Yesterday, I turned 30 years old. Earlier on in my twenties, I remember wondering why women would get so weird about their 30th birthdays, often claiming they were perpetually 29 instead of ever legitimately entering their thirties. "What's the big deal?" I'd think, baffled. "It's only another birthday. And 30 isn't old."

 I had no idea how much my perception of age (and of life) would evolve as I worked my way through my twenties...

I was 26 years old when Drew and I started trying to have a baby. I still felt pretty young then--it seemed like a great age to have a baby, in my mid-to-late twenties--and I was definitely ready to be a Mommy. That first year of trying to conceive came and went while I struggled with my "signature" irregular cycles after coming off birth control, which meant few opportunities to "try" for a baby. Around the nine month mark, I went to my OB/GYN to explain my frustrating situation, then walked out of the office with a devastating diagnosis of PCOS, a disorder that I learned, upon further research, made it difficult for women to 1) not only conceive a child, but 2) carry a child to term. A couple of months later, I also officially entered the "infertile" category, which is defined as a couple trying for a year to conceive without success. As you can imagine, I was devastated.

By this time, I was now 27 and feeling pretty bad about myself. My diagnosis and the disorder's effects on my body did little to help my self-esteem. I felt fat, ugly, and (worst of all) worthless and broken. The thing I wanted most in life--to be a Mommy--seemed so far out of reach. I had trouble reconciling with myself that this was indeed the "hand" I was dealt. And, oh yes, I asked the question, "Why me?" again and again. I'm not proud of the way I reacted to my situation at first. I wallowed. I cried. I felt extremely sorry for myself as I continued to see friends and family all around me get pregnant and have babies. I sunk deeper and deeper into my own self-deprecation. "Why do you suck so much, Ember?" I'd think, berating myself. I started thinking about romantic relationships I'd had prior to finding Drew, my soulmate, and I'd think, "Boy are they lucky they didn't end up with ME. Infertile, broken me. Did they ever dodge a bullet!" I uttered the same words to Drew and told him I understood if he wanted to leave me for someone who could give him the children he so desperately wanted. He was angered any time this sort of talk escaped my lips, of course. I did it, anyway. (I was a peach to be around, believe me).

During this time, we were referred to another OB/GYN who specialized in infertility. She ordered a full infertility work-up, including the infamous blood panels that earned me a reputation in the hospital laboratory for second highest amount of vials of blood ever taken at once. I was a rock-star, but never in the way I'd hoped I'd be. We imagine our lives so many different ways...we even seek to plan them (however rude it might be, I literally laugh now when people tell me their very specific plans for their lives...when they'll do this and that...because I know life has a way of showing us who's in charge, and it's certainly not us), but we never include the bad things in our plans and reveries about the future, do we? I soon became known as the infertile girl around my OB\GYN's office, and the nurses recognized and felt sorry for me...not really the kind of attention you want, nor the thing for which you want to be recognized.

Then, while we were in the midst of finding out more about my infertility through all of that testing, we got pregnant with our precious LJ. All of the feeling sorry for myself and attention related to being "the freak" at the doctor's office halted right there in its tracks. We rejoiced. The nurses and doctors there rejoiced with us. I was happy, truly happy, until I was nearly 12 weeks into my pregnancy. And that's when it all came crashing down. When I "came to" into the reality of the situation, to the fact that my baby was dead, I was in a worse place, mentally and emotionally, than I was before I got pregnant. I was sadder than I've ever been. I hated myself even more. And, I missed my baby so much, it hurt to breathe. At the risk of sounding over-dramatic, I wanted to die.

I turned 28 years old a couple of months after my miscarriage, and, for the first time, I truly started to understand the panic and despair some women feel about approaching 30. I felt the big three-oh looming there in front of me--a reminder of the years and heartbreak we'd already spent on our quest to expand our family as well as a loud ticking biological clock, quickening my pulse and making me worry about how long we'd be fighting this battle for a child of our own. I began hearing those stories from friends of friends who knew someone who tried for 10 years to have a baby before giving up. And I'd start to see myself there, as one of those random couples...the ones that nobody never quite knew why they didn't end up having kids. I was scared of becoming those people. We'd wanted a baby for so long, and then, once we finally became pregnant, it was all ripped away from us in the blink of an eye. I started seeing how possible it could be that we'd try for and lose a baby (continuing this horrific cycle) again and again, while months and years of our lives passed us by.

