I posted about this book the other day (LINK) when I ordered it, and just wanted to follow up now that we've received it.
To preface, I think it's a really great idea to share with my child from a young age that we did IVF/FET to have her. I want her to know how desparately we have wanted her for so long. I think a children's book is a great idea. We kind of wanted to start reading this to Baby A around age 3 years old or so.
I think the book is really well done, but I think it may be a little more clinical/precise than we wanted to be at that age. It uses the word "sp.erm" an awful lot - while I plan on using more clinical words than "hoo-ha" with her, I don't know that I'll be quite ready for the S word. JTD read it, and had slightly more humorous observations - I wish I had a scanner, but the illustration of the father handing his sample over to the lab tech had a big smile on both's faces. That is not how JTD remembers it - it was more of a furtive hand-off. (He also pointed out that the sample glass itself was unrealistically full, which made me laugh.)
I know it's crazy, and I don't know what I'd do for illustrations, but I've been thinking about making my own book for Baby A. I've seen several books that are great at explaining about the angel baby who went before them, so I feel like I have a lot of resources for introducing her to why Maddie isn't here, but want something to introduce her to IVF/FET at a younger age (I think this book will be great when she's older, just maybe not so great for early on). I don't know, it's a lot to think about.
Showing posts with label IVF. Show all posts
Showing posts with label IVF. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Why Can't I Have Both?
One thing I've been thinking a lot about lately is the whole "I wish Maddie were here" thing. For most people, it's true that, if their babies they lost had made it, their subsequent children wouldn't physically have been here. We're in the unique position that this isn't really the case. Maddie and Baby A were embryos that were frozen at the same time, and both were transferred at later dates. Their DNA and (I believe) souls were already formed and were just waiting for us to transfer them. In fact, we still have two babies frozen. It's entirely possible that, if Maddie would have lived, that we could have had both of our little girls with us at some point.
So, why couldn't I have both of them? I wish with all my heart every day that it were the case, why couldn't I have it? I know that the simple answer is because it wasn't God's will. This is what He needed it to be - He needed Maddie to be born as she was, to give us the gifts that she did. He is keeping her safe and happy forever. I find beauty in the fact that my girls are technically genetic twins, and I firmly believe that they will be close despite everything.
-------
I read about this (LINK) on LFCA the other day, and immediately showed JTD. He agreed with me that we really want our babies to know all about the IVF/FETs, and how much we wanted them. I ordered a copy of this, and hope it will be delivered this week - I just wanted to share it with any other IVF/FET moms out there.
So, why couldn't I have both of them? I wish with all my heart every day that it were the case, why couldn't I have it? I know that the simple answer is because it wasn't God's will. This is what He needed it to be - He needed Maddie to be born as she was, to give us the gifts that she did. He is keeping her safe and happy forever. I find beauty in the fact that my girls are technically genetic twins, and I firmly believe that they will be close despite everything.
-------
I read about this (LINK) on LFCA the other day, and immediately showed JTD. He agreed with me that we really want our babies to know all about the IVF/FETs, and how much we wanted them. I ordered a copy of this, and hope it will be delivered this week - I just wanted to share it with any other IVF/FET moms out there.
Monday, August 24, 2009
6 weeks and 6 days - Maddie's Story
Seven weeks ago right now, I was starting labor, and waiting to hear back from the nurse at my OB's office to see if I should go in and be checked. By 1:30 p.m., I was in the hospital. It's odd - that time has both passed quickly, and the days have seemed like forever. I hate being overdramatic, but it was seven weeks ago that my heart broke.
I should provide some background. My husband and I were married on September 3, 2005, and started trying to get pregnant that very day. I'd been diagnosed in the past with severe polycystic ovaries and a light case of endometriosis, so we knew there might be some hurdles.
We went through reading temperatures, rounds of Clomid, artificial insemination, a laparoscopy. None of them worked. Finally, about a year and a half ago, we decided to try in-vitro. We started the process last fall, and my eggs were retrieved in November - I got horribly sick from having ovarian hyperstimulation syndrome, and so they had to freeze our five perfect little embryos until I was better.
