One year… one year can make a world of a difference. One year ago, I had just found out I was pregnant and valiantly walked through the doors of my fertility clinic not knowing what to expect. That first pregnancy appointment was a routine appointment. First, they had to ensure that I was indeed pregnant, so they ran some bloodwork and performed a diagnostic vaginal ultrasound. After confirming my very early pregnancy I was static. Everything seemed different, brighter, happier.

I NEVER would have imagined that exactly one year later I’d be walking in through those same doors, sitting in that same waiting room empty handed and trying to figure out when to start the process all over again. But somehow there I found myself again. Fighting back tears comparing the two parallels. In one alternate universe, I would be walking in, baby in tow excited for all the (amazing, fantastic, caring) nurses, nurse practitioners, and doctors to finally meet the fruit of their labor. In the real universe, we would be talking about the game plan to get me where the alternate reality is.

The CNY waiting room, a place I’ve become too familiar with.

There is a form of bravery that comes with any type of loss. The bravery to wake up and face the day, the bravery to get dressed, the bravery to sit in the front row during the funeral services, the bravery to go back to work, the bravery to stay home a little longer, the bravery to go grocery shopping, to cut your hair, the bravery to laugh again, to cry, the bravery to live. With loss comes the bravery of adopting a new way of living. For me, bravery comes in the way of not giving up.

In this moment, while I’m was sitting in the CNY* waiting room I did not feel brave. I want to crumble, I want to hide, I want to run away, I want to cry. In this moment I can’t believe the life I’m living, just one year ago I was walking in here because the home pregnancy test read positive, today I sit here knowing that the road we will soon embark on will be similar but different in so many ways. Today I sit here knowing that with my loss comes the bravery of not giving up on something I want so bad. And who knows, one year… one year from now things could look completely different.

-JT

Disclaimer:  my appointment with CNY does not necessarily mean that we are currently trying to conceive. Before we get to that step there are a series of tests and bloodwork that need to be done, this appointment was just the first of several diagnostic appointments that will follow.

CNY: CNY Fertility is the clinic we have been going to for the past year and a half. They are amazing and if you or someone you know is struggling with getting or staying pregnant give them a call, you will be in great hands!

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We often hold deep, deep secrets. Secrets that are important to us, secrets that make up our story and shape who we are. We often shy away from telling our stories, whether it be out of fear, shame, or doubt. In our case talking about infertility and pregnancy loss seems too taboo a subject to discuss, something that should be hushed, embarrassing and something that in our minds people just don’t want to hear.

But it is so important to tell your story at the right time to anyone who will hear. Your story is a part of who you are and should be told. Now, don’t get me wrong wisdom and knowing the right timing is essential. What I am saying is that telling your story whether bad, good, or great is essential in your maturing and growing. Even though the topics I have previously addressed are difficult telling parts of my story has helped in my healing. Speaking about my pain helps the memory of my son live on, his memory is important to me and his story like mine must be told.

I recently heard a song by Johnnyswim (if you follow me on Instagram then you know I’m slightly obsessed with them) titled “Let it Matter” and it spoke to me on so many levels. Here are some of the lyrics that spoke to me the most:

“So if it matters let it matter

If your heart’s breaking let it ache

Catch those pieces as they scatter

Know your hurt is not in vain”

Today I tell you, let it matter. It might not be today or tomorrow but one day tell your story, whether you write in a letter for someone to read long after you’ve gone, whether you record it in a video, whether you post it on Facebook or a small blog… Let it matter.

“they overcame him by the blood of the lamb and the words of their testimony” (Rev 12:11a)

– JT 

Most of us have probably heard the old African proverb “it takes a village to raise a child”. Well in our case it takes a village to have a child. If you have followed any of my most recent posts then you know that my husband and I recently took a trip to Chicago.

As much as I would have liked this trip to have been strictly for fun and pleasure it wasn’t; this was a trip that was borne out of medical necessity. During my last pregnancy, I was diagnosed with an incompetent cervix (IC), which resulted in my preterm labor and ultimately in the death of my baby boy. Once you have been diagnosed with IC, you have it for life and all of your following pregnancies will be affected by it. If you have IC you typically have a vaginal cerclage* placed after 12 weeks, vaginal cerclages can still fail and doctors will not place a vaginal cerclage for pregnancies of multiples (2 or more babies).