We were cleared for trying again a couple of months after I finished miscarrying, only to find, soon after, that I had an enormous, grapefruit-sized cyst on my left fallopian tube (at first they thought it was on my left ovary). My doctor kept an eye on the cyst through ultrasounds, but finally determined that I'd need laparoscopic surgery to have it removed. A couple of months later, I went under the knife. The surgery was a success, and the doctor was able to do several more invasive procedures while I was anesthetized to further investigate my infertility. They found nothing conclusive, and a month or so after I healed from surgery, we were cleared for trying again.

We stuck mostly to a Clomid and HCG trigger shot regimen for months and months without conceiving. During this period of time, I turned 29 years old. I took on the strategy of trying to largely ignore my birthdays at this point in time, as they all seemed to depress me further. "Another year down," I'd think. "And still no baby. Another year of poking and prodding and drugs that made me feel consistently sick and irrational and just...not myself." What a life! A couple of months after my birthday, the doctor wanted to try something different, and so I went back on some of the medication for PCOS I'd been on a couple of years earlier, in addition to the Clomid/shot regimen each month. The month after I went back on those meds, we found out we were pregnant for a second time. And, then, no more than two weeks later, I miscarried. It all went so fast: Thanksgiving = yay, happy, I'm pregnant. Beginning of December = oops, nevermind, I take it back, this will be one HELL of a shitty Christmas for you folks, SORRY! After it happened, it seemed unreal that we had conceived and lost again. "Why does this keep happening to me?" I kept thinking...pleading. "Please, God, tell me what you need me to do/learn to be granted the blessing of a child." I racked my brain, trying to understand what made me such a lesser person than everyone else I knew. That had to be it, right? All of my friends and family members were allowed to have children because they were better people. I didn't deserve children. I must admit, I still struggle with these irrational thoughts from time to time, but, for the most part, I feel good that I've been able to turn much of my fears and rantings over to a God who is patient and understanding...who loves me in spite of my shortcomings.

A couple of months after being cleared to try again after my second miscarriage, my OB/GYN referred us to a reproductive endocrinologist (RE) in Grand Rapids. As I've written here before, we were a bit overwhelmed at our first appointment (okay, more than that, I DID use the description of "Dr. Soup-Nazi"), but after getting back a bunch of test results and meeting with the doctor a second time, we had really begun to like the take-charge, get-things-done style of our RE. We spent a lot of time talking and praying about this next turn in the road to having a baby, and we finally came to a feeling of peace and agreement in following the doctor's orders for us for a couple of cycles (which was about all we could afford). We went on faith and started our first cycle of Follistim and Ovidrel injectables right before we left for vacation at the beginning of July. Then, wonder of all wonders, on July 19, 2009, we learned we were pregnant for the third time!

Unlike our first two pregnancies, we were slow to get overly excited. We were both truly happy and grateful, of course, when we first saw that positive home pregnancy test, but (as cynical as it may sound) our previous losses had so heavily colored our perceptions that we were no longer naive enough to think that things would probably turn out all right for us. Luckily, that first week brought with it awesome news: the initial HCG quant was high, and 48 hours later, it was confirmed that the HCG levels were more than doubling, indicating a strong and healthy pregnancy. After those initial results, the waiting game began in earnest. We were lucky enough to be brought in for an early ultrasound at six weeks, and as nervous as we both were going in that day, we left the office on cloud nine after seeing and hearing that tiny, strong heartbeat. There is no better feeling in this world than seeing, for yourself, that the child you created with the person you love is alive and well and growing inside of you. There are no words to describe the elation we both felt that day.

Our next ultrasound wasn't for another two weeks, and it's amazing what can happen to a person's psyche during the seemingly insignificant time of 14 days. The elation of that first ultrasound, though still there inside of me, was pushed aside by those old feelings of doubt and anxiety by the end of that first week. I thought about all that could happen between ultrasounds, and waited anxiously for the eight-week ultrasound to come. I prayed, imploring that the precious little life inside of me would continue to flourish. And I prayed for peace of mind to not let the worry overtake me and cause harm to the pregnancy.

Our second ultrasound was much of the same: the baby was healthy and growing furiously, and the heartbeat was as strong as could be. The RE had no concerns whatsoever, besides keeping me on progesterone and baby aspirin to help sustain the pregnancy. He was ready to "graduate" us back to my OB/GYN at that appointment, but we asked if he'd be willing to schedule us for one more ultrasound at 10 weeks, just to ease our minds in the interim while I contacted my OB/GYN office and scheduled my first appointment. We both knew that the first appointment there wouldn't include an ultrasound, and so having one more ultrasound with the RE would enable us to stay with our "two week check-up" schedule we'd become so used to. He agreed, of course, because of our history of losses, and much to our relief, everything looked wonderful at the 10-week ultrasound as well. In fact, that ultrasound ended up being the most exciting one yet! The baby had grown a ton, looking more and more like an actual baby (rather than bean) each day, and we even got to see its little arms and legs move (the Doctor thinks we woke him/her up when he went in with the "wand" -- remember, it's still a transvaginal ultrasound at this point).

