In Between

There is a place called IN BETWEEN.

Plasma knows what I'm talking about. Not a solid or a liquid or a gas, poor plasma is IN BETWEEN.

RE is also in that terrible place. She's too old for toys but too young for a cellphone. She's too big for kid clothes and too small for the junior department. She emails boys but can't hang out with them yet. She loves her parents but has started to think that hanging out with us on the weekend is similar to prison. TWEENDOM. Terrible.

I realized yesterday that I am an ADULT TWEEN. Is there a word for it besides thirty-something?

I'm a saggy caterpillar with one wing in a permanent cocoon. I'm not young and dewy but I'm not old and leathery. I'm not Forever XXI nor am I Talbot's. I like facebook but think Twitter is #stupid. I have a smartphone but no ringtones or apps. I listen to Classical 89 in the car because FM radio is mostly offensive.

I think I'm too old for lip gloss and maybe Zumba. I would rather buy new cookware than new clothes. There is little good on television and I can't remember the last movie I went to. I want to be fashionable, but not if it means I have to have a colored bra showing through my sheer shirt.  Jessica Simpson shoes throw my back out just from looking at them. I secretly wish I could wear a fanny pack, suspenders and sneakers with custom orthotic inserts every day. I'm at the point in my life where sensibility trumps the cool factor.

I need anti-acne and anti-aging products simultaneously. I don't want to hang out at the mall nor do I want to eat supper at 4 pm. I don't know the Kardashians or the Real Housewives of Anywhere, but I get super-excited when a new Good Luck Charlie tapes. I'm allergic to fragrance and paranoid of the toxins in nail polish - I may never smell divine or sparkle again. I worry about the cost of health insurance while kids half my age are worried about prom dresses. Stretching is essential to my health.

I got called ma'am twice at the grocery store yesterday which nearly sent me into a sobbing fit. I am not a ma'am. I'm a miss. Aren't I? I want to be pigeonholed. I like the structure and order of being clearly defined. Young or old? Which am I?

I'm IN BETWEEN.

*quote by Marilyn Ferguson

Debut

It's not every day that you get to see your 3 day-old embryo through a microscope and take a picture of it with your cellphone moments before it gets implanted in you.

Doesn't it look fetching? There are two more just like it that got planted. Could science and creation be any more magnificent? Could my brain think about ANYTHING ELSE at this point? No. In other news, Valium kicks in in less than two minutes. FYI. So don't, say, drive to the post office after you take one, even if you live closeby. Hypothetical, of course.

Today we got the call that the 4th embryo (the one we didn't plant) did not mature to the blastosphere phase, meaning we can't freeze it. So literally all of my eggs are in one basket: me. I am the human basket. I am a happy basket. And I started a new Christmas project. Projects and embryos: all my happinesses at this point. One week and we'll know. One week. ONE WEEK!

Village

I'm heading to Provo in 51 minutes to meet my embryos and convince them that they should hang out with me for 9 months. NBD.

When I started my blog in March I wasn't sure what it would turn into. I hadn't gotten pregnant, miscarried, or done in-vitro yet. March? Seems like forever ago.

I chose to blog up-close-and-personal. It's really the only way I know how to be and it has been worth the risk. So far I've only gotten one piece of hate mail.

The sum totality, the grand benefit of all my emotional smatter is that people reciprocated up-close-and-personally. I have shouldered other burdens secretly. I think there are appropriate times to conceal the weight of one's personal life. This wasn't something I was meant to carry alone. It was too hard to handle. This one had to be divided between hoards of friends.

To the hoards, the rockstars of kindness, the village that raised me from my grief: Thank you.

I am not exaggerating when I say there has been a miracle every day for the last week. Miracles still happen and so many of mine were caused by small and simple gestures. There have been cards in the mailbox. Funny texts: Happy Implanting Day! Suzette's sewing. Aunt Lynne's box of 20 cooking magazines. Prayers. Kind thoughts. Kouing amans. Culver's fish sandwiches. A homemade t-shirt that says "It's Gonna Happen" (that I've worn all day and will wear at the doctor's office). Phone calls. A silver whistle was just hand-delivered for the bed rest that starts tonight. I'm gonna tweet like I'm Captain Von Trapp.

I could not have gotten to this finish line without you dear friends. To anyone that has cheered for me, prayed for me, thought for me, sent to me, or loved towards me: I can feel it. I hope I can do the same for you when your time of need comes along.

This has been the most unique experience of my life. No matter what happens it was worth it just to witness how amazing people can be.  

*Thank you, Carol, for opening my eyes to that line! Image from istockphoto.com.

UPDATE ONE HOUR LATER: I was so "valiumed" that I buckled myself horizontally in the back seat with a pillow and blankie. As we pulled out of the driveway Greg told me to sit up if I could...and the Dixons and Lunds and lots of neighborhood kids all lined the street and cheered for us as we drove away. It was totally awesome. I felt like Cleopatra or someone in the Macy's Parade. Seriously, who gets this much love?

Harvest

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;

A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;

A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to rend, and a time to sew;

A time to keep silence, and a time to speak; a time to love, and a time of peace.

-Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

Of course I can't read that scripture without hearing The Byrds' "Turn, Turn, Turn." We must have had that record growing up. I also can't read it without thinking about sneaky gymnast Kevin Bacon convincing the adults he should be allowed to dance. I also live a mile from Lehi Roller Mills (the flour mill where Footloose was filmed) so I probably think about Kevin Bacon more than is normal.

I have had time for every season on this long road.

I have had time to mourn and heal the losses.

I have had time to laugh and speak with the keeps.

I have had time to break down and build up, to weep and embrace.

