Good Things Happen To Other People

On this Feast of the Assumption, Catholics recognize the miraculous moment when Mary was ascended into Heaven, bodily. It's hard to imagine a human body ascending into Heaven, isn't it? I find myself wondering whether we have any real sense of Mary's journey through life - or the details surrounding her Assumption - from our vantage point in the year 2015. Are we so far removed that we can't relate anymore? 

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Around every corner, there is another birth announcement. It seems birth is "in season" lately. I guess it makes sense though... as Christmas was 9 months ago. Almost all of the people who I began this walk through infertility with now have children in their arms - or they eagerly await impending births (biologically or through the gift of adoption) of children still in utero. And really, there seems hardly any greater joy than to be able to congratulate someone on the birth of a child after they have suffered the pains of infertility. We all jump at the chance to do it - myself included. What could be better? I mean, I have one idea... ;)

Good things happen to other people, so you can hardly begrudge someone at realizing their life's dream, just because your own dreams were the same and remain unfulfilled. It's one of the more complicated sets of emotions that get navigated when a couple experiences infertility: joy at the blessing you crave for yourself, bestowed on someone you care about.

For some, birth announcements (regardless of whose) become painful - stinging at the mere mention of children. And yet for others, the announcement of a birth itself isn't painful... but it is a reminder of their own infertility. And it's a reminder of the dull ache and sadness at childlessness that is still lived in their own life. Neither feeling is wrong. And feeling either way, in my opinion, is more a product of instinct than anything else. You don't aim to be upset and overjoyed at something simultaneously. It just happens that way.

Marian feast days have a way of stinging when you have experienced infertility though, don't they? Here we are, celebrating something beautiful and unbelievable that happened to a mother. Let's be honest - at it's core, that's what a Marian feast day is: celebrating a mother. Albeit an amazing mother... but there is no point in rationalizing the details and qualifying specialties with those who are in the throes of infertility. For some reading here - this is what the meme would look like, if they were honest about their feelings on a day like today:

You might be saying "yeah, but it's different". OK, great. It's different. But it's still a celebration of a mother. And for those who get lost in the pain of that - I write this post. My goal in writing here isn't always to have the neat or poetic answers. It isn't to tell beautiful stories that always end exactly the way we want. And it isn't even my goal to spin all the details into some neat, tidy, little package that in hindsight makes it all seem worth it. God isn't our magician. 

Sometimes life is hard. Infertility is always hard. And Marian feast days are tough when you navigate infertility. I'm validating that here. You aren't a bad person for feeling sad when good things happen to other people. You're human.

But today is a reminder that sometimes unbelievable things happen to humans. Sometimes the impossible happens - like getting carted up to Heaven with your skin on, and your soul still jiggling around on the inside. It's not a concession to your current pain. But it is a reminder that there is purpose in celebrating things that are painful. And that God does have a plan - and sometimes it involves the unimaginable. 

Infertility isn't something you were ever in control of to begin with, regardless of your 27-pills-a-day-regimen and your carefully plotted out diet. But if you are suffering on Marian feast days, struggling to find a relationship with the Blessed Mother, hurting from your own experiences with your own mother, confused at how to reconcile your faith with your pain, or otherwise feeling like you are flailing with this whole infertile-and-Christian thing... I have words of encouragement for you:

I am praying for you: The person who is reading this and crying. The person who is reading this while lurking silently online, never leaving a comment. The person who reads this and feels guilty, sad, alone, and forgotten. And I'm asking God to make His Plan a little clearer in your life so that you can see how hope is conceived in all things... even the things that seem difficult.

If you would like for me to pray for a specific intention, I am in the middle of a 54 day novena - praying only for others' intentions. I would love to add what's weighing on your heart to my prayer list. Just send me a message on the contact form above or comment below.

Good things are going to continue to happen to other people. And I hope you realize that to someone else, you are the other person. And they'd have given anything for the blessing they've watched you receive. Meanwhile, you'll continue to look at others' blessings the same way. This is human nature in our fallen world, isn't it? We aren't in a competition with each other, nor are our pains in vain. Nor am I ever going to say "get over it" to you.