I called to make the appointment with my OB/GYN, and when I told the nurse that we were pregnant, she literally whooped and hollered in excitement for us! On the day we went in for my appointment, a couple of the nurses met us at the door and hugged us and congratulated us. (I guess word had spread that we'd be in that day, and the whole office was excited for us.) I started thinking back to the days I'd walk into the office in the midst of glowing, pregnant women--those days when I was well-known as the "infertile girl"--and, in retrospect, I'm okay with the attention I got from being the "odd one out" in those days...especially if it resulted in so many sharing with us in our joy now!

The appointment went fine for the most part, with the only concern being that my blood pressure reading was a bit high. The doctor is going to be really cautious with me during this pregnancy, so she decided to put me on a low dosage of hypertension meds, and I have to monitor my blood pressure on my own at home a couple of times per day.

Then, last Friday, we had a little bit of a scare. I was having quite a bit of cramping, and even though no spotting accompanied it, I was nervous enough to call my doctor's office to get their opinion. The triage nurse collected a bit of additional information about the pain I was having, then called me back and told me that the doctor on call that day (my usual OB was out of town for the weekend) wanted me to go straight to the hospital for an ultrasound. Immediately, as you can imagine, I became a nervous wreck. I don't even remember driving myself to the hospital. How did I see the road through that torrent of tears? I arrived alone and went to the x-ray department. They got me in very quickly, which I was very grateful for, since it was difficult holding in my emotion there in the waiting room. A few moments after the technician began the ultrasound, a call came over the intercom in the room, and Drew popped his head into the ultrasound room a few seconds later. Turns out he drove (way too fast) all the way from work to be there. Luckily, we were able to see right away that the baby was fine. It was actually moving around quite a lot, trying to squirm away from the probing ultrasound (I can't really blame ya, baby, it was uncomfortable for Mama, too, because of the tenderness from the cramping areas). We were able to laugh and ease some of the tension while the technician took a look at my ovaries and measured blood flow there to determine if that is where the pain was coming from. The technician saw a cyst on my left tube (another damn fallopian tube cyst again!) that my RE noticed several weeks back. When it was first seen, the RE said that they were pretty common during pregnancy and usually go down on their own, but this one hadn't seemed to reduce in size at all. Though there is no immediate concern with the cyst, it is something that they'll have to keep a close eye on. It makes my left side pretty tender, and because of the pressure, it is already difficult to lay on my left side for more than several minutes at a time.

We know all too well that the road ahead of us is still a long one, but we are breathing a sigh of relief at having made it through the most risky first trimester. Please continue to keep us in your prayers...that this pregnancy will continue successfully...that this latest cyst will not cause us complications...and, most important of all, that the baby will be healthy.

So, um, would you like to see pictures?

Here is the latest picture of our little miracle from our 12-week ultrasound last Friday:



I also just have to share this second image from our 12-week ultrasound. The baby was moving around like crazy, and the ultrasound technician just happened to catch this one of the baby all sprawled out at just the right time. Every time I look at it, I just laugh! (Also, look closely...do you see anything else interesting in this picture?)



My second trimester (13th week) of pregnancy began this week, and our precious little one is due at the end of March. I can't think of a better 30th birthday present! I feel beyond blessed that this milestone birthday brought with it an abundance of joy, rather than more dread and heartache. Turns out, for us, the third time was a charm!

Thank you, all, for coming along with us on this miraculous, nearly four-year long, journey. I know the road was often dark and difficult to traverse, but we appreciate you sticking it out with us, and rooting and praying for us all along.

Cheers!

Em, Drew, and Our Little Lucky Charm

Last Sunday, we drove down to K'Zoo for our niece Mikayla's 9th birthday. I remember when Drew and I first started dating and Miss M. was just a toddler babbling away...it is amazing how fast all of our nieces and nephews are sprouting up right before our eyes!

We had a great time with the family, as always. Oh, by the way, I mentioned a few weeks ago that Drew's older sister, Luanne, is pregnant with their second child, but I haven't yet mentioned here that Drew's younger sister, Brianne, is pregnant with their fourth child. Looks like we'll have even more nieces and nephews to love very soon! With these two new additions, that should bring us up to a whopping 8 total!

Here are a few pictures from Mikayla's birthday:


Kaitlyn and Uncle "Knucklehead"...two peas in a pod.


