and I am still marveling at how much we accomplished in such a short amount of time. In the near future, I will share these amazing details, but for now I want Eden to know what a gift she is to her daddy, big sister, and me.

Dear Eden Joy-
My heart might burst. The last two days have been a dream come true for me. I have spent countless hours thinking about you and praying for you. Now, here you are. Cuddling you makes my heart swell. I could stare at your beautiful little face all day long and just marvel at your very existence.
From the moment I saw your chubby little cheeks on the ultrasound, my heart was yours. Your first cries were a miracle to me, a barren woman experiencing new life for the first time. Seeing your dark silky head of hair makes me squeal with delight.
You are everything we could ever have asked for. When the doctor yelled out, "What's her name?" and I had the chance to publicly, for the first time, declare EDEN JOY MEYER as your name, I knew your daddy and I had picked the perfect name. Your name means perfect happiness, God's place of delight, and you are every bit of that to us already.
You will be someone very special - we know that already. God orchestrated every fine detail to bring you into this world, and the very thought that He saw fit to make ME your mother blows my mind. All the way from Ocala, Florida, God brought you into my life and you quickly and without a doubt wiggled your way into my heart forever.
We want you to know that we love you beyond words. Even more importantly, God loves you and He is moving on your behalf already. He created you and protected your little life because He has a purpose for you that will be dynamic and powerful. What a gift to be able to watch His plans play out right in front of us!
Welcome to our family sweet girl. We have been waiting for you with open arms. May you bring perfect happiness to everyone you meet along the way.
You have our hearts!
Love,
Mommy

…For You formed my inward parts; You wove me in my mother's womb. I will give thanks to You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made; Wonderful are Your works, And my soul knows it very well.
Psalm 139:13-14

Jumping in May

This May we visited my family in Tucson. My brother and his wife and my cousins all go to one of those trampoline parks every Monday for exercise. Before our trip I had told him that my one request was that we jump while I was in town.

They honored my request and we all met up for a night of jumping. I was a little nervous, but I have always loved trampolines and knew in a matter of time I would be confident and jumping like a pro. I've always been a more cautious person, but I like to try new things. This translated into me being willing to do it all along with my family but watching everyone else do it first. My big thing when we got there was flipping into the foam pit. I had to do it. I knew I could do it...but doing it was an all together different thing.

As a child, I could do flips on the trampoline without hesitation! I would land on my feet and do it again. But as a sensible mother and grown up, this proved to be more of a challenge than I guessed it would be.

My sister-in-law patiently waited for me to conquer the flip. I would bounce, bounce, bounce and tell her "count down from 5 and I will do it."  This lasted for about 5 straight minutes until finally I just decided to do it. I was all in. I tucked my chin to my chest and propelled my body forward. I landed in the pit feet first with a smile that stretched from ear to ear. I did it.

Isn't that how life works? We build up enough courage to muster one little flip into a new situation or new challenge. It feels risky and dangerous but we have to do it, going all in, knowing that the outcome will be worth it. All it took was one quick second of bravery and I was in the pit and felt like I had just conquered the world.

I know a trampoline park isn't life altering, but for me, it was a step in the right direction, a reminder that I am able and brave and that I can do hard things.

Applause in April

I know I am a few months behind in my birthday posts, but I will attempt to catch up now.

I am a part of women's Bible study at my church. Just like everything else at Willow Creek, it is done with excellence...and a whole lot of women. Last semester, I was a participant. I hardly missed a study and slid in on time every week, homework completed even if that meant doing it in the car sitting in the parking lot moments before walking in. But this semester was a little different. Our little group of moms needed a leader, and I decided to step up to lead. I am one of the younger moms for sure, but I relied on my teacher instincts and my all around love for women digging deeper in God's word, and volunteered without hesitation.

It is a 2 hour long study. We meet as a large group for an hour of teaching and then break into small groups to talk about our homework and how the lesson is impacting us. I was just to facilitate the small group and steer the conversation along the way. Oh, and this meant no more cramming homework before class. I actually needed to write thoughtful responses to each question as we often discussed them in our leaders meetings before class and I wanted to be prepared in case someone in our group had questions about the lesson.

I love this sort of thing. It energizes me to be a part of helping women grow and connecting with them on a spiritual level. I want women to grow in their faith and I love being a part of that process. I felt at home leading, opening and closing in prayer, asking thought provoking questions and watching our group of young moms gel together.

