My Baby

We thought about naming her Janice Angustia, after our mothers. We thought about Ruthie Jean, after my sisters. We thought about Lucy Lee, Amity Grace, Esther Grace, Lisa Marie. I was sure that it was a girl, but Pedro, I know, really wanted a boy. He wanted to give it a bible name that was easy to pronounce in both of our native tongues: Noah, David, Matthew, Daniel. We never got to know for sure, though, if it was a boy or a girl; we never got to choose a name. 

It was really hard. After thousands of dollars of futile fertility treatments and being told that there was nothing else they could do to help and they didn't know why I wasn't getting pregnant, we'd given up. But then a miracle happened, and I got pregnant. I'd had suspected miscarriages before, but I'd never had a positive pregnancy test. This time I did, and I was so sure that God had grown weary of my pleadings and finally granted me my deepest desires. Thanksgiving morning I was so happy, I don't think I'd ever been happier in my life. I was so excited during the next couple of weeks when I had morning sickness and weird cravings (canned green beans and cream of mushroom soup). I ordered myself a shirt to wear at Christmas time to announce that I was expecting. I downloaded three different pregnancy tracking apps and calculated my progress and my due date. I researched what foods to eat and not eat. I bought prenatal vitamins. I took my six weeks pregnant mirror selfie. I followed Instagram pages dedicated to being fat and pregnant. I made a list of questions and concerns for my doctor.

I made an appointment with my OB/GYN right away. I knew that because of my age and weight this was going to be a high-risk pregnancy. The first appointment went OK except that my HCG levels weren't as high as my doctor thought they should be, and they couldn't see the embryo in the ultrasound. She said it was probably my weight, or a  timing miscalculation, and come back in a week. So I went back the next week and my HCG levels had only barely gone up. She did another ultrasound, and still couldn't see the embryo. She told me not to worry, and come back in 3 days. So I went back in three days, they took more blood, did another ultrasound and told me that the pregnancy probably wasn't viable, since the HCG levels had stopped rising - apparently they should double every week. I knew that couldn't be right. This was my miracle. This is what I had been praying for and hoping for since I was a small child. God would fix this, I would have this baby in spite of the odds. I'd see a specialist and find out that it was just a fluke in the blood tests, or that my hormones were just weird.

The next morning, December 12, my doctor called me and said that the radiology specialist had looked at my ultrasound pictures and could see that the embryo was in my fallopian tube, not the uterus where it belonged. I felt like I'd been punched in the chest, I could hardly breathe. How could this be happening? There is no way to have a baby if the embryo is in the tube. Only a few weeks after I found out I was pregnant, I was told that the pregnancy would have to be terminated because the embryo wasn't viable and my life was now in danger. I went to the emergency room to have the medication administered. A cancer treatment that kills fast growing cells. Even though the embryo had probably stopped growing on its own, we had to make sure that it wouldn't burst the fallopian tube. The medication was administered via two shots, one in each buttock. I had to stay there for a few hours to make sure I didn't have a bad reaction. Because of Covid restrictions, I had to be there alone. I cried a lot. I prayed even more. 

I didn't really process the loss, though. I'd felt peace and comfort in that emergency room. I felt that this pregnancy was a sign that my body knew how to get pregnant and I felt certain that the next time it would grow in the right place and I'd be blessed with a little soul to raise. We were told to wait three months before trying again. So we waited. 

In the mean time, I started having really bad panic attacks. I thought I was having heart attacks, my chest hurt so badly and my heart was beating so quickly. After the third one, in February, the ER doctors referred me to a cardiologist. I had to wear a heart monitor for two weeks and have a stress test. As it turned out my heart was fine, at least physically. I started seeing a therapist to get my anxiety in check. I started exercising to make sure that my heart would continue to be OK. I was getting my mind and my body back on track to try getting pregnant again. Now that I knew my body could do it, it was just a matter of time.

I was just starting to feel like things were getting back to normal - or as normal as they could be during a pandemic - when I had what I thought was another panic attack at school. It was really bad, worse than the previous ones. My chest hurt, my heart was racing, and I felt like I couldn't breathe. The principal at my school ended up calling an ambulance. All my vital signs were good - the EKG was normal, my blood pressure was normal, even my pulse was in the normal range, but I couldn't calm the panic, so I was transported by ambulance to the hospital where they could run more tests. The tests that were run found that I had blood clots in my lungs; pulmonary emboli or PE. I was admitted to the hospital for three days and put on blood thinners. The ER doctor gave me a list of things I can't do while on blood thinners: donate blood, high-impact sports, get a tattoo, take aspirin, eat too much vitamin K, and get pregnant. 