If I'm even remotely right that it's instinct that creates these reactions though - then that means we have a reliable source of ignition to let us put our suffering to work, doesn't it? It's the only way out of the self-centered-prison that infertility wants to build around us and reduce our lives into and I'm convinced prayer is the most powerful weapon. Let's burn the pain of our infertility and use the strength of the inferno to power good things to happen to other people. It doesn't diminish the deepest longing in our heart for children. It won't relieve our childlessness. But I'm pretty sure if there is anything that could impress Jesus and answer His call in our life and fulfill His plan for us - it would start a little something like humbly putting your most painful pains to work selflessly for others. And that you could pull yourself out of the emotional and spiritual (and sometimes physical!) paralysis of infertility would be a testament to how we may be broken, but that it will not dictate what we are capable of as Christians...

God be with everyone reading here on this Feast of the Assumption, and the good things can you make happen for other people. Think about it.

Infertility Awareness: A Catholic Perspective

One in six couples will experience infertility at some point in their marriage. Infertility is medically defined as the inability to conceive after 12 cycles of “unprotected” intercourse or 6 cycles using “fertility-focused” intercourse. A couple who has never conceived has “primary infertility” and a couple who has conceived in the past (regardless of the outcome) but is unable to again has “secondary infertility”. Many couples who experience infertility have also experienced miscarriage or pregnancy loss.

This week, April 19 – 25, 2015 is National Infertility Awareness Week.

We, a group of Catholic women who have experienced infertility, would like to take a moment to share with you what the experience of infertility is like, share ways that you can be of support to a family member or friend, and share resources that are helpful.

If you are experiencing infertility, please know you are not alone. You are loved and prayed for and there are resources to help you with the spiritual, emotional, and medical aspects of this journey.

In the beginning of trying to conceive a child, there is much hope and anticipation; for some, even a small fear of “what if we get pregnant right away?” There is planning of how to tell your husband and when you’d announce to the rest of the family. It is a joyful time that for most couples results in a positive pregnancy test within the first few months. However, for one in six couples, the months go by without a positive test and the fears and doubts begin to creep in. At the 6th month of trying using fertility-focused intercourse (using Natural Family Planning), the couple knows something is wrong and is considered “infertile” by doctors who understand the charting of a woman’s pattern of fertility. At the 9th month of trying, the month that, had they conceived that first month, a baby would have been arriving, is often the most painful of the early milestones. At the 12th month mark the couple “earns” the label from the mainstream medical community as “infertile”.

As the months go by, the hopes and dreams are replaced with fears, doubts, and the most invasive doctors’ appointments possible. As a Catholic couple faithful to the teachings of the Church, we are presented by secular doctors with options that are not options for us and are told things like “you’ll never have children” and “you have unexplained infertility”; by our Catholic doctors we are told to keep praying and to have hope as they roll up their sleeves and work hard to figure out the cause of our infertility, with each visit asking, “How are you and your husband doing with all of this?”

We find it hard to fit in. We have faith and values that are different than our secular culture, but our small families, whether childless (primary infertility) or with fewer children than we hoped for (secondary infertility), make us blend in with the norm. We have faith and values that are in line with the teachings of our Church, but our daily life looks so much different than the others who share those values and that makes us stand out in a way that we would rather not. We are Catholic husbands and wives living out our vocation fully. Our openness to life does not come in the form of children; it takes on the form of a quiet “no” or “not yet” or “maybe never” from God each month as we slowly trod along. Our openness to and respect for life courageously resists the temptations presented to us by the secular artificial reproductive technology industry.

Often times our friends and family do not know what to say to us, and so they choose to not say anything. Our infertility stands like a great big elephant in the room that separates us from others. Most of the time, we don’t want to talk about it, especially not in public or in group settings because it is painful and we will often shed tears. We realize it is difficult and ask that you realize this difficulty as well. We will do our best to be patient and to explain our situation to those who genuinely would like to know, but please respect our privacy and the boundaries we establish, as not only is infertility painful, it is also very personal.

