Adoption is a huge journey. There is no way I could ever cover it in one single blog post. So, as I'm able, I'll be sharing posts and reflections about the places our path has taken us. I figure I have to start in the place where our journey started. And that for us was when the diagnoses were attached to me and I became what was wrong with me. We had tried for over a year to conceive. We had already known that it could be difficult for us to conceive. Just not how difficult. We got into see a highly recommended fertility doctor in Louisville and she was great. Got us in right away. Honestly, that was one of the least fun times I've ever had. That's when I learned about my additional diagnosis of PCOS (poly-cystic ovarian syndrome). If you'd like to read more about what it is I'd recommend this site: www.pcosaa.org/symptoms Those treatments were filled with mixed emotions. The top one was hope. Each cycle there were hopes and visions of what could be forming. But there was also shame. I felt like less of a woman because I had to have help with something that other women were able to do without thinking about it. There was shame because privacy becomes non-existent in this process, I mean it... super non-existent. You don't need all the details only that if you are seeking to maintain some semblance of mystery and dignity, fertility treatments are not for you. We sought IUI treatments. If you really want to know more about what that means check out this site: americanpregnancy.org/infertility/intrauterine-insemination/ Now, important to note here, infertility treatments are not covered by most insurances. Like at all. And on top of that, insurance is then like: So, we were paying out of pocket every time we went in for any part of these many... many visits to go through this. That was depressing enough. Then there were the delightful shots that I had to give myself. That was a lovely experience. Overall, it all made me the shame fall heavier on me because I felt that if I wasn't so "broken" that we wouldn't have to be going through this. And yes, "broken" is exactly the word that bounced around my brain over and over and over until it was all I could hear when we were in the doctor's office, at home, at work... it just stripped away all my self-esteem. When treatments didn't seem to be working and the most recent ultrasound showed that there were new cysts forming, the recommendation became that I should undergo surgery to remove the cysts and basically serve as an exploratory procedure. I ended up having to do this surgery twice, though, because the first surgeon looked around and literally didn't do anything. Our specialist and the next surgeon called it a "peek and freak." He didn't have any clue what to do and got out. So, the next surgeon actually did something. They used a machine called the DaVinci Robot to remove the cysts. In this procedure they also found new growths of endometriosis, more places where there were adhesion's from my surgery when I was 17, and significant damage in general. We were told that the surgeon did his absolute best to try and fix some of the adhesion's but that there was an increased risk if we were to conceive via my right ovary because of an increased chance of it being an ecotopic pregnancy. In other words, I walked away from that surgery in a lot of pain (as the doctor said "Myself and two doctors and a robot took you in an alley and beat you up) and even less hope than when we went into it. There were SO many fake smiles during this process. I really hate to say that but there really were. Some I saved for David because I felt so guilty for being the reason we had to go through all of this. (David was dedicated and loving and supportive through all of this - repeatedly affirming that he loves me and did not consider me "broken" or a problem.) Now, we didn't share the information widely that we were undergoing fertility treatments, but there were a few people that we did share with, and as well as they meant, it's not an easy thing to try and formulate a response to that is supportive and non-judgmental and non-hurtful. (Tiny target for people to hit). One of the responses that I still remember vividly that was so meaningful for me and yet absolutely heart wrenching was when one of the people I had confided in, after a particularly promising treatment, laid her hands over my womb and prayed for me, David, and what might be... As you know the treatment was not successful. And it was after that failed treatment that we made the decision to stop seeking treatment with the intention to eventually pursue adoption. We felt as though we could no longer justify the costs of infertility treatments when that money could be going towards an adoption, especially since IVF would be the next step and the concern of a difficult pregnancy if we did succeed. When that decision was made there was a lot of grief. This was it, this was what "giving up" felt like. This was saying goodbye to those photo albums in my head of what it would be like to be pregnant and give birth. This was closing the door to knowing what it would be like to feel a life growing in me, to feel the kicks, to get the ultrasound pictures. This was saying goodbye to the pregnancy that would never exist. This was grieving the child that had been carried in my mind. There were tears, there was anger, there was frustration. In my grief I struggled with my relationship with God. I felt as though I was being a poor example of faithfulness because I was giving up. I was angry because there are so many examples of women in Scripture who were infertile but conceived because they had been faithful. (i.e. Sarai/Sarah; Rachel; Hannah; Michal; Elizabeth). I screamed "have I not been faithful, Lord?" I felt betrayed by God. I felt betrayed by the body God had given me. Why was this not meant to be for me? Wouldn't I be a good mother? Wouldn't David be an amazing father? What had I done so wrong to deserve this...? It hurt. It took months of prayer and anger and sorrow to get to a healthier place. Here's the thing, though, a healthier place doesn't mean that the grief is gone. Friends, the grief is still here. One of the most overwhelming and frustrating parts of infertility is the difficulty people have understanding the grief that I had and still carry. It is almost an impossible task to explain what it is like to grieve something that never existed. I spent a lot of time, energy, tears and words trying to share with people exactly what I was feeling. How do you help people grasp the concept of mourning over something that didn't ever physically exist. This kind of grief is so painful because it is really hard to get closure on this kind of loss. It's the loss of everything the could have been. In that grief I mourned for the child that I would never have the chance to watch grow in my uterus. It was grief for losing the part of my identity that I had tied up with my ability to conceive and carry a child. The tears were for the fact that I won't have the chance to look down at a child and see David's eyes, my nose, and see what a little us would look like. It was sorrow for the photo album I had in my brain of the future and it became a future I would never have. The other part of this grief was tied up in embarrassment and feelings of being a terrible person. Whenever I would see a baby announcement on Facebook, or a friend would call with pregnancy news, or when new baby pictures were passed around, when I would baptize a baby, I would smile and in my heart, there was happiness for them, but at the same time I was angry and heartbroken. It tore the scab off of the wound that was still on my heart every time. I struggled mightily with this because I felt like an absolutely awful person for being jealous and angry because of someone else's good news. Particularly difficult for me were my friends who had been in touch with us because they knew we were working on the adoption process and wanted advice for how to begin because they'd been having difficulty conceiving, and then it seemed like weeks later they were sending me the news that they had conceived. I was beyond hurt but it is not something that is socially acceptable to express in that moment. Six and a half years ago we officially made the decision to no longer seek to conceive. Our beautiful boy Lucas came into our life four years ago. Two and a half years ago I was switched to 3 month birth control. I lost it when that change happened because it felt even more permanent and final. And it still causes an ache under my joy when loved ones share their pregnancy news. This grief is where our adoption journey truly started. By saying goodbye to what never was and what would never be. It's also where our journey continues because this grief comes on like waves. Sometimes it is low tide and it barely laps at my toes and it almost feels like letting go. Other times I feel as though I might not be able to catch a full breath because I am sinking under these waves that crash over my head repeatedly, my lungs hurt from holding my breath, and the tears stream down my face, and I just hold on as best I can until the water resides. My grief for what never was and never will be takes nothing away from my love for my son. To try and deny it would be more harmful. Therefore, I swim, I tread, I hold my breath, and I watch as the tide goes out again, knowing that there is grief but by the grace of God I have a much larger capacity for grace and love.