As I have shared before, February was heartbreaking for our family. We experienced great loss and spent the better part of March and April finding our bearings again. We hired an Adoption Consultant and really put our money where our mouths were as we began to ask God very earnestly to bring us another baby.

Our Bible study topic only fulled this fire in my heart as we studied the names of God. Digging into the Word and learning about God as Provider, Healer, My Banner, Protector - it all pieced me back together and helped me to stop asking God "WHY me?", and start focusing on how He showed up in that entire process.

Then it was time for the last meeting of the year. I knew in advance that there would be an open mic and that our teacher was interested in hearing how God used this study in our everyday lives. From the second I heard about this time for sharing, I got the distinct feeling that God was nudging me to share.

I love to write...I can tell you about my innermost struggles with a pen and paper - no problem. But, I am NOT a public speaker. I would rather get up there and teach than talk about anything emotional or deeply personal. My heart races and my palms get sweaty just thinking about talking about my heart. Add a room full of about 150 women and the fact that I still cry every time I talk about our adoption falling through. I was a nervous wreck for an entire week knowing that God wanted me to share but also knowing that it would be extremely uncomfortable for me.

I didn't even tell my husband that I was going to share. I knew that if I did, he would be nervous for me and I would insist on him talking me out of doing it. So I wrote down a few notes, and when the sharing time came, I somehow managed to get out of my seat, walk to the front of the room, and talk into a mic about the loss that we had experienced that semester; but also the Grace that God had shown me through the study as He reminded me that He is there for me all along the way. It wasn't pretty...I had tears and snot running down my face,and I sounded like a little lamb trying to talk through a shaky, tear muffled voice. But I did it.

The outpouring of love from that day still amazes me. It was like one more level of healing for me to have complete strangers hug me and sympathize with me. Through tears, one woman told me about her very similar experience adopting. She gave me her phone number and we've talked about the pain that only someone who has walked through a failed adoption has experienced. Another woman, holding her two month old cried as she hugged me and said, "I don't know why God let me bring my baby home from the hospital and you weren't able to."  It was something that I had silently wondered as well since she came back to Bible study after giving birth. She took my email and before I had even left church, she had sent me a CD on iTunes that has been a huge part of my healing process.

Acknowledgement of pain is part of the healing process. For me, in the month of April, it took stepping far beyond my comfort zone and sharing my heart to bring healing and to give credit to the Lord for what He has done in my heart along the way. It always feels good to know you've been obedient to what God has called you to do, but for me it was another reminder that I am not alone in this process.

Masterpiece in March

March came faster than I was prepared for. In the aftermath of losing the baby that we saw ourselves parenting, I found myself struggling just to get out of bed in the mornings. I would force myself to go about my day, always pausing to think about her, what could have been, and what will never be. Having an adoption plan fall through is hard. Like a miscarriage, it feels like a death, not just of a person, but of a dream and a future.  Unlike a miscarriage, the reality is that this baby is out there, being cared for by a mother who at one point did not think she was capable of motherhood. It haunts you if you let it - fear of the future crippling you and the pain of the 'what if' echoing loudly in your ears.

The Lord knew I would need some life breathed back into my soul, and as He always does, He had already provided for me emotionally. In January, before this storm hit our house, I had decided to take my birthday and Christmas money and buy a ticket to visit my best friend in the Seattle area. As always, the thought of maybe having a baby in the meantime had crossed my mind, but we try to keep living in this season of waiting. My trip was scheduled well before I knew just how badly I would need some time away, time to laugh and talk with someone who knows me inside and out.

Leaving my husband and little one is always hard for me, but I knew I desperately needed this. I boarded the plane, never sure what to do on a flight now without a diaper bag, Leap Pad, and enough snacks to feed/occupy a small country. I read my US Weekly, took a little snooze, and prayed...prayed a whole lot. I've battled the deep sadness that comes with loss before, sometimes more gracefully than other times. We call them clouds, and I could feel the clouds starting to brew into a storm - a storm I was was seriously afraid of.

I got off the plane and waited for my best friend to pick me up. As soon as I saw her car round the bend, I prayed that God would restore me and make me whole again with this trip. I climbed into the car and the love and friendship I felt coming from the driver's seat was palpable.

We zoomed around the Seattle-Tacoma Airport area, two girls with nothing but time and a love for life. We had made reservations for one of those wine and painting classes.  You know, one of those classes that makes you think you are actually pretty talented because you've sipped lots of wine and the teacher told you exactly what to do. We went to our class, ready for a night of laughter and Van Gogh's Starry Night. As predicted, we were both pretty impressed with our untapped painting abilities...or maybe it was our ability to actually follow directions that impressed us. There were lots of "I like your stars better than mine" and "Your village is way cooler than mine." More wine, and lots and lots of laughs.