One of the hardest experiences of infertility is that it is cyclical. Each month we get our hopes up as we try; we know what our due date would be as soon as we ovulate; we know how we would share the news with our husband and when and how we would tell our parents. We spend two weeks walking a fine line between hope and realism, between dreaming and despairing. When our next cycle begins – with cramps and bleeding and tears – we often only have a day or two before we must begin taking the medications that are meant to help us conceive. There is little to no time to mourn the dream that is once again not achievable; no time to truly allow ourselves to heal from one disappointment before we must begin hoping and trying again. We do not get to pick what days our hormones will plummet or how the medications we are often taking will affect us. We do not get to pick the day that would be “best” for us for our next cycle to start. We are at the mercy of hope, and while that hope keeps us going it is also what leaves us in tears when it is not realized.

Some will experience infertility with a complete lack of cycles. Some couples won't even get to experience the benefit of being able to really try to conceive because of this harsh reality, which is a constant reminder of brokenness for those experiencing it. The pain and anxiety that comes from a lack of reproductive health can be crippling.

And yet others, despite hormonal dysfunction and health issues, will experience the cyclical nature of infertility through conception itself (or recurring conception). These couples go on to lose their children (early, full term, or shortly after birth, and anywhere in between) either once or many times. If you know that we've experienced a loss (something we may or may not have the courage to share), know that we are grieving. It wasn't "just" a pregnancy or "just another" pregnancy that was lost; it was our living baby that died. And we are more likely to be traumatized by the cyclical nature of our infertility because of our losses. We do not get to choose that our cycles will mimic our losses. We are at the mercy of hope.

Our faith is tested. We ask God “why?”, we yell at Him; we draw closer to God and we push Him away. Mass brings us to tears more often than not and the season of Advent brings us to our knees. The chorus of “Happy Mother’s Day” that surrounds us at Mass every year will be almost more devastating than the blessing of mothers itself. We know that the Lord is trustworthy and that we can trust in Him; sometimes it is just a bigger task than we can achieve on our own.

* Pray for us. Truly, it is the best thing that anyone can do.

* Do not make assumptions about anything - not the size of a family or whether or not a couple knows what is morally acceptable to the Church. Most couples who experience infertility do so in silence and these assumptions only add to the pain. If you are genuinely interested, and not merely curious, begin a genuine friendship and discover the truth over time.

* Do not offer advice such as “just relax," “you should adopt," “try this medical option or that medical option” – or really give any advice. Infertility is a symptom of an underlying medical problem; a medical problem that often involves complicated and invasive treatment to cure.

* Do not assume that we will adopt. Adoption is a separate calling and should be discerned by every married couple irrespective of their ability to conceive biological children. Infertility does not automatically mean that a couple is meant to adopt.

* Do not assume that if we try to adopt that the process will be successful. Many adoption attempts fail and don't result in a couple receiving a child placement (temporarily or permanently). Some couples are flat out rejected from attempting to adopt by different agencies and governments. Just like adoption is an incredibly intrusive and emotionally charged issue that is part of a separate calling in the journey to "parenthood", it isn't always a possibility for infertile parents. Do not assume we can. And be gentle if we are trying. It's extra painful to be infertile and not be able to adopt. And we are likely so hurt that we can't bear to share the details with everyone.

* Ask how we are doing and be willing to hear and be present for the “real” answer. Often times we answer, “OK” because that’s the easy, “safe” answer. Let us know that you are willing to walk through this tough time with us. Frequently we just need someone who is willing to listen and give us a hug and let us know we are loved.

* Offer a Mass for us or give us a prayer card or medal to let us know you are praying for us. Just please refrain from telling us how we must pray this novena or ask for that saint’s intercession. Most likely we’ve prayed it and ask for the intercession daily. Please feel free to pray novenas and ask for intercession on our behalf.