Due to the low success rate of vaginal cerclages, I knew I needed something more, something that will give me a greater chance of bringing a baby home. Enter the Transabdominal Cerclage (TAC). I found out about TACs via a young woman in a grief support group that I attend, her story is similar to mine and she gave me all the details about TACs and Dr. Haney, the doctor who did hers. I went home SUPER excited (and extra cautious) about this new piece of information, talked to my boo, and did hours of research about the surgery and its success rate.

In my research, I found that not many doctors place TACs and that Dr. Haney was one out of a handful of doctors who does the open method and is the nation’s leading expert. The only downfall is that he works in Chicago and I would be cut open C-section style. I didn’t care I want to have the best fighting chance.

After about a week of non-stop research I scheduled a phone consultation and the next day I was able to schedule my surgery. Soon after I booked my hotel, made arrangements to stay with family and researched local restaurants and the best routes to get there.

I knew that this trip wouldn’t be cheap, so first I had to pray for a few things:

1. That the $8,000.00 procedure would be covered by insurance
2. That we would find a cheap hotel to stay the night before
3. That we could stay with family the day after
4. That gas would be the cheapest ever or that God would provide the gas money

Let me just tell you, time flew! From the moment I found out about transabdominal cerclages to the day of my surgery, all I did was blink and suddenly I was getting prepped for surgery. In the short time that passed, God answered our prayers.

1. My out of pocket expense for the surgery was $15.00!!!
2. A couple we are close to completely paid for our very nice hotel!
3. We were able to stay with family until I felt better to travel!
4. Two couples we are close to decided to pay for our gas and other travel expenses!

The physical aspect of the surgery was huge (it’s been 4 weeks since and I’m still not 100% back yet), the incision was made right above my bikini line and was WAY MORE PAINFUL than I could have imagined. The pain was absolutely terrible, I had never felt pain like that. The incision was right above my bikini line and about 7 inches long, but that wasn’t what hurt. My abdominal muscles were severely bruised and sore, according to the doctor my muscles were so strong that the surgery took an extra 2 hours just to move them out of the way (I’m the Hulk). I was discharged the next day and we were supposed to head home the day after but due to the pain we had to stay an extra night, thankfully our Illinois family received us with open and caring arms and helped me recuperate enough to make the 12-hour ride home.

Deciding to have this surgery was a massive decision for us. Mainly because getting this surgery meant we were moving forward on our journey, the surgery signified a physical change and move, and an emotional move forward. It’s been tricky as emotions usually are. The surgery was the first step in starting trying to conceive (TTC) and everything it brings. But we knew we needed this, I needed this. However this is not to say that we are TTC right now, we simply took the first step in a 10,000 step journey.

I wrote all that to say that had it not been for my village our first step would have been so much harder. Those around me made it possible to have this surgery. I’m grateful for my family those that are local, those in Illinois, those that prayed, those that gave, those that took care of me. To each one of you: THANK YOU! My surgery was successful because of you.

So although it most certainly takes a village to raise a child, for us it takes a village to have one.

JT

(if you haven’t done so already follow me on Instagram @jer1110)

we made it to ChiTown                      

Before my surgery

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After 4 hours, I couldn’t be happier

According to Merriam-Webster, “in the field of communications, radio silence refers, rather straightforwardly, to a period or condition when radios are not transmitting”, there is no communication. I feel like that’s how I’ve been the past 3 ½ weeks; Radio Silent.

So much has happened in the past month that I just don’t know how to update you. I want to tell you all about my most recent adventure, I wanted to write about National Infertility Awareness Week (which already passed), I wanted to write about yesterday the first Sunday in May when International Bereaved Mother’s Day is observed. But instead, there was Radio Silence.

I wish I could say it’s a writer’s block but it ain’t, it’s more of an emotional block. The thoughts of should I really be writing about this? Should I really share what I write about this? Infertility and loss are such taboo and difficult topics, is it really worth writing about? I guess doubt created a block for me.

Either way sometime this week I will be sharing about my Chicago trip and all it entailed, where I am at emotionally and how I have been processing my thoughts regarding loss and living after loss.