Miss Mikayla, opening presents (with Kaitlyn's help).


Uncle Drew and Kiya.


Lucas no longer hides from cameras, he poses and says "Cheese."


It's blurry, but here's Mikayla trying not to laugh in front of her cake while being told (in song) that
she looks like a monkey and smells like one, too.


I swear, every time we're down at Drew's family's, he is enlisted to fix someone's computer or the
myriad other electronics and toys. Here, Lucas admits he didn't know what he was doing with that
screw driver.

-Em

After the reunion on Sunday, we (including some of the cousins, second cousins, and an aunt and uncle) all went back to the hotel and went swimming in the pool. The kids (and most of the adults, too) stayed in the water until pooped, then we went our own ways for dinner, depending on what sounded good. My parents retired rather early that night, and then Blaise/Nicole, Phil/Abbi, and Drew/me stayed up outside of Blaise and Nicole's room (where the boys were sleeping) talking.

Monday morning was Drew's 30th Birthday. We said good-bye to Phil and Abbi that day, as they weren't accompanying us to Colorado, then after breakfast and checking out of the hotel, the rest of us got back on the road. We stopped about an hour into the drive in Kearney, Nebraska, where we lived for three years before moving to Earlville, Illinois. I went to 6th, 7th, and 8th grades in Kearney. We drive by our old house, schools, and church before splitting up. Dad and Mom wanted to take the back roads from there to my Grandma's grave site. Drew and I decided to continue to caravan with Blaise and Nicole and the boys, saying that we'd visit the grave on our trip home from Colorado a couple days later.

It was another pretty long day in the car, but once we were a ways into Colorado, it was pretty cool to see the mountains off in the distance. We checked into our hotel rooms in Brighton, Colorado (right outside of Denver), then waited for my parents to show up before going to dinner. The boys swam in the hotel pool again that night before we all retired.


The sky after dinner that night

We met for breakfast the next morning, then said our good-byes to my parents and brother's family. They were heading further west into Colorado to see some of my Dad's side of the family that day after stopping in Breckenridge. Drew and I decided we wanted to spend the rest of the brief time we had in that area, heading up to Estes Park and seeing a bit more of the Rocky Mountains. It was sad to say good-bye to everyone.

After going our separate ways, we took the scenic drive up to Estes Park, a touristy town near the foot of Rocky Mountain National Park. Here are a few pictures from that day:


The Rocky Mountains


A statue on the road leading to Estes Park


From the car, heading toward the mountains (obviously )


On the windy mountain road


Just outside Estes Park


Mmmm...our very own cupful of roasted garlic for lunch in Estes Park. Potent!

After spending the day being tourists, we headed back to our hotel room in Brighton and had a low-key evening. We had a sushi dinner and fell asleep watching re-runs of NCIS.

The next morning we started the two day drive back home. We stopped in Haxtun, Colorado that morning at my Grandma Sullivan's grave site, and my Grandpa Sullivan (who died before I was born) and their only daughter Lorraine Jodell (who was born on my birthday 48 years before me and died at only six months old) are buried there, too. It was very emotional to re-visit the grave site, which I hadn't been to since my Grandma's funeral when I was nine years old. I introduced them to Drew, and even he couldn't hold back his tears. We thanked them for looking after our precious angel babies there in heaven. It was a beautifully clear, sunny day, and I felt an overwhelming sense of peace just being there, talking to my Grandma especially, who I was very close to. Another "coincidence" I didn't notice until just recently: Lorraine Jodell...LJ. Both my Grandma and I lost babies with the same initials.

After saying our good-byes at the cemetery, we drove all the way through Nebraska and as far as Des Moines, Iowa, before stopping for the night. I was mesmerized by the hundreds of wind turbines an hour or so outside of Des Moines.



After checking into our hotel, we went to the restaurant attached to it for dinner, and we saw a classic car show taking place outside. After eating, we went and took a look at all of the restored cars. I didn't take any pictures, but it was really cool. There were more Corvettes represented there than any other vehicle, so Drew wasn't one bit disappointed.

The next day we finished the drive through the rest of Iowa, Illinois, Indiana, and home to Michigan. We picked up the girls at the vet's office (where we board them), and both Molly and Sammy earned excellent "report cards" during their stay. Despite winning over their caretakers in our absence, I think they were both pretty happy to see us...that is, until we got them home and they realized it was bath time!