* Be tolerant and patient. The medications we take can leave us at less than our best; we may not have the energy or ability to do much. Please also respect us when we say "no, thank you" to food or drinks. We may have restricted diets due to our medical conditions and/or medications.

* Share the good news of your pregnancy privately (preferably in an email or card or letter and not via text, IM chat, phone call or in person) and as soon as possible. Please understand that we are truly filled with joy for you; any sadness we feel is because we have been reminded of our own pain and we often feel horrible guilt over it as well. Please be patient and kind if we don’t respond immediately, attend your baby shower or don’t “Like” all of your Facebook updates about your children. Again, it is really about us, not you.

* Help steer group conversations away from pregnancy and parenting topics when we are around. We like to be able to interact in a conversation to which we can contribute meaningfully.

*Do not exclude us from your life because you think we may be uncomfortable. It is actually more painful to be left out because of the cross we're carrying, and we know that doesn't make a lot of sense to our families and friends. We will excuse ourselves from events or situations if we must, and please let us do so gracefully if the circumstance arises.

* Do not ask when we are going to “start a family” (we started one the day we got married).

* Do not ask which one of us is the “problem” – we are either fertile or infertile as a couple.

* Do grieve with us if you know that we've experienced a miscarriage, stillbirth, or infant death (or many). You may not know what to say to comfort us, and that's ok. Let us grieve at our own pace and on our own schedule without guilt or explanations, even if we have living children. Do not offer platitudes for why you think it happened, how you think it's part of God's plan for us to suffer, or any number of things you think might have been wrong with the child. It was our living baby that died. Let us grieve, pray for us, and if you can, let us know you care by being there for us in our grief. Let us know that you remember that our baby lived, no matter how short of a life. 

* Do not say things like "I know you'll be parents some day," or "It will happen, I know it will!" Along the same lines, please do not tell us stories of a couple you know who struggled for years and went on to conceive or to "just adopt and then you'll get pregnant" (this one actually only happens a small percentage of the time). Only God knows what our future holds, please pray with us that we are able to graciously accept His will for our lives.

* Do not pity us. Yes, we have much sorrow. Yes, we struggle. But, we place our faith in God, lean on the grace of our marriage, and trust that someday, whether here on earth or in heaven, we will see and understand God’s plan.

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Because this topic is so difficult for so many women and men, the best thing our friends and family can do (and indeed strangers we encounter who may be aware of our struggles) is pray for us. We are grateful for those who offer their prayers and support in a gentle way. Your support is invaluable to us.

Lastly, remember that compassion means "to suffer with". We didn't sign up for this to happen. We can't control whether we overcome this. And we're doing our best to navigate the murky waters and maintain our sanity and our faith and our relationships with our family and friends through it all. We truly need your support and love to accomplish that. Please, please suffer with us and be Christ to us. No other understanding of our cross will be more merciful or more loving than if you put yourself in a situation to sympathize or empathize with us. The pain of infertility is exacerbated by the fact that it draws us into ourselves. We need your help to remind us in the most difficult moments that we aren't alone, God didn't forget us, and that we have something precious to offer through the fruitfulness of our marriage even when it isn't manifesting in the children we so desperately want to hold. Together, we can offer up our shared suffering for Christ. It's a powerful witness to both of our faiths to travel this road together and we'll manage it better with your help than if we have to travel it all alone. 

This post was made possible through the collaboration of 430 members of a "secret" facebook group of Catholic women and men struggling with the pains of infertility in all of its forms. Together we are stronger. And in having the conversation, we are breaking the silence. If you are Catholic and experiencing the pains of infertility and would like to join a "secret" facebook support group, please send me a message on my contact form and provide me with your email address and we will happily add you to our discussion. 




This post is the fourth in a series on infertility. If you'd like to read from the beginning, click on the picture below to read the original post in the series where all of the posts will be linked.