This post is part of #MicroblogMondays, if you don’t know what that is and would like to know more click here.

JT

So, if you have visited my Instagram at any point during the past two weeks then you know my next adventure is on the horizon!

I call it an adventure because that’s exactly what it is. The next step towards our goal, plus a fun trip to accompany it all. This new adventure will bring about a major shift in our lives and I am very excited to see it come. I hope you will stay tuned because in the next couple of posts I will be sharing all about our trip and the reasons why.

#MicroblogMondays

Grief is a pit that becomes your home, comfortable, familiar, your own.

But there comes a point when you have to learn to live again, taking baby steps again and again. Until living life with joy becomes your home, comfortable, familiar, your own.

Not that you forget why you’ve mourned, but you pack it away and every now and then you visit with your old familiar friend, you sit with her sharing stories and tea, and what once was a pit is no longer your home. It is something that you carry deep within your soul.

It doesn’t end there, for when you begin to live again every laughter will come with pain, every smile will want to take you back down memory lane to the pit that you called home. You’ll feel a pull towards guilt and regret, but you must learn to live again, live despite the pain.

Living life. Not surviving. Not existing. Living with joy, laughing with love, dancing with peace.

Life will become your home comfortable, familiar, your own.

– JT

I’m participating in Microblog Mondays if you’re interested in finding out more click here. 

Today I miss you the most

I dreamt of snuggling you close and kissing your toes.

Today is filled with memories that never were and will never come

They say be patient, but they don’t know

My tears are not because I am tired of waiting for motherhood

My tears are because motherhood came and it’s different than theirs

My tears are not because I am impatient for that which is to come

My tears freely flow because you came and left leaving a disastrous storm

They say be patient but they don’t know

I grieve the death of my son. I grieve the death of my son

They say be patient but they don’t know

I am barren but not infertile

My tears have nothing to do with being patient

Anyways, today like most days I miss you the most

I miss what I think the sound of your cries and giggles would be

I miss you when I hold another baby wishing it was you instead

I miss you in the mornings when I’d be cuddling you in bed

I miss you and my heart and my soul they ache for you my son

Every day I’m learning what it means to live without you

But now I live in a world where two “me’s” exist, the “me” before you and the “me” after

The second one has forgotten what it means to live… every day I’m one step closer

But not today. Today I miss you the most

– JT

Today I asked her what she’d like for her upcoming birthday and her response was “the impossible”. I beat myself up for a moment knowing that I know better than to ask that type of question. Knowing that “the impossible” is the very thing I desire and long for as well.

I know that she’s broken but she won’t allow herself to be broken. I know the depth and heaviness behind those two words in her response. Those two words mean so much more than I can express.

“The Impossible” could mean for this to be a terrible dream, “the impossible” could mean that we could turn back time, it could mean that instead of our babies being in heaven they’d be in our arms.

The impossible. Oh, how many times have I asked for the impossible? Too many to remember, too many to count. “The impossible” could mean a million things that will all give us the same results: to bring our babies home.

I’d do anything to give her the impossible. To mend her heart and fulfill her desires, to wipe her tears and give her that one thing, the one person she longs for. But all I can do for now is walk with her, hold her hand and her heart through this heart-wrenching journey. All I can do is reassure that she’s not alone, all I can do is have hope for us both.

-JT

Last week I posted a rather emotional and raw video of some of my emotions throughout this journey. It was a difficult video to share because it was so personal and intimate, in the same way, I understand it was just as difficult to watch.

I recorded the video a couple of months ago and I couldn’t help but notice the paradox within; two things can be true, there can be two simultaneous truths, I don’t have to choose. I can ask questions and be angry, I can be sad and mourn yet still have hope, in the midst of pain I can still keep the faith.

Going through seasons of loss and despair is difficult especially when it seems that everyone wants you to move on. But who said moving on means you can’t grieve, that you can’t cry, or that you can’t express your inner brokenness?

Two truths can exist. I don’t have to choose.

#Microblogmondays

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I decided months ago that on this journey I would opt for transparency in many aspects. The journey of pregnancy loss and infertility is ugly and lonely, but if I can help others not feel as lonely I will do so.  Below is a short video of one of my ugly days, it’s real, it’s raw, and it’s open. It’s me.