Learning Love - A Lesson a Year in Marriage {A Link-Up!}

It was two years ago this year that we did it.

We did that thing couples do when they love each other... it involved an aisle, a pretty dress, and walking towards the guy I'd learn more about *after* marrying him than I ever possibly could have in all the years before that. In the time since we married, we may have learned a couple of things. *May* have...... So here I am, linking up with Mary @ Better than Eden to share the things we (laughably think we) have learned 

since we tied the Celtic knot. Here's our giant list. Don't laugh at us too hard, k? ;)

1. 

When she says she loves the beach don't take her to the Alps *again*

Ok, this is definitely something we have learned to laugh about. (That kind of uncomfortable laugh where you are really nervous it's going to happen again.) Ha! My DH asked me what kind of honeymoon I might enjoy. The beach! Always the beach, said the bride. I was getting overwhelmed with wedding planning at the time (how is that over 3 years ago already??), and the priest who was preparing us offered to take the honeymoon planning off my plate and put it onto DH's plate to check it off my list. He even offered to help DH too. It all sounded like a wonderful idea at the time. Looking back, I clearly remember saying "I'll be packing sundresses and flip flops and will be ready for a hot beach and a frozen drink after this"...so.many.times. And it's true - when I packed my suitcase for our honeymoon, it was filled with thin sundresses, maxi skirts, flip flops, and a very colorful beach towel. I had pelvic surgery *just* before my wedding (2 weeks) and was still recovering, oozing stitches and all, on my wedding day. In case you haven't already guessed, this is the story of how I looked like a Jamaican traveling in the German Alps.

"Taking things off the plate" isn't really a good form of communication. We've learned that we have to talk to each other and we can't assume we know what the other person wants. Well-meaning "others" aren't a substitute for the two of us talking about the things that affect our lives singularly. No matter how sure we are, we just have to communicate. And the consequence of not communicating is a lot of needless yelling and tears on a 10,000 foot fly-over highway in the middle of the pouring rain in a foreign country that is uphill both ways...while an out-of-date GPS keeps telling you to take an immediate left into an Alpine abyss. It was a communication failure on both our parts - and we have definitely learned our lesson. The funny thing about this is that we've never since made it to a warm beach where we can relax for vacation. And we've traveled to many places in many different countries since our vows. The only trips we've had so far have been fast-paced jaunts to...you guessed it...the Alps. Always the Alps. It's like they are 15,000 feet high and actively mocking my want to be in the Mediterranean. Such is a metaphor for happy married life. It's not where you go, it's who you go with. Love you, sweetie! Please don't take me to the Alps.

2. 

Vows on the altar provide no guarantee on the order they are lived out

When my husband and I got married, the vows we made to each other included "I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health...". We joke with each other that there was no promise we'd get good times before bad. But then look at the juxtaposition of that last part! Interestingly enough sickness comes before health in the marriage vows of a Catholic ceremony. The truth is that our marriage (to date) has been filled with a whole-lotta-sickness. We've lost all our children due to my illnesses, in one way or another. I can't pretend they aren't connected. Thyroid, adrenals, ovaries, immune system, hormones... it's been a giant mess of a puzzle to unravel. We're figuring it all out one day at a time. [I would also like to take this moment to tell all prospective couples who seek marriage to learn about the important medical condition known as "hanger". While not as serious as some other conditions, it is known to exacerbate all pre-existing illnesses. The more you know...now back to your regularly scheduled paragraph.] Nothing could have possibly prepared us on our wedding day for the illness that followed. Except the order of those words in our vows! Every bit of what we spoke to each other was meant the day that we said it, but we have learned in the years that have followed those sacred vows... that the actual words were something we could trust. There will be good. And bad. There will be sickness. And it will come before health. But at the end of the day... whichever kind it has been (good, bad, sick, or healthy), I find myself reflecting on how we had no clue when we spoke those vows. And yet we really did think and feel like we meant every word of them. God is teaching us to live it all one day at a time. To find new meaning in something we thought we understood. And we are growing and changing everyday as people and as the couple that God allows us to be. That growth will weave the fabric of our love story in amazing ways that we've yet to grasp or even have inspiration to dream up yet. Amazing how the things that don't look pretty can be so beautiful, isn't it?

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.

A Father's Heart

Triggers mentioned (miscarriage, molar pregnancy, ectopic pregnancy, infertility, subfertility)

"O eternal Trinity, You are a deep sea in which the more I seek, the more I find, and the more I find, the more I seek to know You."            -- St. Catherine of Siena

This year is the first time my husband is a father for the observance of Father's Day.