Seven Quick Takes (#5)

Assault and arrest: So a few days ago, while at a dollar store for a some inexpensive Valentine's Day odds and ends I needed to assemble a care package, a man approached me. Mid-thirties black man (very disheveled, dressed all in black). He tells me I look friendly and he needs help. I was prepared to help right then. He pulls out a gloved hand rather abruptly, but it just has 2 quarters in it. I breathed a visible sigh of relief as he proceeded to ask me for cash NOW. I smiled at him and told him that while I was unemployed and had no "cash" I could spare at the moment, I would happily share my lunch with him. He makes a sudden move to knock into me and someone else comes into the aisle at the same time (so thankful!) and I yelled out to her "THERESE - what in the world are YOU doing here!" (like I knew her...). It was enough to distract him and I quickly hurried away. Then I apologize to the stranger at the end of the aisle and tried to explain myself. She interrupted me and goes on to tell me that he just cornered her and threatened her one aisle over. Eek. Then another woman walks up to both of us and says he did the same thing to her last Thursday, and yet another said he did it to her last Saturday. Then we hear another woman sounding like she was in distress an aisle over. So I discreetly make a bee line for the manager, she deals with it. I check out and leave. End of a not-so-eventful-story, right? So then I walk across the parking lot as I leave the store (in silence), the hair on the back of my neck suddenly feels electrically charged and stands up on end with goosebumps for NO reason. I get a sudden feeling of panic rush through me and I turn around, prepared to confront an attacker. It's the creepy guy from the store. Only he isn't coming for me. This time he has a couple (man and woman) up against their car and making threatening gestures at them. They are mid-assault and I know I can't physically overpower the guy and stop the assault. Somehow your brain just makes decisions in that fight-or-flight mode. I ran into the next retail store in front of me, get them to call a cop who is stationed at the shopping center (so glad I knew that detail about that shopping center!). By the time the cop arrived (literally 2 minutes), the guy had run off to the other long end of the shopping center parking lot, having gotten nothing from the couple. And the panicked couple is now huddled in their car in tears, while the attacker is now lifting handles on cars trying to get into them. So I literally walked up to the guy WITH THE COP as he's trying to break into cars and say "that's the guy" and then disappeared as he's being arrested (which I totally told the cop I was going to do beforehand...and he agreed that was fine). Bizarre experience, scared the daylights out of me. Thankful that the guy never saw my car, in case he frequents that shopping center (who knows!). I did go back and tell the managers of both stores that he was apprehended. Both were women who had to work late and close the store by themselves that night and I had remembered that detail. The look of relief on their faces... it was a gift. I'm praying for that man though (he told me his name was 'Marcus', though who knows if that's true!). So, prayers for Marcus, please. Whatever led him to those choices definitely needs some prayer added.




35th Birthday: Yesterday was my birthday and I was completely overwhelmed with love by SO many friends and family. From the massive pile of FB messages and PMs alone (over 100!!), it was just so heartwarming. I just wanted to take the time HERE to say that you all made my day. Last year on that same date, we "finished" miscarrying our daughter. It was a dark thing to happen on your birthday and I never thought I'd want to celebrate another one again. You all made it better by throwing so much love at me. I knew it came from women and men who have been through loss themselves, grieved the emptiness of their own wombs, and yearned for children. 35 is a dark birthday for any woman trying to conceive because you *know* your risks increase and that your fertility decreases (can it actually decrease from zilch?). So amazingly, y'all made it a special one in SPITE of that just by taking the time to send so much love my way. Many, many thanks for that gesture. It made a big difference in my world! And there was only one friend who texted me "Happy birthday, hope you can get pregnant and STAY that way!" Uhhhh...................thanks?




Snow: I was born in a blizzard. And for the past 35 years, it has always snowed a little (if not a LOT) on my birthday no matter where I have found myself on that day. Florida comes to the top of my head of odd places that it snowed while I visited on my February birthday! Anyhow, this year did not disappoint. I warned people to ignore the forecast for whatever it said and to expect snow of some kind (like I do every year - I'm like the Paul Revere of February 12th snow!). Yet with 50ish degree F (10 C) weather called for on the news and online and only the tiniest % of snow listed...I think they said 2% last I heard? (I don't even pay attention to weathermen on my birthday anymore) I knew there would at least be flakes, if not more. People refused to believe me. Mocked me, even! So you all can imagine my pure joy when all of my friends I have in my city began to post pictures of the snow and declare their shock, awe, and amazement. Snow is my birthday present from God. At least, it has been for 35 years. It wasn't enough to stick...but the beautiful little flakes still fell and everyone stopped for a moment to take it in with silent awe. It was a great gift.