If we could figure out what caused the PE, then I would probably take blood thinners for about a year and then use an aspirin regimen to make sure I didn't have a recurrence. But we couldn't figure out why I got blood clots. I didn't have blood clots in my legs (most common reason), I wasn't a smoker, I didn't take estrogen or birth control pills (mostly made with estrogen), I hadn't been on a long trip, no apparent reason. I've seen so many specialists - OB/GYN for geriatric pregnancies, OB/GYN for obese pregnancies, cardiologist, pulmonologist, GI specialist, endocrinologist, phlebologist (vein specialist). Nobody knows why I got blood clots. The consensus is that I'll likely have to take blood thinners for the rest of my life to prevent future clots. All the doctors agree that it would be dangerous and irresponsible for me to get pregnant again. This door is closed. 

I still had some hope for a while, there are some other types of blood thinners that are used successfully during pregnancy, and have no ill effects on the baby. Just as I was wrapping my head around that, and coming to terms with the idea that I'd have to see a doctor twice a week during pregnancy, something else happened that put an end to my hope. Because of the blood thinners, I had some really bad bleeding with my period. I ended up in the ER because I losing too much blood too fast. Now I have to take a progesterone based pill to keep that in check. It's essentially a birth control pill. As long as I'm still on blood thinners and still having periods, I will have to take this medication so that I don't bleed to death. 

I haven't felt joy or hope in a long time. I'm angry and bitter, but mostly I'm just sad. I cry when I walk past the baby clothes and toys in the stores. I cry when I see my friends posting their baby bump and sonogram pictures. I cry all the time. My life seems so pointless now. I can't seem to get a handle on what comes next, or what I'm supposed to do. I know life isn't fair. I know I have more blessings than half the people on this planet. All I can think about, though, is the one thing that I've always wanted and can't have. 

Today was supposed to be my due date. Today was the day that I was supposed to be bringing a baby into this world. Today was the day that I was finally going to be a mother. But instead of being pregnant for the last eight months, I've been dealing with health problems. Instead of being a pillar of hope and example of trust in God, I've been having a crisis of faith. 

It's been eight months, and I've been handling my emotions the best way I know how, but this last week has been particularly difficult for me as today's due date approached and I was reminded afresh of all that this loss implies: I don't get to choose a name. I don't have to worry about maternity leave at school. I don't need to clean out a room for my husband's things downstairs so that we can turn his office space into a nursery. I don't have to buy baby clothes, or diapers, or learn about breastfeeding. I don't have to find day care, or save for college, or change my insurance. I don't get to hold a little life in my arms and know that for a short time she's mine. 

I'm not OK. I will be, eventually, but right now I'm broken, and I know that no matter how much time passes, this loss will always hurt. I'll handle it better and, hopefully sooner than later, I'll find peace and joy and purpose again. 

Music helps. I haven't had the mental capacity to make my own music, so I've been listening a lot. These songs speak to me every time, and remind me that it's OK to be broken and that I'm not alone.

Truth Be Told by Matthew West

Hold On To Me by Lauren Daigle

 

A New Hope

Anyone who's read this blog (like 5 people) knows that I've been really struggling of late. I've had two life-threatening medical conditions (ectopic pregnancy and pulmonary embolisms) in the last few months, more than anyone's fair share of anxiety, and a near life-long struggle with depression and CPTSD. I've allowed my situation to affect my faith, and it's been really hard to feel any hope or way forward. 

A few weeks ago, I decided that I needed to heal my relationship with my Father in Heaven. I found a little challenge online to help prepare my mind and heart to hear the word of the Lord during General Conference. I watched Conference with a notebook - instead of games on my phone as usual - and I was rewarded greatly for my efforts. Don't get me wrong, my life is still really hard, I still feel very sad and quite sick all the time, and I'm still on the struggle bus with my faith, but I really felt the Spirit and the perfect love of God fill my heart. 

Since General Conference, I've renewed my efforts about daily scripture study. I started doing the weekly lessons in the Come Follow Me book put out by the church. I decided that I would just start with the calendar given, and move forward. I'm also using a book not put out by the church called "Don't Miss This in the Doctrine and Covenants." The authors of this book take one verse or principal from each section of the D&C and carefully delineate it so that it gives the reader something to focus on to improve faith and understanding. Each day I read something either in the scriptures directly, something from this book, or something from the manual. 

This week the schedule has me reading Doctrine and Covenants sections 37-40. This morning, I was reading in the manual and I misread a passage. Misreading is fairly common with me, and it usually doesn't affect things too much, but today it gave me a whole new outlook, and a new hope in my Savior. The manual states: "...Think about the commandments the Lord has given you and the faith needed to follow them." I somehow skipped the words "and the" and read "...the Lord has given you the faith needed..." 