-Em

Saturday morning (the 4th of July), we all met for breakfast at the hotel in KC, then checked out and got back on the road to pay a visit to my Grandma and Grandpa in Concordia, KS. During our drive, we stopped in Salina, KS, the first place my family lived that I actually have memories of, and while we were there, we took a peek at our old house. When we moved from KS to NY, my parents sold our house there to people who planned to turn it into a daycare center, and it's still a daycare to this day. I was five years old when we moved away. The house seemed much bigger to me back then; it was interesting to see it now, from an adult's perspective. Blaise and I joked about how the walk with Mom down to the gas station on the corner for candy used to seem like quite a long trek when we were just tots. Really, it was just a couple houses down from us!

After lunch in Salina, we finished the drive to my grandparents' apartment. The 10 of us all squeezed into their tiny place and visited for about an hour. I was pretty impressed that my Grandpa Leo remembered Drew's name after only having met him once three or four years ago. Unfortunately, my Grandma (who has Alzheimer's) didn't seem to know who any of us were. We were all prepared for this, but it is still difficult to witness. My Mom sat next to her the whole time holding her hand as she interjected bits of conversation that had nothing to do with the actual conversation taking place. Her only moments of clarity seem to be centered on their little dog, Angel, and when Alex and Conor would do something that caught her attention. She seemed tickled by the "one in yellow" (Conor) who started getting a little feisty with his brother toward the end of the visit. She would just chuckle and make comments about his antics. That was kinda cute.

After our short visit, we hopped back into the cars and completed the drive to Grand Island, NE (the town my Mom grew up in, parents met in, and the majority of my Mom's side of the family still lives in). The reunion with them was scheduled for the next day, so once we arrived at the hotel, we had the rest of the night to relax. We had dinner at the hotel restaurant and ventured outside eventually as it appeared that pretty much all of the guests at the hotel had brought along an impressive array of fireworks to set off. We watched the amateur show, caught a good portion of the professional show above the treetops, and watched Conor do his "fireworks dance."

The next morning, several of us went to breakfast with my parents, then I came back to the hotel to fit in a work-out with Nicole. It was great spending a little one-on-one time with Nicole, and it reminded me how much I miss having a work-out partner. I also wish we lived closer to Blaise and Nicole. As far as sisters in law go, she's pretty darn cool.

After showering and getting ready, we all caravaned over to the family reunion further into town. I saw aunts, uncles, cousins, and second cousins I haven't seen in many, many years. My Grandma and Grandpa also made the trip up from Kansas for the day, so we were able to spend a bit more time with them. I sat next to Grandma and held her hand this time, and though I know she probably still didn't realize who I am, I sensed her becoming comfortable with my presence next to to her, and she started telling me "secrets" as they popped into her head.

Here are a few pictures from the reunion (we also celebrated my Grandma and Grandpa's 25th Wedding Anniversary...for those of you who don't know, my Grandpa Leo isn't my biological Grandpa--he and my Mom's Mom were married when I was 5--but he is the only grandpa I've ever known).


My Mom and Grandma


Mom, Grandma, and Grandpa Leo


My Cousin Amy, Mom, and Grandma


Sister-in-law Nicole, Phil's girlfriend Abbi, and Brother Phil


Drew


All the second cousins


The cousins (I think only my sister Becky was missing)

The third and final installment of our trip will be coming soon...

-Em

Right before the 4th of July, we left for a week-long vacation to Kansas, Nebraska, and Colorado. As you already know, we had to pack up all of my injections to take with us, so I must admit I was a little nervous about how I'd feel during our trip. Luckily, the injections away from home went smoothly, and I felt mostly fine for the trip. Phew!

On Thursday, after work, we drove part-way to Kansas City, Missouri. Friday, we completed the trip to KC, and checked into our hotel there about an hour before my Dad and Mom; Blaise, Nicole, Alex, and Conor; and Phil and Abbi arrived in their caravan from North Dakota. Then, we all drove the few miles down the road to Kauffman Stadium for a KC Royals vs. White Sox baseball game. Unfortunately, the Royals lost that night, but I think we all enjoyed the game, walking around the stadium, and the fireworks afterward. Dollar hotdogs and pop didn't hurt, either.






Alex and Drew


Conor swinging his souvenir bat


Alex and Conor (Conor sat next to a couple Sox fans and kept calling their team the "Stinky Sox" ha!)


The fam: Phil (didn't make it in the pic), Abbi, Mom, Dad, Alex, Nicole, Blaise, and Conor. We were
definitely in the "nose-bleed" section, but at least we got our exercise going up and down the stairs!


Abbi and Nicole


Blaise and Conor


Alex and Conor playing "Ring Around Uncle Drew"


Fountains lit up at night


Fireworks after the game

Stayed tuned for more about the rest of the trip...

-Em