What infertile women eat: Cupcakes! Fruit Tarts! Massive quantities of sashimi and avocados! Being on a restrictive diet usually means birthday celebrations that involve food aren't thought to be much fun. I didn't expect much in the way of a "treat" this year given that I'm just in the beginning stages of food reintroductions after a full month of Paleo AIP. And if you read last week, even that wasn't going so well! Despite all that, I wanted a yummy birthday treat. I found this Paleo-friendly french silk pie. The photos were amazing (red flag! Paleo dessert photos lie!!!). It was such an absolute disaster. And I say that as someone with a fair amount of culinary and pastry skill. Be warned. So needless to say, I quickly abandoned that idea and re-purposed the ingredients into two things I knew would work. One was a fruit tart (GF crust, coconut cream "custard" and some fruit compote for the creamy layer, and fresh berries on top with a honey gelatin glaze) and the other were some GF cupcakes (one of which I freely admit I ate for breakfast - long running birthday tradition!). The cupcakes turned out INSANELY good. Triple chocolate fudge, and coated with cocoa nibs. I was just floored at the yumminess. It wasn't good for "what it was"....it was just GOOD. Completely winged it though, because I was working with failed recipe leftovers from something else. Hoping I can recreate them now! Anyone else who is on an AI diet (or Paleo or Whole 30, etc. etc. etc.) will understand how rare these kinds of insanely delicious treats are. Since it was my birthday, dinner needed to be something special too. My favorite grocery store had sashimi grade Ahi on sale and when I told the clerk I was shopping for birthday dinner ideas, he marked it over 50% off the sale tag and said "enjoy and happy birthday!". Instructions followed, kind sir - it was definitely enjoyed! Ate like a queen today, very unexpectedly.... :)

Catholic praise: I posted a blog yesterday where I did a mash-up of online marriage retreats. Just something I thought of on the fly the day before. It took a while to put together because of so many links and media that needed to be embedded into the post. Anyhow, I didn't expect much. Not many people ever read my little blog. Just a handful of people, I think. To my giant surprise, a few different diocesan offices from around the US have contacted me and asked permission to republish that blog post on their websites as a resource for their parishioners! To say that I'm surprised (and delighted) is beyond an understatement. Honored? Humbled? Anyhow, not "bragging" so much as just sharing here, because these three retreats are what DH and I are going to be adding for Lent this year. Thought y'all might like the idea too and that's why I'm sharing it here, in case you missed it yesterday! :)




FCP Training: I received an email about a potential scholarship for EP1 of FCP training (that's 'education phase 1' for non C.reighton/NaP.ro people - it's 1 of 2 intensive Master's level classes required to become an FCP, both 'classes' are over a week long and completely immersive). The woman in charge of this particular educational program sent the message to me yesterday when she couldn't have known it was my birthday. She told me I was a perfect candidate for their program and hoped that I would apply. She went on to share the details, including all the necessary applications for the program and the scholarship (the program involves a year commitment, the scholarship might involve partial grant for tuition). Well......the deadline is February 16th...a mere 3 days from now. She said she was trusting that God will help move some mountains if it's supposed to happen right now for me.  This might be a good time to share a little personal tidbit about myself. Of all the jobs I've had in my entire life...most of them were offered to me on my birthday. Never planned, it's just always gone like that for some weird reason. My DH and I can't help but think we need to pay attention to this extra little detail of the "timing". What are your thoughts, internets? The tuition and fees themselves for the first phase are about $3,000. We don't have that kind of money to spare. That means we'd be entirely dependent on a partial scholarship (if we got it), and potentially having to crowd source the rest. That makes me really uncomfortable even thinking about this. And I don't even think I know enough people who have a clue what C.reighton is enough that they might consider donating to that cause. Sigh. So my hopefulness that this is something I should be moving in the direction towards wavers because of that one obstacle. But yet we don't have time for anything to waver! We have 3 days to process these thoughts/emotions and to apply for something that is going to involve a LOT of time, resources, frustrations (I'm sure!)... but I digress. Anyhow, would love your feedback, suggestions, thoughts, etc. about this one in the comments. It would help.