As I thought about that, two things happened almost simultaneously in my mind. First, I recognized that the Lord has, indeed, given me faith. Every experience that He has helped me through has given me faith. The family he placed me in has given me faith. The way He answers, or doesn't answer, my prayers, has built my faith in ways that I can't even understand. 

The second thing that happened in my mind was I heard the hymn "There is Sunshine in My Soul Today." "What a funny coincidence," I thought to myself, "it's a cloudy day, and I wish it were sunny." Suddenly I realized the message the Lord was giving me: There is always sunshine to be found in my soul. My life isn't always going to be pleasant and lovely, but I can still have light in my soul. Trials and sorrows will throng my path, but I can still have hope in my Savior. When I put my trust in Him to lead me through this world, He gives me the faith I need to keep putting one foot in front of the other even though I can't see the way forward. 

Now, I realize that the hymns, like any poetry, are full of figurative language, and this message is likely obvious to most people. I even admit that I've probably thought of this meaning before. Today, though, that's the message I needed, that I have the tools to see the sunshine through the storms. 

So long

It's been over a year since I've blogged here. I've only written in my journal a few times since then as well. A lot of things have happened on the world stage, as well as my own personal theatre. 

The earth's population is living through a global pandemic. I've read about these from the past - the Black Plague, the Spanish Flu - I never in a million years would have guessed that I'd be living through one. Covid-19, it's called, The Coronavirus, Sars-CoV-2... It blows my mind that it's so political, and how opinionated people are about things that shouldn't even be up for debate. Wearing masks saves lives, but people don't want to wear them because they think it's just another way for the government to control us. Vaccines work, but people don't want to get them because they think that they don't work, or that the government is using them to implant tracking devices - hello, we have those on our phones! 

The world, but particularly the United States, is engaged in racial battles. It's been building for a long time, but black people are not only not treated equally, still, they are targeted and hurt. In addition, because the pandemic originated in China, there have been all kinds of hate crimes against Asians, too. And, unfortunately, anti-Semitism is alive and well. There is civil, racial, and religious tension in many places in the world, Myanmar is actually dealing with a civil war that is much worse than even the Rwandan conflict from 30 years ago. I don't even pretend to understand any of what's happening, I just know that people are getting hurt and it makes me more sad than I know what to do with. 

Then there's my own personal stuff. I'm still dealing with the long and lasting effects of CPTSD, anxiety, depression, and, recently officially diagnosed, ADHD. I'm still trying to wrap my head around everything. Even now, as I'm typing this up, I can't seem to understand anything, or see a clear path, or even a clear step onto a path, forward. So, I'll do what I usually do, and tell my story. I'll tell the things that have happened to me. Getting it all out of my head will help me see patterns and goodness (I hope), and maybe someday it will help someone else. 

First, and I don't want to spend too much time on this because everyone has their own pandemic stories, teaching right now is a complete nightmare. It's exhausting and the students are not handling it well. I'm teaching the naughtiest class I've had in my entire teaching career, and I truly believe it's because my students don't see a future. They don't have plans or hopes because they don't think there's a reason to, so they just want to feel comfortable and happy right now. That means that if there's an assignment they don't like, or struggle with, then they just don't do it. It also means they don't care about the consequences. I only mention this, because I know that teaching has exacerbated everything else that I'm going through. So let me tell you what I've been going through. 

For me, everything was just floating along, I was mostly safe from Covid - staying isolated and being diligent about mask wearing and sanitizing everything. My husband and I even took a trip to Moab last summer, and it was marvelous. I was doing my best to stay on top of school, and take breaks. We'd stopped going to church because of the pandemic. And, for the first time in my life, I stopped praying. I was angry and disappointed, and I thought I needed a break. After General Conference last October (2020), though, I realized that this was not helping me, and I needed to mend my relationship with God. I started reading the Book of Mormon, almost every night I'd listen to a few chapters, and praying every day. 

Then, in November, I was sure that things were going to be different. I started feeling really queasy and had some other symptoms, and timing wise it worked out. So, Thanksgiving morning I took a pregnancy test and it was positive! I was so excited! I was certain that this was God's plan. I just knew that having a baby would help to restore my husband's faith and we'd be able to get sealed in the temple and have a family. I was sure that we were having a girl. Pedro wasn't excited. He was sure that something would be wrong with the baby. He did not get his hopes up. I called the doctor, and insisted that I been seen right away because of my age and weight making me high-risk. Even though they don't usually see patients until twelve weeks, they got me in that week. 

