Je suis sur un bateau

The past few weeks have been a whirlwind. Our niece in Switzerland got married this past week. We took an impromptu trip to help prepare for the wedding and spend time with family, with a few days to ourselves at the end of the trip.

Switzerland was the first transatlantic plane trip I ever took back in college. I had decided at the ripe old age of 23 that I lacked culture and that the only way to achieve a more cultured existence was to hop a plane to the land of cheese. Brilliant, eh? I wasn't entirely misguided in that notion. I worked on my Master's degree while I was there, but I mostly learned about life, the world around me, and what kind of person I wanted to be. Switzerland became my open window to the world...the world I chose for myself. After that trip, I began to pursue my faith more seriously - so it was special for many reasons.

You can imagine how revisiting Switzerland as an adult seemed really neat then, right? Here I was, 11 years later, hand-in-hand with my Irish husband, wandering the exact path of my youth with wiser eyes. Geneva seemed so much smaller. The airport seemed less magical, and much less of a big deal. Oh the things time does to your memories...

United was nice enough to lose every single one of my belongings and take no responsibility for it. Besides having to manage Switzerland (and France) with no toiletries, clothes, or any of the wedding decorations/gifts that I had packed, I spent a fair amount of time wandering through the bowels of the airport (imagine the smell of rotten durian fruit in piles of decrepit African luggage...because apparently they try to sneak it into the country often and it rots)....trying *fruitlessly* to find my own ninja colored luggage. No luck. That said, I do know where all of the umbrellas and baby strollers in the world end up now! Kind of interesting for an IF chick to be wading through piles of strollers to find her infertile suitcase, no?

The wedding was lovely. Despite Switzerland having no resources for party supplies at ALL, we were able to pull a rabbit out of a hat and decorate the reception hall by making meters and meters of homemade organza bunting out of pastel colored table runners that I found at a home store and cut up into triangles and strung onto twine. No one even really knew it wasn't the plan all along (except the bride). That said, the hours and hours and hours of preparation to make a wedding happen in 12 hours was well rewarded when the glowing bride walked into her reception and bear hugged me and thanked me for "making her wedding beautiful". It was such a weird feeling, since the last time I had seen her was at my own wedding.

It was such a unique experience getting to know our niece's new family. They put their heart and soul into the wedding. Truly. After the tiny chapel ceremony, everyone headed back to a little rustic-looking-barn-sort-of-room in the middle of a park. It was an adventure complex, complete with outdoor volleyball sand courts, a children's choo-choo train, bocce ball courts, a ropes course... and a dormitory.

In every way, we became a family last Saturday. We set up everything together, we celebrated with a giant vegan feast together (best vegan wedding I've ever been to!), and we all slept in the dorm together (military style bunks that felt like summer camp!). There was live music, dancing, singing, Swiss MIME, a fully animated powerpoint presentation...and even late night discussions of immigrations, finance, politics, and linguistics over brandy amongst the men. The day after, there was a shared breakfast as we cleaned up. When we all parted ways, we knew we would miss each other. I have rarely felt so welcomed by a group of people I am not related to...and everyone else expressed the same.

The last two days were spent traveling around Lake Geneva on trains and trams, across it on 100 year old steam ships, and wandering up to a dreamy B&B in Evian-les-Bains for a few days of summer honeymooning. My DH treated me to a spa day in the Evian thermal baths (massage under Evian rain!!) and a treatment in the Hammam with a foot massage. My GF/DF diet went out the window faster than I can even type this sentence. We dined on Gruyere fondue with chanterelles, charcuterie, gelato, champagne, and pain au chocolat. We ate our body weight in confiture and baguettes and French butter. We feasted on Moroccan tagine one evening, and we delighted in some of the best hand made pralines we have ever tasted. All UN-apologetically. And it was lovely. And so was the weather.

We took ships and trains and funiculars just for the sake of the journey. We picnicked in Montreux on a gravelly plage and fed swans. And we found the courage to TTC, somewhere in all of it. As I sit here typing this, I'm jet lagged and United still has no idea where my luggage is. Nor do they seem to care.

I return to a two week wait, something I haven't had in months.

Sending out a hearty thank you to everyone who is praying for us this month (and always).

Thank you for keeping our intentions for babies with you as you speak to our Lord each day this month. We are humbled by your helping us on this wild September ride.

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.

Her first, Lord

Philippians 2:1-4 "So if in Christ there is anything that will move you, any incentive in love, any fellowship in the Spirit, any warmth or sympathy -- I appeal to you, make my joy complete by being of a single mind, one in love, one in heart and one in mind. Nothing is to be done out of jealousy or vanity; instead, out of humility of mind everyone should give preference to others, everyone pursuing not selfish interests but those of others."

One of the most powerful prayers I ever prayed ended in 'Her first, Lord'. Since I prayed that prayer, I have found myself reflecting on whether this sentiment ought to make a regular appearance in the intentions I pray for, especially the ones I feel most passionate or broken about.