He has not lost any sleep from crying babies. He has not been repulsed by any stinky diapers. He has not spent hours of endless worry. Fumbled with swaddling techniques. Dealt with fevers. Or throw-up. Or any of those things.

We never met our children. We never got to celebrate any good news. We have no stories of hope and wonder and anticipation. We have no baby onesies. Or crib. Not even an ultrasound.

Today doesn't bring us the joy of children; it brings only confusion and a search for meaning.

Instead of oozing fatherly pride, my husband fumbles through unknown territory, struggling to process how he is a father and at the same time lost in what it means live up to that title. I wanted him to experience fatherhood in our marriage, but of course this isn't what I envisioned.

Today, like all holidays and anniversaries - -  we just stare at each other and remember the two times over this past year that we learned we were pregnant while I was experiencing miscarriages. We think about the panic involving opposite Rh factors and the worry involved with whether I would develop destructive antibodies that first time. We think about the horrific bruises on my arms from the blood draws when the phlebotomists blew my veins. We think about how much of those experiences were lived in the bathroom, where our anguish was echoed back to us in an eery cacophony amid the tiled walls. We think about the feeling of emptiness that we both struggle with today and how it is as sharp as it was last year when it happened the first time.

And at the same time, academically at least, we know that we are parents. And my husband knows that he is a father today. We process the spiritual loss like Mary suffered the death of her own Son. We process the physical realities very differently though, but the loss is the same.

There is no life ahead for two babies that most certainly had our dimples. There are no smiles or coos from two babies that definitely had our blue or green eyes. There will be no future for two babies that would have had our pale skin and our wavy hair. And even while we sit here and think of all the things they must have been.... we can't begin to imagine who they were.

How do you grieve someone you can't picture? I've come to the conclusion that the only answer to that question is that my entire faith is based on grieving the loss of a man I never met or saw either.....and so should I be grieving my own children. Maybe more than any other time in my life have I now begun to understand what it is like to have a connection to Mary. Oh how she must have suffered...

So today is Father's Day, the first of many to come for us (and for so many who have walked this path before us). We hope to learn more in the days ahead about how to better process the pain and hurt we feel in such a raw way now. For now though, we are on our knees. And we are mourning what might have been. And yet we are tasked with trying to conceive hope again, if we are to answer God's call in our life to be parents to living children. Anyone who has been in the same position knows what a feat of strength that takes. (That said, I refuse to draw distinction for our lot in life from the reality of so many other couples who struggle with subfertility, infertility, molar pregnancies, ectopic pregnancies, or miscarriage. A void is no less painful because of the circumstances surrounding it and the glory of God and His sacrifice cannot be found in such a distinction - of that I feel certain.)

If nothing else, today has been a reminder to both of us that our strength and hope have only ever come from the death and ascension of our Lord Jesus Christ. And that is no different today than it was before we were parents.

Today, this blog is dedicated to all of the fathers  - here and on the other side. And to everyone with a father's heart (thanks Lauren!). And to all of the children not with us (yet or anymore). God bless you. And God bless my broken-hearted husband.

The Conception of Hope

Romans 5:1-8 

Faith, Hope, and Love

Therefore, since we have been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access [by faith] to this grace in which we stand, and we boast in hope of the glory of God. Not only that, but we even boast of our afflictions, knowing that affliction produces endurance, and endurance, proven character, and proven character, hope, and hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out into our hearts through the holy Spirit that has been given to us. For Christ, while we were still helpless, yet died at the appointed time for the ungodly. Indeed, only with difficulty does one die for a just person, though perhaps for a good person one might even find courage to die. But God proves his love for us in that while we were still sinners Christ died for us. 

So here is the part where I embark on writing down some of the steps along this journey. All journeys begin with just one step, and yet I've already taken so many as I arrive at this blog today. I hope to chronicle some of the moments along this path in a way that is pleasing to God, but I also hope that in writing down my thoughts, trials, victories, and experiences...that I find a sense of peace in the decisions I've made along the way.

As of today, my husband and I are struggling with infertility. Like so many, we want to grow our family and we want our marriage to be more than tangentially fruitful. So while we learn and try and do and pray to the best of our abilities that God's will for our life includes a baby in our arms (who am I kidding - I'm praying for twins).... today at least, we have to come to grips that our dreams are in the distance.
 
For right now, we are capable only of conceiving hope and maybe that's not a bad place to be.