My first appointment did not go as planned. The embryo wasn't visible on the ultrasound, and it should have been. My HCG levels were not as high as they should have been. The doctor told me that I probably miscalculated, and maybe I was only 4 weeks, instead of 6. We scheduled another ultrasound and another HCG test for the next week. Things were still not where they should be, so we scheduled tests again. On Saturday, December 12, my doctor called with the news that the pregnancy was not viable, and I would probably start bleeding soon. A few hours later, she called again with the news that the radiologist report said that there was a very good chance that the pregnancy was ectopic, and I needed to go to the emergency room to be treated. My doctor, the radiologist, and the attending physician at the hospital said that I was very fortunate that I went in when I did, because if I'd waited until week twelve, I could have died from a ruptured ectopic. 

To make matters worse, as if anything could be worse than that, five days later I had what's called a decidual cast. It's where the lining of the uterus hardens and then exits the body in very big chunks. It was painful, disgusting, and very scary. I ended up in the hospital again, because I didn't know what was happening, and I thought I was having a heart attack. They told me it was a panic attack. In spite of the scare, I found hope. I'd been told that I couldn't get pregnant at all, and I had. That meant that my body could do it again. There was a light, the door was open just enough to see a light!

Christmas came, my sister got Covid, and we thought she had exposed us, too. We got tested, and it was negative. She was very sick for about a month. 

In the meantime, I was still having morning sickness, and other symptoms of pregnancy. I couldn't eat very much, and certain foods made me very nauseated. I did my best to celebrate New Year's and Pedro's birthday, and put the tragedy of miscarriage behind me. But I was still devastated, and I was still feeling very sick. When I finally stopped bleeding, I was still having belly pain, so I went to the doctor and they told me that I probably had developed diverticulitis. They gave me some antibiotics. When the antibiotics were done, I still felt sick and had belly pain, so they gave me more antibiotics that made me very nauseated. Then we did a CT scan, and turns out I didn't have diverticulitis. 

January passed in a blur, I was just feeling sick and weak and tired all the time. Valentine's Day came and I had another panic attack. I made Pedro take me to the emergency room because I was certain that it was a heart attack. It wasn't a heart attack. Three days later, I went to the emergency room again. They said that because I'd been three times (counting the December one) that I should probably follow up with a cardiologist. So, I did. We scheduled a stress test and I had to wear a heart monitor for two weeks. Turns out there was still nothing wrong with my heart. 

Then it happened at school. I was teaching class, and I felt that I couldn't breathe, my chest hurt so badly. I went to the office and they called 911. I was taken to the hospital by ambulance. Turns out that I had blood clots in my lungs. All this time I thought that something was wrong with me, and I kept being told that I was fine, but I actually had a life-threatening condition. After several more doctor visits, trips to the ER and even a follow up with the cardiologist, I've been told that nobody is sure where the blood clots came from and I will likely need to take blood thinners for the rest of my life. 

Blood thinners for the rest of my life means that if I have a fall or get hit in the head, I need to go to the emergency room right away. It means that I can't take certain medications or eat certain foods. And, this is the one that kills me, I can't get pregnant. Just like that, the door has slammed shut, the light is gone, and there is no more hope. Pedro doesn't understand how I can be so sad about this because he'd already given up the hope. But now, every time I see a mother with her child (or children) I cry. I can't help it, this loss is so great, and people don't see it because I'm grieving over losing something that I never had to begin with. It hurts so badly and I... well, I just hurt. 

I'm super scared all the time, too. In the past three months I've had two life-threatening conditions that could have killed me if I hadn't insisted on being seen. So now, every time something hurts, or I feel just a little bit off, I panic. I've been to the emergency room seven times this year, and by this year I mean since January 1st, and today's only March 29th. Even as I'm typing this, I'm super concerned because my legs have been swollen today, and I don't know if that's something that I need to be worried about. I feel mostly OK, but what if it's a sign that I have more blood clots? What if it's a sign that my heart isn't working right? What if it's a sign that my circulation is failing? 

It's really hard to find faith when you're so filled with fear. I've been trying to pray. I've been trying to listen to my Father in Heaven. I've been trying to trust that there is a plan and things will work out. But I don't want to die. I don't want to leave things unfinished. I feel this sense of urgency to get things done, but I'm still sick, and have not energy to do things - clean my basement, pay off bills, finish the book I started writing 3 years ago... I'm tired, sick, sad, and scared, and I don't know how to find anything else right now.  

I already hate it

Today is January 1, 2020. I was so excited for this new decade. I'd made goals (weight loss - again - scripture study, journal writing, the usual stuff) and had a great outlook. Then two very miserable things happened. OK, they're not really that miserable, but something in me just feels really awful, so they seem really miserable. And I don't know if it's the depressive funk that I've been in for a few months, the fact that I'm still a little sick (bad cold complete with pinkeye for Christmas just a week ago), or something strange in the air, but I've decided that those two miserable things are a sign that I'm not going to have a good year.

