The Long Journey

April 4, 2018

The Longest Trip I've Ever Taken

My husband has given me the gift of traveling to places I never thought I’d want to go. Unfortunately, my husband is a “drive until you get there” kind of person. This is particularly unfortunate for my weak bladder and has frequently been the cause of frustrated moments in the car bordering on tears. When it comes to long trips, I prefer a more relaxed atmosphere in which stopping to see the sites and occasionally relieve oneself is encouraged. For my 30th birthday, Mom and I travelled to my aunt’s house in Kentucky—like the good old days—and made sure we stopped for some shopping and eating along the way. It was an amazing trip. As far as long trips go, there are a few that stand out as being less than “comfortable”, at least for me.

Picture this: 6 adults piled into a GMC extended cab truck with bags and backpacks shoved under feet and in every nook and cranny because the bed is filled with skis, snowboards, boots, and luggage. Now, imagine the smell that comes from men who consider passing gas an art form. Mix that with the unforgettable scent of beef jerky and fritos. Yeah. Fourteen long hours and we arrived just outside Breckenridge, stopping for a few hours sleep in the truck. Not the most comfortable trip, but definitely one of the most memorable.

We’ve driven to New Orleans twice, Texas, Colorado, and flown to Oregon. I find myself wondering which of those I would consider the “longest” trip I’ve ever taken. I could categorize based on mileage, time, or even times we had to stop for a restroom break. Yet, none of these trips are the “longest”. Without question, my longest journey was not one in which there was a tangible destination. In fact, you couldn’t travel the road by car, fly there by plane, or sail there by water. The longest trip I have ever taken began with the dream of becoming a mother.

I would fair to say most young couples ready for children have the same game plan: lots of fun (I’m censoring). Generally speaking, a few months go by and it’s time to go to the pharmacy and buy the box containing the stick that changes lives every minute of every day for millions of people around the world. I’ve lost count of the money we spent on those boxes. Each month, without fail, the stick would disappoint us, mocking us with it’s “Not Pregnant” message. After a year of disappointing tests, it was time to talk to our doctor.

If there are words to describe the feeling one has as they walk into a fertility doctor’s office, then I would love someone to help me explain it. Words fail me. Fear? Anxiety? Disappointment? Self-loathing? Sure. But none of those words adequately describe the overwhelming emotions that accompany a woman entering a doctor’s office and disrobing before ever meeting the doctor. Months of Chlomid, invasive testing to see if my fallopian tubes were obstructed (needles were placed where no woman should ever have needles), and finally we decided to abandon the doctor and take a break.

Another few months pass and another doctor is chosen. The same routine is followed, except this time the doctor meets us before I’m asked to disrobe. Surgery is scheduled almost immediately, and the amount of information that follows is enough to make me wonder if I should have pursued the medical career I once considered. After surgery, the doctor meets with my husband and mother, telling them that I have Stage 4 endometriosis that is so severe he couldn’t even do anything other than close me up. Devastation. Disappointment. Fear. Words are still not good enough.

Six months of Menopause follow with the help of Lupron injections. Black Friday of 2007: Mom and I are driving to another store with the windows down at 4 am in 22 degree weather because my hot flashes are so intense I am sweating. Going through menopause (albeit medically induced) before my mother was not on my bucket list. Another surgery once the Lupron has had time to do it’s job resulted in the elimination of as much of the Endometriosis as the doctor could manage. Then came the fun news that I needed a colonoscopy to check for endometriosis inside my colon. Seriously? I’m 27 years old at this point and I have to have a what stuck where? God has a sense of humor when it comes to the medical field.

After the colonoscopy, the doctor came out to speak to my husband and my mom to inform them he had removed three potentially malignant polyps. Thank you, Lord, for my infertility. The polyps were, in fact, pre-cancerous and who in their right mind gets a colonoscopy of their own free will at the age of 27? God knew. He provided. We were thankful. Still, all of these procedures resulted in no pregnancy. The same routine continued for the next 6 years. Follistem, IUI, surgery to reduce Endometriosis, Colonoscopy to ensure no other polyps were forming and Lupron induced Menopause. It was exhausting, physically, emotionally, and financially. The day the doctor told us he felt as if we had exhausted all of our options was the hardest day of my life...at least up to that point. Our journey had ended. Invitro Fertilization was too expensive, right?

We met with our doctor’s brother at Sher Institute, prayed that God would provide the money if it was His will for us to travel this road, and that He would provide us with the number of embryos we would need, no extras. In July of 2012, we transferred our first embryos. Two. Then, we began the waiting period. There was no way this wouldn’t work, right? God had come through with the money, the embryos, and the excitement in our home was palpable. We had hope again! We prepared for a baby by buying a practical car, waited the appropriate number of days before the blood test, and then stuck around St. Louis long enough to get the results straight from the lab. Unfortunately, we didn’t know how to read them.

The phone call from our nurse the following day broke our hearts. No baby. No hope. No need for the practical car. I dove into the depths of anger, resentment, and screamed at God. My husband was a rock. He lifted me when I was down. He carried me when I was weak. He let God take control when I didn’t. A year passed and we had a frozen embryo that we needed to deal with. The cost of transferring an embryo is about a third less than a fresh IVF cycle, so we saved our money and I called Sher to set up an appointment only to discover that our doctor had left the practice and started his own in another city 2 hours away. Panic much? I did. We chose another doctor, the first one who had an available appointment, Dr. Molina Dayal.