Host

Go visit our gracious Seven Quick Takes host for the link-up @ This Ain't the Lyceum!

A Year In Review

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 Before you read this post, please make sure you read this introduction first.
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*** triggers mentioned: surgery, miscarriages, murder, abduction, sudden death ***

Last year on this day, I was recovering from surgery. I had stitches from a laparoscopy in my stomach in multiple places and some of them were black, itchy, and oozing blood. I had my period and everything that came with it. I was wearing a corseted, bone white satin gown. My pain medicine had been lost and no one could find it. My ankles were hot and swollen and stuffed into compression socks that barely held up under the pressure of the edema. My neck was swollen and my thyroid throbbed like someone had taken a ball-peen hammer to it. I was weeping and wincing in pain with every movement. Emotionally exhausted and overwhelmed. My entire body shuddered for hours from the physical and emotional manifestations of that pain, but everyone thought I was just nervous. My mind was a complete fog. And I had a fever and a rash creeping around my mid-section that itched like Satan had taken up residence in the layers of my epidermis.

It was also my wedding day.

I could lie and pretend that I sit here as a happy person today....wistfully looking back at the joy of such a wonderful day. I could tell you that a smile comes to my face when I look back at the me of last year who didn't know about all of the wonderful things ahead. And this being the internet, you'd just sit there and read it and pass right by it like every other Catholic retelling of the joyous life of newlyweds.

But that isn't my story. And telling tall tales about it isn't going to change how I remember that day, or the 365 that came after it. And it isn't going to get me or my spouse to Heaven. I might as well be honest so that anyone who can even marginally relate to this knows that they aren't alone. And maybe also so that I can find a bit of peace in finally admitting it all out loud.

I was diagnosed with endometriosis a couple weeks before my wedding. It was a leap of faith to say yes to surgery a few weeks before I would hop a plane to Ireland to get married. If things didn't go well... well, there wasn't even time for a back-up plan. Things either were or weren't going to be OK.

At the time, I barely knew the Catholic surgeon who operated on me, only having met her once before the date of my surgery. I vividly remember the moments leading up to the anesthetic that morning though...where she gave me a rosary that Pope Francis had blessed and held it tightly in between our hands as she prayed over me for peace and healing. I remember waking up and hearing about the endo that was excised from my uterine ligaments and ovary.

I remember my stomach being ripped to pieces by the antibiotics in the days afterwards. And the extreme reactions to my first doses of T3, one of which involved passing out for hours on the floor - only to awake to irritated voicemail messages from the priest who would be marrying us because he couldn't get in touch with me over last minute paperwork before I traveled overseas.

I remember feeling defeated at having to manage so much luggage en route to the airport when I could barely manage walking without using both hands pressed against my stomach to 'keep my guts in place'. I remember the airport staff that took pity on me, the extra luggage fees that were waived, the help that was offered to get me over the Atlantic.

I remember the cantor who tried to charge us an additional 350 Euro the day before the wedding, figuring that we'd pay it like a ransom. And I remember all of the people who selflessly offered help in making things go off without a hitch.

I remember my extremely (read: more extremely than you're taking that to mean) introverted fiance struggling with the social interactions, the demands of last-minute wedding details, and not having any idea how to comfort me as I threw up in a tupperware container while wincing in pain with each heave as I felt my stitches being pulled to their limits against the skin they had been sewed into.

I remember having to drink three glasses of champagne just to manage the stairs walking into my own reception and how often my glass had to be filled after that so I could manage the rest of the evening without feeling like I would pass out.