Thing one: I am lonely again. About a week ago, when the new "Cats" movie came out, someone mentioned that it would be very fun to give it the MST3K treatment (basically mocking commentary). I loved that idea and suggested that it would be amazing to get a bunch of us theatre friends together to play: go watch the movie and make our own snarky comments. Well, my "friends" went today, posted about it on social media, and didn't even invite me. You'd think at my age, and after all my life experiences, I wouldn't get so disappointed at being left out, but it still stings rather badly.

Thing two: this one is a little more complicated, because it's a bunch of things, but it really boils down to the fact that I can't get pregnant. I had three friends post about their decade ending and the changes that have happened and what they're looking forward to in the next decade. Well, a lot of my friends posted about that, but these three friends in particular posted about babies, their babies. Friend A posted about trying for years and not being able to get pregnant until she was baptized and then sealed in the temple. Friend B posted that she was grateful to have an opportunity to be a mom, even though it was totally unexpected and unplanned, and even a little unwanted. And Friend C posted that she is so excited that she will get to hold her baby in 2020, and she can hardly wait. All three of these situations are killing me in different ways because I'm so insanely jealous, and again feel like I'm being left out.

A - It has always been my plan to marry in the temple and start a family. I feel very strongly that I was told by God, or one of His messengers, to marry my husband without waiting for the temple. I felt I understood why (my last post explains in more detail), but it turns out I was wrong, and now I'm married to a man who doesn't want to get sealed in the temple, or even go to church. So this friend's situation hurts me because she says she was blessed with children by doing things God's way and following His plan for her. I followed the plan, at least I thought I did, and still no children.

B - I have always wanted to be a mother. I've dreamed about it, planned for it, longed for it, prayed, begged, and cried for it. This friend's situation hurts because she didn't think that she wanted to be a mother. She never planned for it, it wasn't something that she expected, and it was an accident (birth control pills aren't super effective if you take antibiotics) that she even got pregnant in the first place. Now she is loving being a mommy, and I'm not.

C - This friend is young and thin and beautiful. She's wanted to be a mom her whole life. She's suffered at least two miscarriages in her life. I'd like to be happy for her, but I'm too jealous, and the reason connects back to friend A: she didn't get pregnant the "right" way. She had an affair. She left her husband, that she's sealed to in the temple, for another man. They are living together with his daughter from another marriage, and she's pregnant with his baby. If I can only have children if I follow God's plan for me, and do things the way He would have me do them, then why does this friend get to have a baby right now?

I know that life isn't fair. I know that I need to have more faith, and patience, and trust. But it hurts so badly to feel this way. To feel that God is leaving me out. To feel that I am alone even though I've followed the path. It makes me want to not follow the path any more, and that hurts, too, because I don't really know any other way of life. I've been a pretty faithful daughter of God for most of my life, and I'm tired of it. I know it sounds selfish, and I know that there are things that I can't see or understand in this life, but why should I keep suffering? I hate feeling this way. I hate the buzzkill that these friends' posts had on my excitement over the new year. I don't know how to change my attitude, nor do I know if I even want to try. Right now I'm stuck in the the angry and bitter phase, and I can't see a way out.

Let it go

As we come to the close of this decade, I've been thinking about all the changes and milestones that have happened in my life over the last ten years. Some of the things have been good: I'm married now, I own my own home, I have a new car that is completely paid off, I have a cat, I have two more endorsements on my educator's license, I survived skin cancer. Some of the changes have been bad: I lost my mom, I changed jobs (still teaching, just a different place) and I don't like my new school, I've ridden the weight-roller coaster with little success, I was diagnosed with Hashimoto's disease, and I found out that I have unexplained infertility.

That last one has been all-consuming for almost the entire two years that I've been married; I literally can't focus or think deeply about anything else. I am sad all the time, and every day is harder than the last. I get angry at people that tell me they understand what I'm going through. I hate that phrase. Nobody knows what it's like to be me. Yes, other people have suffered with infertility, and I welcome empathy and support, and hearing their stories can be comforting on my darkest days. But their story is not mine, and their strength and faith can only give me so much light to find my own path, because my story is not theirs.

So, what even is my story? The chapters that are finished so far are filled with both darkness and light, fear and faith, pain and miracles. I suppose it's good to keep a balance, but the current chapter is so dark and terrifying, that no amount of light from those around me seems to be able to penetrate the mists of despair that are surrounding my mind and my heart. I feel very much like I imagine the passengers on the Titanic did after it hit the iceberg on that fateful night: I'm sinking fast, I'm cold, I'm alone, and everyone around me has so many of their own problems that even if I dared to cry out for help, there is no help to be had. My faith, which was once akin to a roaring bonfire, has been reduced to a single match, and it's almost burnt out. I need some kindling fast, but I'm surrounded by freezing, deep, black water. I can't find joy, or hope, just fear and sadness. Things that once delighted me (theatre, reading, even music) now fill me with anxiety and dread, or even worse, nothingness. I often feel that there is no point treading water any more - which I've been doing for a while now - and it would be so much easier to let the freezing sea take me down into the black depths where I can no longer feel the aches and pains and insecurities that haunt my every moment.