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This is a question I often ask myself. It's a pretty layered question and it's one that surfaces a lot for me when we are working on adoption paperwork. There's a lot of questions on adoption paperwork that call for introspection. What are your hobbies, interests, who are your influences, etc. All of this boiled down is supposed to equate to answering the question "who am I?" We are supposed to share pictures of us that show us as "whole people." So, we dig through our pictures to fulfill requirements of what we think we need to have in order to be a person of interest. A conversation that has actually happened between me and my dear husband, David, goes a little like this: David: Hey! Look at this picture. Me: What category does it fill? David: I think it checks off both "has friends" and "looks like a fun person." Do we look fun yet? If you had asked me 15 years ago if I ever thought I would need to find pictures to prove that I both have friends and have fun, I would have laughed. Now I just kind of sigh as I try to figure out if I do indeed have friends and simultaneously have fun. I'm slightly embarrassed that this is a little harder than it seems like it should be. It always cracks me up when I think about using pictures to help articulate who I am - especially in light of a social media world. Because here's how I think now: This is me at my preferred 45* angle from above. And this is head on, which also happens to be the angle that so many of my pictures tend to come from. If only everyone were taller than me so that they only ever saw me from my preferred angle. Therefore, I would appreciate it if, as you read my blog, you picture me sharing these thoughts with you in only the 45* angle way. Which all leads to one of my favorite topics to preach on: our identity in Christ. I love this topic because when I feel crazy and lost in trying to figure out who I am, that reminds me of all I definitely need to know and let's me have space to rest from trying to identify myself according to every other metric. You may be thinking: Well, this is all lovely, but it's not really answering the question that starts of this post, who are you? There's the basics. I'm a 35 year old woman. I'm a wife of almost 9 years. David and I have been together for 13 years. I see a long future of growing old together. I'm mommy. My son, Lucas, is four years old. Lucas is adopted. We were there when he was born. He is the joy of my life. Sometimes it's hard to remember that he is not the sole part of my identity, but an important part. This blends into the next part of who I am. I'm an adoptive mommy. The long, frustrating process became totally worth it when we saw him for the very first time. It grew our family in additional ways that I didn't even expect. We are still in regular contact with his birth-mom which is an incredible gift. I'm so glad that God gave us this surprise that let our family grow in this way. I'm also a daughter. Both my parents are still with us which I know is a gift and joy not everyone still has available to them. They live about two hours away and it's really nice to be close to them again after having been 6+ hours away for almost six years. Sister is another title I get to claim. I'm the youngest of seven children. There are a lot of complicated relationships there but that doesn't make it any less of a part of who I am. ![]() As I didn't get their permission to post a picture of them just use your imagination. We're really a cute family. Honestly, we look a lot alike. There's no way we can deny being related (which, most of the time, is cute). www.brandstoryonline.com/see-face-vase-image/ I live with depression and anxiety. I have for quite a lot of my life. We're actually pretty good friends now. And even though sometimes I don't like to admit it, I have come to recognize the place it holds in my life and the impact it has made on me. I'm a pastor in the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (ELCA). I've been in ministry for about nine years and I absolutely love what I do. I serve a fantastic, vibrant congregation that keeps me busy and keeps my heart full. I've been serving in ministry with them for almost three years now. Before this I served a two point parish in southern Indiana, the part of the world known as Kentuckiana. (Not even kidding). Those congregations were filled with spectacular people who took a chance on a first call pastor and helped me grow in faith, grace, and leadership. I am forever grateful to the members of those churches for all they taught me and the love they showed our family. And now, I'm trying my hand at blogging. I've always loved writing and seeing how I get up every week and preach, I obviously like sharing my thoughts. So, we'll see how this goes. I hope you'll join me for this journey. There's not just one theme that my blog will follow just the musings of my mind as they come to me.
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AuthorI've been Robyn for my whole life. I've been a wife for 10 years and a mom for 5 years. I've been a pastor for about 10 years. I'm still stumbling, but I'm still standing. Archives
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