The morning we met with Dr. Dayal, I have to admit was not one that I looked forward to. This was a formality. We would transfer the embryo because we do not believe in destroying life. Since I clearly was not meant to get pregnant, I didn’t see a point in building up hope. Little did I know, she was about to change that.

To make a long story (longer story) short, Dr. Dayal had not been able to have children due to Stage 4 Endometriosis and made it her mission to find a way to fix that for other women who suffered. As we sat and listened to her explain her methods, my heart lept and tears flowed down my face. God wasn’t punishing us. God didn’t want us to suffer. God just wanted us to WAIT. To be paitent and to let him do His work. We walked out of her office smiling, excited, and completely filled with joy.

It is not easy to have your body filled with chemicals and hormones. My husband is a saint to have endured all of the mood swings and bursts of anger and painful shots that go along with IVF treatments. This particular round of IVF included a new addition to the shots and pills and trips to St. Louis: an Intralipid Transfusion. I sat in a room filled with people receiving various intravenous drugs and wondered what it was about this milky substance that would help me get pregnant. Five days later we transferred our frozen embryo. Ten days later I received another Intralipid Transfusion in my home (thanks to a friend who happened to be a nurse and VERY good at sticking people with needles). Five days later I went and had blood work, and waited for the phone to ring.

I took a day off of work. There was no way I could get that phone call at school and survive. I’m a nervous cleaner, so I hadn’t changed from my husband’s old t-shirt and a pair of old running shorts. My cell phone rang and I stared at it for a moment, standing in the doorway between the hallway and our kitchen. Adrenaline rushed through my body, my heart was practically jumping out of my chest, and my legs were jello as I pressed the button to answer. “Good morning, Nicole! I’m so sorry it took me so long to get back to you, how are you?” At this point I wanted to scream at Amy to just TELL ME! Somewhere, a voice of reason allowed me to utter, “Okay at this point.” “I understand,” she laughed before continuing, “So your numbers are 310 and we will need you to have another blood test in two days.” My brain seemed to be working in slow motion, or reverse, and I stopped her. “I’m sorry, Amy, I don’t know what that means?” I was biting my fingernails. “You’re pregnant!”

I wish I had someone here to record the next moments of my life, so that my children could see how much I love them. I hit the floor, one hand on the phone, face down, Amy listening, and said, “Thank you God. Thank you, Lord. Thank you!” My tears were filled with every ounce of joy that could possibly be inside of a human. My whole life changed in one moment, with two simple words, and nothing would EVER compare to that. Or so I thought at the time.

Dawson is our miracle. Our first miracle, anyway. Frozen for a year, our last hope, and God’s blessing, he is nearly four and is sitting next to me peeling stickers of Lightening McQueen from his new sticker book while I look at him and thank God for His blessings. Remember the part where I mentioned God’s sense of humor? When Dawson was just over a year old, we began to consider going through IVF one more time. Having been raised for a few years as an “only” child at home, I knew how lonely it could be. Once again, we prayed that God would provide the finances and the embryos needed. I had surgery for my Endometriosis one more time, resulting in the loss of my right ovary. Since my left ovary was already “lazy”, there wasn’t much time to waste.

August 3, 2016, while driving to St. Louis to meet Dustin before we received our phone call to confirm pregnant or not, my cell phone rang. I answered and Amy once again asked me how my day was going. My response, “Amy, I’m driving 70 miles an hour right now and if you don’t have good news I may end up in a bad spot!” She laughed, a good sign. “Girl, you are VERY (emphasis hers) pregnant! Your numbers are over 500.” At this point I pulled off onto the shoulder to cry and laugh and enjoy the moment. Praising God and smiling like I’ve only smiled once before, I collected myself and called Dustin. In my calmest, most non-chalant voice ever, I confirmed that we were meeting for lunch. I’m pretty good at keeping secrets. We met, I ran into his arms, and we celebrated with lunch at Arby’s. Nothing but the best for this baby!

Amy’s words kept ringing in my ears. “Very pregnant” seemed confusing. On August 17, 2016 we walked through the doors to Sher and were immediately greeted by Jamie and Dr. Dayal who were as excited as we were to see this baby...maybe a little too excited. “Let’s see how many there are!” Dr. Dayal squealed as she danced into the ultrasound room. Pause. How many? Dustin and I exchanged a look. Moments later, the monitor was on and I was squeezing his hand as she pointed out our baby. Baby A, that is. Because moments later she pointed out Baby B. Yep. Twins. We were floored! Both of the embryos had taken and both babies had healthy heartbeats at 8 weeks of life. We heard the whooping from the nurses station as Dr. Dayal stood up and explained that the nurses were watching from the monitors outside. We laughed so hard and felt so much joy and love in that moment that I though my heart would burst.

So, here we are. The longest trip I’ve taken has resulted in more blessings than I could have known to ask for. It wasn’t relaxing, it wasn’t filled with shopping trips and laziness. Nonetheless, it has been the most rewarding trip I’ve ever been on. And now, I’m preparing to be a stay home mommy with my three miracle babies. My son is growing so quickly it scares me sometimes. The twins are beautiful, funny, exhausting, and completely amazing. There is so much more I could share, and probably will at some point. For today, know that God does not promise us a perfect life, but He is always on the road with us, guiding us along the way. I. Am. Blessed.