Dark. Bleak. Hopeless. Ugh. I know, another story of someone's hard, hard life, wah, wah, wah. Normally my musings lead me through a horrible situation, or a bad time, and I take the path to a moral, or a lesson, or at least a light at the end of the tunnel. But this time, as I mentioned above, there is not a light to be found.

Let me start at the beginning. Not that I expect many people to read this, I only have 5 followers. But for anyone who's made it thus far, let me give you a history lesson on Stacy. I was sexually molested as a child. I was raped at age ten in a haunted house, which is why I refuse to this day to go in one. I was verbally as well as physically abused for most of my formative years, having it ingrained into my personality that I was dumb, and ugly, and nobody in their right mind would ever want me. No matter how many times my mother, grandmother, sisters, aunts, and friends tried to tell me differently, I believed that I was unwantable. Church didn't make that easier, with the used gum analogy chastity lessons. In spite of that, I clung to my faith. I somehow knew that God had a plan for me, and that He loved me, and things would be made right in His time if I just trusted Him. I found escape in literature, and solace in music and performing. I was pretty good. Turned out people did want me if I could play for them - piano, percussion, bass, unwanted chorus/ensemble parts - I would do anything to be included, even if I wasn't really included. I wasn't invited to parties, nobody came to mine, the only dates I went on in high school were set ups because my friends weren't allowed to go on dates alone and I was a trustworthy chaperone who wouldn't let anything happen. Nobody ever asked me out. That was to be expected, nobody in their right mind would want me, remember? God would make it right, eventually.

I studied music, and took German, I was going to get out of poverty and travel the world by playing in world-renowned orchestras. I was going to write music and become a conductor and make tons of money and be well-liked by famous people. But then, when I was only a senior in high school, I got carpal tunnel. It was no one's fault. The nerve bundles in my elbows were on the wrong side of the bone. This is the case in about 30% of the world's population. It's not a problem, most of the time, but my piano and bass playing aggravated it, and that caused nerve damage to my wrists and hands. OK, surgery. Both elbows, both wrists. It was fine. I was going to recover beautifully and continue with my dream of being a professional musician. After all, I'd figured out ways to push through arthritis pain - juvenile onset osteo-arthritis, diagnosed at age 10 - with no serious side effects or injuries, I could definitely push through nerve pain, too. It was working pretty well until junior year of college, when I fell and broke my left wrist. Broke is kind of a mild word to describe what happened. It was crushed: every bone, ligament, and tendon needed repair. Three surgeries and 25 years later, and I still don't have full range of motion in my left hand and wrist. My wrist was crushed and so were my dreams. I couldn't be a famous musician if I couldn't play my main instruments any more. My singing voice was never anything to write home about, it couldn't take up the load. I graduated with a (useless) degree in liberal arts, and, after traveling and teaching abroad, went back to school to get a teaching license.

This was God's way of telling me, I convinced myself, that my life's calling was in teaching. Look at all the lives I could change and touch by teaching. I got to reconnect with my beloved children's literature, and ignite a passion for history, and a love of learning. I was a good teacher, this is where I belonged, I never would have gotten to teach in Taiwan, or travel to China, or find this career if I'd followed the other path. I still got to have music in my life, and I still got to perform with my bass and piano in community or church things. God would make it right, eventually. In the mean time, I was still not invited to parties, nobody came to mine, and I started packing on weight due to the anxiety caused by - unbeknownst to me at the time - C-PTSD. As well as the fact that I couldn't participate in soccer, gymnastics, or dance anymore because the arthritis had gotten out of control, and to add insult to injury I was awarded a partially severed nerve in my leg from a botched knee surgery. Through all this, I held tight to my faith. I prayed, I went to church, I went to the temple, I paid my tithing, I magnified my callings. I just knew that if I did what God asked, then all would be made right, eventually, in His timing.