I have had time for infinite shots and blood draws.

I have had time for nervous energy and anxious sleep.

I have had time to kill my demons and cast them away like stones.

I have had time for prayer.

I have had time to sew and to cook. They keep me sane when I'm full of nervous energy.

I have had time to look back at the ten years and see what the Lord was teaching me, little by little. When I see the timeline it all makes sense. This gives me peace. I love Joni Mitchell's song "Both Sides Now." I get the lyrics. I've seen life from both sides now. I had to live both sides to gain perspective and empathy and thankfulness. I haven't missed out on anything afterall.

Yesterday I had time to be harvested. It's the cool IVF term for "egg retrieval surgery." It's as fun as it sounds. I think the week of Thanksgiving, with its hymns of praise and jam-packed cornucopias, was the perfect time to do it.

My heart is spilling over with gratitude for life in general.  At church yesterday we heard about the saints in the Democratic Republic of Congo. If I lived there I would have zero babies. It was a good reminder to be thankful for doctors and technology and jobs that can finance these endeavors.

My embryologist just called to inform me that all four eggs retrieved yesterday were mature and fertilized successfully. Which means I'm basically an egg-making prodigy. To quote his thick Asian accent, "This is what we call jackpot."

You know how the weathervane shifts as Mary Poppins arrives? I can feel that. The winds are changing. There just may be a turn in my road that leads to planting and birth. And if so, definite dancing.

*Picture of a cardigan sweater I still own, but do not wear. It was a pricey sweater when I got it in college and I used to wear it every Thanksgiving. I don't know why all of my sweaters from the 90s are so ginormous. Greg and his friend could both fit in this sweater. But I can't get rid of it because I love the apple tree on the back. It reminds me of my Grandpa Kerby and his apple orchard. Best fujis you'll ever eat.

FAVORITE COMMENT FROM MY SISTER SUZETTE: "Bacon goes with eggs! See, Kevin is EVERYWHERE!"

Five Anchors

When Greg and I were first married we were den leaders to a troop of 10 year-old Cub Scouts. One day our little den had to pass off public speaking by giving a 3-minute speech on anything they wanted. The usual boy topics were covered (BYU football, Pokémon, soccer) and it was nothing earth-shattering. Then the last kid got up to our makeshift podium and with total sincerity gave this speech:

"Wishes. I'd like to speak about wishes. Sometimes they come true, sometimes they don't. Wishing on a wishbone sometimes works. Wishing with a penny in a fountain never works. Birthday candle wishes usually work. Shooting stars always work. So wish, 'cause you never know."

There you have it. Wishing is important. But I believe in something more than wishing. I believe in HOPE.

The Book of Mormon describes hope as "an anchor to the souls of men." I can attest that during the last two months of rigorous IVF prep my own soul has stayed safely anchored in the Bay of Possibility while the currents of doubt, tides of despair and storms of worry have raged all around me. Hope is more than wishing. Hope is tied to belief, and I believe it is not all up to chance. There is a plan. I am consequential.

I never realized how many anchors of hope were around me until I was in desperate need of them. These, I have discovered, are some of my best anchors:

You will never get anywhere if you don't believe you can get there. It is hard to believe sometimes, but if I can still believe after ten years then you can, too. Don't give up on yourself, no matter what you are battling. (Thank you, Mary, for being clever and lucky online. You are the best. You know how I love a good stop sign as well as a tasty pastry or an impromptu fish sandwich!)  

  

I see myself in this picture. A woman with tired, yet hopeful, eyes (she needs bareMinerals) wearing a cloak of comfort with a devil on her shoulder. It reminds me of an excerpt from The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint Exupéry: IT IS ONLY WITH THE HEART THAT ONE CAN SEE RIGHTLY; WHAT IS ESSENTIAL IS INVISIBLE TO THE EYE. I will only listen to my heart and my mind when they are in unison. That is what is essential. I will pay no heed to that barnacle that clings to my wing.

 

Today Greg and I witnessed many small miracles at the doctor's office. Little wonders. The Lord continues to watch over us throughout this process, and this process is a roller coaster. I'm not gonna lie. I've been a little nuts the past few days. (Dandelion statues in San Francisco. Didn't you always make a wish with the puffy white ones? Now as an adult mowing addict/grass enthusiast I'm like, "No! Don't spread the evil seed of white dandelions! Spawn of Satan!")

 

My doctors tell me my body thinks and acts like it is older than 36. I have a 40% chance with one egg and an 80% chance with two eggs. Even then, one out of three pregnancies ends in miscarriage. I cannot fathom any more odds. No more numbers. If it is to be, it will be. This is all I can do. (Thank you, Aunt Lynne, for giving Greg the best birthday card!)

RE drew this picture of me with a baby in my tummy when she was 3. It has been on our fridge for the last 8 1/2 years. Cristall bought me the magnet from Becca Ayers' garage sale for a quarter when we lived in our old house on Woodridge Drive. It says "Lettuce Be Friends" and somehow accompanied me to college, marriage and homeownership. I have looked at this picture daily for so many years. Sometimes with anger. Sometimes with wishing. Sometimes as a weary disciple. Most recently with hope. This puppy is getting framed when I get pregnant.

I am going to get pregnant.

*IN-VITRO DISCLAIMER/APOLOGY: Similar to the way one talks about poop the entire time they potty train their child, I realize that I have said the word "follicle" and "uterus" and "ovary" about a million times in the last few weeks. I've talked about them to men as well as women, strangers as well as friends. I'm sorry. Those little follicles are my universe right now. Pray that they will hold tight for two more days. I just need them to hang on for two more days.