Saturday, July 5, 2014

post-op appt & next steps

We went to my post-op appointment on Tuesday. I dreaded it, dreaded hearing what I knew was coming, that there's nothing left for us to do, nothing medically certain, anyway.

I'm so glad Mr. M went with me. Being an ob-gyn's office, of course there were several pregnant women also waiting for their appointments. Two of them must have known each other, because they were chatting (loudly) about the one's pregnancy (her fourth - all boys) and the other's baby (her third), in for its six-week check-up. It was impossible not to listen to them talk about how the pregnant lady's baby would be 13 months younger than her last child ("I'll pray for you that you get a break after this one!"), and how the other lady has friends who get pregnant within 3 months of giving birth, etc. etc. I couldn't take it anymore and told Mr. M to come get me when they called my name and walked out into the hallway to pace and try to calm down and not get upset even before my appointment. I looked out into the parking lot and prayed the Salve Regina and tried to pray for the two women and be understanding (with minimal success, since I think it's a basic point of courtesy to realize that other people in the ob-gyn's office might be infertile, or have a recent miscarriage, or whatever, and you could save your happy conversation for a private moment).

Anyway. Deep breath. The exam itself went fine; I'm healing well and my incisions have scarred over nicely. Then the part I dreaded: Dr. S says to us gently, "I'm sorry, but you truly have unexplained infertility. There's nothing I could find that explains why you haven't conceived."

Pause in which I am trying not to cry. She asks: "What would you like to ask me?"

What is there to ask? Just to say something, I say, "Is there anything at all you recommend?"

She suggested a drug - honestly I forget it now, but I'll pick up the prescription today - that is generally prescribed to help with ovulation. But we've watched me ovulate in "real time"...but who knows, maybe it has another mechanism that can help. Maybe. (What is it about the human psyche - mine at least - that feels better when given an option, anything, even though there's no reason at all it's a helpful option, rather than no option at all?)

We asked a few other questions, and she also suggested consulting with the next nearest napro doctor if we wanted (about 2 hours away, conveniently near my parents).

"How are you doing with all this?" she asked. I couldn't answer, or I would have cried. Thankfully Mr. M is not as much of a crier and said we're disappointed and sad. "Are you talking with anyone?" Dr. S asked. I said we've seen a very good therapist and have others to support us.

Then there was nothing else to say, and she had other patients to see. We thanked her for all she did for us, and she wished us well. Honestly, and maybe strangely, I wish she would have been more visibly saddened by our situation. She was very compassionate, and I'm sure doctors need to keep emotional distance. But at that moment, I wanted someone to cry with me.

**

So, next steps. Trying the drug Dr. S prescribed for a few months (up to 6), starting next cycle. Maybe going for a consult at the napro office near my hometown. Maybe another thing here or there. I have some ideas floating around, and some suggestions offered by knowledgable friends, but need some time just to sit and be with our new scenario. Not to mention moving! And discerning next steps for adoption.

Mr. M has another next step in mind: Lourdes. He joked that a Lourdes pilgrimage should be part of the napro treatment, right after all medical options are exhausted. We're exploring possibilities and seeing if this is a realistic idea. Of course how fantastic would that be to find physical healing in the waters of Lourdes! But we all know that's not the most fundamental healing, and I am certain that there are dark corners of my heart, perhaps even hidden from me, that are in need of God's healing and mercy.

**

The image I keep coming back to is that of falling. Like a nightmare where it's all dark and you are plummeting through space with nothing to grab on to. It's disorienting and takes your breath away. Sorry, over-dramatic I guess. But it's scary to feel cut loose, like you're beyond even the reach of medicine to help you or explain your situation.

I think this is going to take some radical trust in God, even more than we've been asked to give before. After getting the non-news of non-endometriosis, I realized that somewhere deep inside I was consoling myself with the idea that soon we would find an answer, like an oasis in the desert, the sight of land after being adrift for months. Something to grab and hold onto for dear life.

(Did I - do I - make an idol of an "answer," or of a medical/technical solution to our infertility? Is that what I've put my hope in? That's what I mean by more radical trust - needing to dig deeper and trust that none of this is pointless, that even without a "solution" God has not abandoned us; more: our marriage is meaningful and fruitful even if we feel completely adrift.)

Because it seems that answers are not forthcoming. Maybe something will become more clear later. But maybe not. Maybe we'll never conceive. And maybe we will. But even then, it seems like there wouldn't be anything to point to as the "ah-ha, that's why!" answer, like a simple cause-and-effect, fix-and-succeed thing. If we do ever conceive, how could I think of it as anything other than a sheer gratuitous miracle, an incomprehensible gift with no explanation other than the boundless generosity of God?