Oh, that was hard, to watch my friends get married, and have babies, or have babies without getting married. I wanted so badly to be a mother. I don't know exactly why the mothering instinct and desire is so strong in my heart, but some of my earliest memories involve me telling people that I wanted to be a mama when I got big. Well, I definitely got big, but I never got to be a mama. Each time one of my friends got married, each time I was rejected by a guy (that's a whole other sad story), each time someone had a baby - especially when they did it the "wrong" way - my heart broke a little bit more, and I would find myself pouring out my heart to a silent heaven, pleading for my turn. It was particularly hard when my youngest brother started having children. They have four boys now... When I was 36 years old, I was told that I should have a hysterectomy. I'd always had really bad periods - cramping to the point of debilitation, passing out, throwing up, etc. - and since I had no prospects for marriage, and I was getting along in age, my doctor recommended that I just get rid of the whole problem. I prayed, fasted, and went to the temple to ask for guidance. I heard an actual, physical Voice tell me that this was not the plan, and I should not have the surgery. Trusting that the Lord had a reason for this, I told my doctor that I would just continue to suffer. I didn't know why, because I still believed that I would probably not get married in this life, but there must be some reason, and I would trust as I'd been taught.

My patriarchal blessing says that I will be sealed for time and all eternity to a worthy companion, and that I should remain prayerful that I don't falter in that goal. For my fortieth birthday, I signed up for online dating. I prayed, fasted, and went to the temple to beg for guidance in this very scary step. I didn't think I could handle much more rejection. I've changed over the years, though. I know that I'm deserving of someone's love. I know that I'm amazing. I know that my physical appearance is part of me and bears the battle scars of the wars of my emotional and physical traumas, and is nothing to be ashamed of, despite what society at large says. As it turns out, this knowledge gave me confidence, and that's, apparently, attractive. I was asked out on a lot of dates through my dating profile. I prayed before each date that I would be able to be myself, and be led to make good decisions. I was still nervous, and got super anxious on each date. Until I met my husband. As soon as I saw him, my whole body relaxed. I still felt nervous, but I had no anxiety, no racing heart, no trembling lips, no sweaty palms. I knew that he was going to be important for me. It was only our sixth date when I knew that I wanted him for eternity. Being in his arms gives me a peace that I've never felt anywhere else. Again, I prayed, fasted, and went to the temple to beg for guidance. Again, I heard an actual, physical Voice tell me that he is a good man, marry him now, don't wait. I was so confused. He didn't have a temple recommend, he couldn't marry me in the temple, and I was told to be prayerful that I don't falter in that goal. I decided that we would wait. I started getting physically sick when I took that decision to the Lord, my head hurt, and I actually threw up a little. So I tried the way I'd been told by that Voice, "I've decided to marry him outside of the temple. Please, Lord, help me know that I've made the right decision." Peace, like the kind of peace I feel in his arms. I knew that it was the right decision. And, just to make sure, that Voice again - he's a good man, marry him now, don't wait. So we didn't. Six months to the day after I met him, I married him at the Little White Chapel in Vegas.

The plan was to work together to get his temple recommend, and get sealed in a year. Then I remembered the Voice from four years before - don't get the hysterectomy. This must be why, and why we didn't wait. I was forty now, no spring chicken in the fertility game, we must be meant to have a baby right away, and waiting for a temple recommend would be too late. God was good, His plan made sense now, I'd finally been rewarded for all of my patience and suffering.

Except I hadn't. It's been two years since I got married. My husband doesn't believe in the church, or indeed even in God, and he feels that getting married in the temple is foolish and not something he wants. We've been to several fertility doctors and done several treatments. We were finally told this last April that we could try in-vitro fertilization (IVF) as a last resort, but with my age there was a less than 2% chance that it would work, and as it's so expensive, it's not something we could afford. We've applied for grants and scholarships, but because of my age, our ages, it's not likely that we'll get to do it. In May, on my birthday, my husband told me that he wasn't in love with me when we got married, that I was better than being alone, and what he considered to be his last chance to have a family, and now that I'd failed him, his life was pointless. I was crushed again. All those times I was told that nobody would ever want me came screaming back to my head and my heart. All that work I'd done to convince myself that I was worthy was destroyed. This was my iceberg; I've been sinking since then.

Once again, I prayed, fasted, and went to the temple. I was so sure that having a family was God's plan for me. I listened for that Voice that had been so assertive in telling me that he was a good man and marry him now and don't wait. I heard nothing. I watched as my friends had babies and grandbabies. I watched as my former students went on missions and got married. I watched as friends who didn't want children or families ended up with them. I watched as acquaintances got pregnant on accident when they were having affairs. I watched stories from around the world of people having abortions, and drug addicts giving birth and abandoning their babies in dumpsters, and women who ask for help on Facebook because they got pregnant but can't afford it, and....