I was intrigued by how the painting was done step by step more so than the final product. A little brush stroke of dark blues and black made for a section that looked dark and ominous...and then in with the lighter strokes - white, sky blue, and light blues in all different hues...each stroke going in the same direction with purpose, but all individual and distinct marks swirling around to make a night sky.

Later that night, as we turned the lights out and went to bed, I couldn't help but think that this is how life works. We are a work in progress - a lighter section one mark at a time, happy moments in our lives that fill us with joy, a stroke of a warm hug from a close friend, a new job, an answered prayer. And then there are some darker strokes, even some darker sections.

By Mary Beth Meyer

For me, growing our family will always be mixed with some dark spots. The whole topic of family, be it pregnancy or adoption, comes with both light spots and dark spots. Hannah's life is a huge light patch in our lives. The rest has been hard and painful - a mix of gray, blacks, and browns. But the point is, with every single brush stroke there is a plan. The Master is still working on his masterpiece. He knows before a single section of my canvas is painted exactly what strokes need to go into it to make it beautiful. He knows the delicate mixture of contrasting colors that will make it breathtaking.

What a beautiful, perfect lesson to learn three months into my 30th birthday challenge. I still have days where I feel like I am chasing the clouds away, but I am much more confident knowing that the Artist has a plan and that the end result will be beautiful.

FeBRRRRuary

The whistle of the wind whizzing past me...

The cold air chapping my skin...

Muscles engaged, well aware that they had a job to do...

One thought on my mind - "do not fall down"...

This Arizona desert rat tackled the slopes. That's right - I went skiing! I know there are loads of Arizonans who love to ski (including my dad), but I have always firmly been against all snow sports and avoided contact with snow at all costs. But this winter has been a little in your face and made that harder to avoid. Chicago has had over 6 feet of snow this winter! It's been impossible, so instead of fighting it, I embraced it and went skiing.

After an hour long ski lesson and countless trips down all four levels of the bunny hills, I decided it was time to graduate to the actual slopes, chair lift and all.

Standing at the edge, looking out over the 'blue square' (more difficult) slope, I was literally shaking with nerves, excitement, and anticipation. I had stayed upright for a good two hours at that point and I wanted to do this, but felt that little cautious bug I've always had telling me that it was too much.

Josh looked at me and said, "Do you want me to go first or do you want to?" Without even answering him, I stuck my poles in the snow and started pushing towards the edge. He yelled, "You've got this babe!" and with that I edged my skis downward, and away I went!

It was exhilarating. I could feel my stomach in my throat the whole time, but I realized that not only could I do this, I was doing it. I let out a "WOOOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOO!" all the way down the slope.

My goal was to ski before I turned 30. I thought this would be one of the harder ones that I signed myself up for, but I did it, and it felt freeing and energizing.  I felt alive.  That feeling came at a time I needed it most...

Earlier in the week, after a year of waiting, Josh and I got the phone call we had been praying for. We were picked to adopt a baby who had already been born. Her birth mom was ready to meet us and wanted us to join her at the hospital the next day. We flew around cleaning, pulling clothes out of storage, washing the infant car seat, and took a quick trip to Target.  We could hardly breath.  It was almost here - we were going to be parents again!

And then, in an instant, it was gone.  We got a call from our social worker the next morning as we were getting ready to leave for the hospital. She told us that the birth mother changed her mind and decided to parent. Just like that, we crashed, falling into a pile of skis and poles, snow flying everywhere. We laid flat on our backs assessing the situation. Were we okay? Could we still breath? Was anything broken?

Going into our second adoption, our eyes were wide open to the fact that it could fall through. We are not unaware of the risks of domestic adoption, but nothing prepares your heart for that phone call. It's like a bad fall on the slopes.

But, what I proved to myself that day on the slopes was that I can get up, I can try again, and I can be successful. Life isn't worth living if we stand back and pass up opportunities because of the fear of pain and loss. We might fail. We will fall. But we can get back up and give it another try because we know God is faithful and will give us the strength and patience that we need.

On a cold day on the slopes in Bartlett, IL, God reminded me of his faithfulness yet again, and I am back on my feet, ready to tackle the next challenge because I know that I can.