About 5 years ago, a friend of mine asked me to make their wedding cake. I was overjoyed. I love making wedding cakes. And this wasn't going to just be annnnyyyy wedding cake - they wanted a sand castle!! I had never made a sand castle before, but OH did I have ideas. This thing was going to be a masterpiece. In order to make sure that the cake was delivered safely, the joyful couple arranged for me to stay at the groom's brother's house. I had known this couple through the grapevine, but didn't know much about them. I did know that they were hopeful to adopt soon. That weekend was fantastic. The cake turned out to be a huge hit and I got to know the couple I stayed with better. They lived their Catholic faith and I was happy to have met them and been able to spend some time with them. And if you're reading - thank you again for letting me destroy your kitchen that weekend! ;)

Fast forward to that adoption of theirs - it was a joyful time in their life. I heard about how they fell in love instantly. And though it's not what anyone would have wanted - soon after news of that joy came, so came the news that the adoption fell through before it was finalized. I read their blog and followed along with how their pain influenced their faith and vice versa. It was a difficult journey to read about - and I'm positive it was brutal to live as they gave back that baby. I prayed for them often.

I continued to watch as all of our mutual friends married and instantly had children. And then those couples went on to easily have 2nd and 3rd children. I knew their life was surrounded with babies because mine was. And facebook - forget about it. It must have felt like a battlefield. Despite what I imagined must have been an impossible amount of hurt, they discerned another adoption. I watched in awe as this couple (who I am not very close with either!) publicly asked for help with funding the adoption. I watched with admiration as God provided almost $30,000 through the generosity of others in donations, yard sale proceeds, benefit concerts, and anything else you can imagine. It was such a moving journey to watch happening, even if from a distance.

Simultaneously, my fiance and I were going through the Engaged Encounter. We were sitting in on an intense round of marriage preparatory sessions where we were being asked difficult questions like 'How would you deal with multiple miscarriages as a couple?' (Yes, that question haunted me then and it haunts me even more now that we've lived it. More on that in another post.) There were plenty of questions about children, but only one on adoption: 'Have you discussed where you both stand on adoption?'

I talked to my soon-to-be-husband about how two couples I knew had adoptions fail after they had custody of the babies. We both sat in horrified silence, not only at how difficult that must be, but also at the first question of how to deal with miscarriage. We were caught completely flat-footed by all of it and it consumed the rest of our weekend retreat, because we honestly couldn't even come up with an idea on how to cope with either scenario once, let alone multiple times. It wasn't that we'd never talked about the topics. It was that we didn't know the answers. And even in scraping for them - we found no peace over the topic. In fact, that topic became the heartburn in our relationship.....

So where does 'Her first, Lord' even come in to this? It's actually the story of my wedding.

As we were finishing the preparations to our wedding during the week before our Nuptial Mass, our priest asked us to think about the intercessions we'd like to include as our friends and family prayed for God to graciously hear us. We were married in a public shrine to St. Therese that also contained the remains of St Valentine, so we knew there was a possibility that hundreds of people we'd never met might be in attendance...because a shrine is never closed to the public. Our list of things that we wanted to pray for was HUGE, but as you can imagine - the priest led us to prune the list to something more manageable so that our Mass wasn't an extra hour. ;)

Some of those 'pruned intercessions' became what I like to call the 'lost prayers'. I decided to pray them on my own that day. And the most important one was pinned on the inside of my dress with a ribbon, resting against my heart. It was my something blue. Seeing as we were getting married on the feast of St. Thomas More - the patron saint of adoption - I figured that the most important prayer that should be closest to my own heart should involve adoption. I instantly thought of the couple who let me make that wedding cake in their house so many years ago.

So here is what I prayed:

St. Thomas More, patron saint of adoption, please intercede on [their behalf] with the Blessed Mother and the Son of Our Lord as I undertake this sacrament. Please hear [their] most fervent prayers about adoption. Please breathe life into their hopes and fill their arms with a child that they get to keep forever. Please also let my husband and I welcome new life into Your kingdom through our marriage, whether it be by birth or adoption. But her first, Lord. Amen.

By the end of our honeymoon, that couple had gotten their good news and they have gone on to finalize that adoption. And I even had the privilege of meeting that sweet baby recently. He truly is a shining light and his smile melts hearts.

I am obviously a big believer in the power of prayer - but news that an intention that I prayed for had come to fruition in such a real and concrete way really overwhelmed me. How often do we get to pray in hope of things AND see them answered? It was truly a moment I could have prayed for anything... especially just for myself... and no one would have even known. God listened to my exact words. He heard me. And yet as I sit here, with no baby in my arms, I am also struck with the emptiness of that. That is what I have come to learn of subfertility and infertility --> you can all at once be filled with hope and emptiness.

If God reads blogs, I'm ready for the second half of that prayer now. Amen.