Oh, it hurts, it hurts so badly. I have heard that Voice once more. It was in a moment of deep anguish, when I was crying to the heavens about the unfairness of never being loved, not even by my husband. I was needing comfort and guidance, because I was sinking and hurting and I was all alone. I heard the Voice then, and it didn't offer comfort at all, I'm not even sure what it said could be construed as guidance. I feel broken. I feel betrayed. I feel alone. I feel ugly. I feel unwanted. The only good, weird but good, thing I still have is that when my husband wraps me in his arms I still feel that profound sense of peace. He's told me since that awful May day that he is growing to love me, that he loves me now more than he did a year ago. I am his best friend, and he can't imagine his life without me in it. That's more comfort than the Voice, but not much. I thought I'd found my true love, my soulmate, my eternal companion. He found a roommate, someone to live with so he wasn't alone anymore.

Oh, The Voice, you want to know what The Voice said. Let it go. That's it. Let it go. I don't know what to let go of. Pain. Fear. Anger. Loss. Hope. Desire. Longing. Faith. Religion. Resentment. Expectations. Everything. It's all so intertwined, and I've been holding on so tightly for so long that I'm afraid if I let go of even one thing, they'll all come crashing down, like ice from the berg, and I won't be able to hold on to anything that will keep me afloat. But my life is heavy, and I'm so tired of trying to do the right thing all the time, and having pain thrown back in my face. I just need to figure out how to let it go....

So very...

The thing about not having kids is that I never have to worry about child-proofing my home. I never have to worry about school fees, or bullies, or helping with homework that I don't understand. I never have to worry about nutrition, and diet, and schedules, and the great vaccine debate (I'm very pro, but have close friends and family that are anti). I'll never have to worry about driver's ed, and insuring a teenage driver, and where on earth is that kid at 1:30 in the morning? I'll never have to worry about first dates, or college applications, or tuition to that school that I really can't afford, but still want to find a way because I want my child to have the best.

The thing about not having kids is that I want them. I want them so badly that every bone in my body aches at the knowledge that I'll never hold them. Every fiber of my being trembles at the fact that I'll never get to worry about all the silly things that mothers worry about.

The unfairness of life is sometimes too hard to bear, and I don't know how to do it. I don't know what to do, or how to get started. I'm so sad, so very sad.

I can't even find solace in my faith right now, nor do I know if I want to. I'm angry, so very angry.

I trusted God when I was abused. I trusted when my parents got divorced and my "friends" abandoned me. I trusted when I injured my wrist and lost my dream of being a professional musician. I trusted through cancer, loneliness, losing my grandmother, losing my mother, singlehood, buying and then fixing up a house, and every other aspect of my life. I knew that God had a plan for me, and that even if it didn't make sense to me, He was preparing me for something good. 

But I'm not sure I can keep trusting like this, it's so hard. I'm tired, so very tired.

All I can see right now, all I can feel, is abandonment, loss, and despair. "Why don't I get to be a mother?" I cry at the heavens. "Why do crack addicts, and teenagers, and people who don't want them get to have babies, but I don't?" The heavens are silent. There is no answer. There is no comfort. There is no peace. I feel alone, so very alone.  

Day 40 of the #40daysto40 #Birthdaychallenge Madness

Day 40: May 21, 2017, the day before my 40th birthday

Challenge: Tell Mom all about it

Part of the whole reason for this challenge is that I was feeling very lost in my life. My dear mother passed away just a few months before my 39th birthday, and in the year after she died, I tried so many different directions and had so many different things happen. I started a doctorate degree, but then decided that wasn't the right path for me. I got my first ever kidney stones - so painful - and had to have surgery. I had to have part of my parathyroid removed, and my voice changed forever. I was sad, and aimless, and falling into a well of despair. I had always had my mother to talk to, even after she became disabled. Even when I lived halfway around the world, even when I had to take care of her physical needs, even when I couldn't do it anymore and she had to go live in a nursing home, she was always there for me, giving me advice that only a mother could. I didn't know quite what to do without her advice, but I knew that if I continued on the path that I was traveling, I would end up next to her in the cemetery before very much longer. I needed something drastic to get me out of myself, to remind me that God is good and has a plan for me, to help me be brave enough to experience the world on my own. My sweet sister, Betsy, helped me design the challenge, and away we went. I learned so much about myself, and about the way I'd been treating myself. I just know that my mother is very proud of my accomplishments and my life. I wanted to tell her about how I'd changed, and what was happening in my life. I wanted to let her know that even though I still miss her fiercely every day I am finding ways to be happy.

I know that she is watching over me from Heaven, celebrating my triumphs and crying over my defeats. I know that she is pleading with the Father on my behalf. I know she misses me as much as I miss her. And I know that I'll see her again someday.

Tell Mom about life! #40daysto40 #birthdaychallenge #lastone! #birthdayistomorrow #Imissherfiercely pic.twitter.com/zpHxlDTTEL

— Stacy Mayren (@StacyLeeSnider) May 21, 2017