Jesus, I trust in you. Help me fall into your arms. Help me trust you in the midst of not-knowing. You are the Answer. You are the Way. Though I walk in the valley of the shadow of death, of confusion, of sorrow and grayness and grief, you are by my side. Strengthen my trust in you. Free me from my desire to grasp and clutch and control. Let me be a child in your arms

+EcceFiat+


17 comments:

  1. There are no words for how my heart is breaking for you and Mr. M. I am so sorry my sweet friend, when I first read this an hour ago or so, I wanted to jump in the car and drive over the mountains to see you just so I could give you a great big hug, because while I know that wouldn't fix anything it is the only thing that might help a little tiny bit.
    Your prayer is beautiful. He is trustworthy.

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  2. (((Hugs))) and prayers! I am so sorry for the news. There is something about the human psyche that wants answers or a solution. Suffering is so hard. I believe you will get through this and you will be much closer to God through it. You are such a beautiful and caring person, to even pray for those women in the Drs. office was a sacrifice. My prayer is that God would comfort you and bless you and Mr. M abundantly! I like Rebecca wanted to go to you, hop a plane in my case, and give you a great big hug and bring you some brownies. Prayers for you my dear sweet friend.

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  3. :( I'm so sorry. I'm sorry that you guys are in the unexplained category. I'm sorry that pregnant women in obgyn offices aren't more considerate. I'm sorry that your doctor didn't show you that your situation hurts her too. I'm just sorry for the whole mess of it. Though I'm also still incredibly hopeful for you guys! I hope that you can see that other NaPro doc and get more answers. I hope that you can find joy in the adoption process soon! I hope that moving gives you a new excitement for life! I hope that you can take that pilgrimage to Lourdes and get all the healing you need! And most of all, I hope that you can continue to lean on each other and God through this rough time. Hugs and prayers, my friend!!!

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  4. I'm so, so sorry. I wish I could say more to help. I'm praying for you and Mr. M.

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  5. I know saying this might not help but your dr was honest with you. Every dr I've seen (including Napro dr's) have told us to try this drug, do this and that. No one has ever said "You have unexplained infertility." We figured that out for ourselves after spending lots of money, etc. I understand how hard to hear that would be...if a dr told us that...we would be quite upset as well...but she was honest and did not lead you on. Looking back on our journey...we would have moved on much sooner if that was said to us (meaning adoption). I like that pilgrimage idea. Nothing beats the power of prayer!

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  7. Im. So. Sorry. :( It's soooooo hard to digest and process things like this, I remember when my hubby called me because the urologist told him it was a one in a million chance we would conceive, but to not have any reason must be sooooooooo discouraging.

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  8. That has got to be so very frustrating. You're in my prayers!

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  9. I am so sorry. I understand your questioning whether an answer was an idol, as I shared that hunger for answers for a long time. I think that there is something in the human heart that longs for understanding and answers; I think it is part of the intellect and curiosity that God gave us. Though I am no longer hungering for answers, the frustration of being labeled "unexplained" is still strong in my memory. I will keep you in my prayers!

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  10. My heart goes out to you guys. I don't have more words except to say that all the emotions you are feeling make sense to me, and you have should feel them fully. I am praying for the both of you from afar.

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  11. Sitting here crying with you and praying for everything your hearts desire, irrespective of this 'diagnosis'. God's mercy is bigger than that doctor's words. <3

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  12. I'm so sorry you had an appointment like that. It has got to be so hard to establish a relationship with a doctor and then hear "I don't know what's wrong and can't do anything more for you." I would have cried for sure. You're right, this is going to take radical trust in God. Many prayers as you figure out where to go from here.

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  13. There just aren't any words that will do any of this justice...I am truly sorry and heartbroken for you. Reading about your doctors visit brought me right back to our own experiences of walking out of an appointment without answers and with very few options-such a difficult and confusing place to be in. Know that we will be praying for you as you discern your next steps and know you are not alone in your grief and sadness, God Bless you both!

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  14. I am so sorry, friend! No sure solutions is bad enough, but no answers is even worse. I think that as humans we are always looking for the meaning and reasons for things so we can try to make sense of it, and this making no sense is tough to understand. I am on my way to Mass this morning, and I will be praying for you and your husband in the midst of this!

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  15. Thank you all for your incredibly kind comments =) Honestly, it is such a comfort! Your prayers and kindness go a long way in believing that this is not unbearable after all.

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  16. I am so sorry, ecce fiat. Not having answers is so hard. I think it is interesting that you mentioned Lourdes. My husband and I were there just last month, and we have some extra water from the spring that we would be happy to send you. Drinking the water is just as healing as bathing in the water. My prayers are with you and your husband during this difficult time.

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  17. If you would like me to send it to you, just let me know. My email is waitinghopefully23@gmail.com.

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