I remember being nauseated and passing out on our honeymoon and feeling like something was really wrong. And I remember that day at work after the honeymoon when I was stuck in the bathroom - marooned in a stall - bleeding out and miscarrying a child I didn't even know I was carrying.

I remember the ultrasounds after that where I focused on the knowledge that I had more experience with those 10 days of invasive procedures than I did with the sacrament that had made me a wife and a mother.

I remember the weeping so hard that I burst blood vessels in my face. And feeling dead inside. And I remember the next months where that hCG mimicked the feelings of 1st trimester illness I had felt on my honeymoon and how hopeless and lost and utterly shattered each reliving of that and each CD1 made me feel.

I remember the hope of lots of two-week-waits and the confusion when no pregnancy came. And news that we now had a problem. I remember all of the severe side effects of the fertility drugs that I took, the anxiety and panic attacks that they caused, the appetite that disappeared, and the weight that was gained. I remember the changing of medicine doses and the disappointments that came with each one of them, the hormone profiles that made me feel like a death trap, and how all the small victories seemed stale. I remember asking my wedding photographer if there was even one picture with a smile in it and expecting to hear a quick 'no'.

I remember the murder of Paul, the murder of Nathan, the sudden death of my godmother from aggressive ovarian cancer that changed my own treatment plan, our 2nd miscarriage that persisted over my own birthday, and the disappearance of Zulma.

I remember being fired after the 2nd miscarriage because I had taken three days of bereavement leave and the lesbian interim HR director that considered it an inappropriate use of leave time because 'it was not an immediate family member'. I remember having to prove that I hadn't been involved in any misconduct when the unemployment office called to question my dismissal. And I remember the envelope that contained the letter that read 'dismissed after miscarriage, no evidence of misconduct apparent'.

And I remember staring at this once-blank-blog-post - wondering how I could write anything today and yet knowing I had to anyway. Last year we celebrated the Feast of St. Thomas More on June 22nd and I chose to pray a special prayer. This year on June 22nd, we also celebrate the Feast of Corpus Christi, so I think it's interesting that I'm in the middle of praying to the Sacred Heart of Jesus and the Immaculate Heart of Mary. This year I renew my prayers for intercession from the patron saint of adoption and foster care, and I add my prayers to Christ and Mary. The celebration of the mystery of the Eucharistic miracle is something we acknowledge and receive each time the bread and wine are consecrated at a Mass. We ought to spend some time in prayerful contemplation of what that means and I'm taking that seriously this year.

Jesus did not die on the cross so that I might live a fairytale wedding day and frolick through the fields of the first 365 days of marriage. He was not born into poverty while whispers of the scandal against His Mother were on everyone's lips so that I could live a comfortable life devoid of pain. He did not pay the price for us with his own suffering and death so that I could sit here and write a glib post about the top ten things I love about the first year of my marriage.

Jesus promised that He would be here to suffer with me if I sought Him out. He promised He would comfort me when I felt alone. And that my reward in Heaven would be contingent on the faith I breathed on Earth. He asked me to be faithful because He died, not in spite of it.

So yes, I sit here today with 365 days behind me, broken and numb hearted, with another rash and fever, again with my period and angry uterus screaming to bring down the last bit of resolve I can muster, and certainly with several more grey hairs to count on my head, listening to all the cliches about how newlywed life is filled with unbridled passion and wanton abandon and how these are the best days of my life. Being told to be thankful for this past year and all of the good it must have involved. All of that may very well be the truth I can't see right now.

But you won't find me complaining in my misery. God calls me to live out my faith and I'm trying my best to do it. No matter how ugly it looks from the outside. No matter how ugly it feels on the inside. Trust is trust. And you don't gain it by anything but practicing it. That's how my faith needs to be. And that's very much how my marriage needs to be. The sacrament has meaning beyond and above the pain and suffering. The vocation has worth beyond and above the shortfalls and disappointments. The struggle is worth the promise of the eternal reward.