We transferred two embryos on February 26, 2009. I couldn't wait for the blood test at the doctor's office - I had to take a pregnancy test. To my delight and nervous anticipation, the first one was positive. So was the second. And the third. The blood tests were so high in hcg that the doctor thought at first that we might be having twins - my little girl had burrowed that deeply into my womb that she released that many hormones.
The next five months were a whirlwind of nervousness at the thought of losing her, and such extreme joy and delight. I experienced the most amazing moment of my life when I first felt her kick, and my husband and I got to share in the joy of finding out that she was a little girl - our little girl.
Then, on July 7, 2009, at 21 weeks and 3 days of pregnancy, tragedy struck. My little angel, my perfect, beautiful girl was stillborn at 12:08 a.m. due to an incompetent cervix and an infection. We were blessed to be able to hold her for an hour and a half that night, and then an hour and a half the next morning.
Now, however, my arms are empty. My heart aches, and my womb has shrunk. My baby is cremated and is with us always, but I can never hold her again. I can never hear her first cry, I can never watch her sleep. I can't understand why something so beautiful and strong was taken, and why I'm left with this void. I just feel this aching chasm.
At the same time, I want to honor my little girl's memory. Maddie brought so much into my life. She taught me that my husband and I could be even closer than we were before. She sacrificed her life so that we could know about this condition and so that we might be able to give her siblings. Perhaps most importantly, she taught me about the capacity of love I have. I always thought people were just being cruel when they told me that you don't know what it means to love until you're a parent - I learned while looking at that perfect, beautiful face that they are right. I loved that girl when she was inside of me, but I learned through the pain of delivery and looking at her that I couldn't ever imagine what love is, or what pain is.
I just wanted to take a moment to share my beautiful, perfect angel with the world. I can't ever have her back, and all I can do is cry a thousand times, but I can make sure her story doesn't die.
I should provide some background. My husband and I were married on September 3, 2005, and started trying to get pregnant that very day. I'd been diagnosed in the past with severe polycystic ovaries and a light case of endometriosis, so we knew there might be some hurdles.
We went through reading temperatures, rounds of Clomid, artificial insemination, a laparoscopy. None of them worked. Finally, about a year and a half ago, we decided to try in-vitro. We started the process last fall, and my eggs were retrieved in November - I got horribly sick from having ovarian hyperstimulation syndrome, and so they had to freeze our five perfect little embryos until I was better.
We transferred two embryos on February 26, 2009. I couldn't wait for the blood test at the doctor's office - I had to take a pregnancy test. To my delight and nervous anticipation, the first one was positive. So was the second. And the third. The blood tests were so high in hcg that the doctor thought at first that we might be having twins - my little girl had burrowed that deeply into my womb that she released that many hormones.
The next five months were a whirlwind of nervousness at the thought of losing her, and such extreme joy and delight. I experienced the most amazing moment of my life when I first felt her kick, and my husband and I got to share in the joy of finding out that she was a little girl - our little girl.
Then, on July 7, 2009, at 21 weeks and 3 days of pregnancy, tragedy struck. My little angel, my perfect, beautiful girl was stillborn at 12:08 a.m. due to an incompetent cervix and an infection. We were blessed to be able to hold her for an hour and a half that night, and then an hour and a half the next morning.
Now, however, my arms are empty. My heart aches, and my womb has shrunk. My baby is cremated and is with us always, but I can never hold her again. I can never hear her first cry, I can never watch her sleep. I can't understand why something so beautiful and strong was taken, and why I'm left with this void. I just feel this aching chasm.
At the same time, I want to honor my little girl's memory. Maddie brought so much into my life. She taught me that my husband and I could be even closer than we were before. She sacrificed her life so that we could know about this condition and so that we might be able to give her siblings. Perhaps most importantly, she taught me about the capacity of love I have. I always thought people were just being cruel when they told me that you don't know what it means to love until you're a parent - I learned while looking at that perfect, beautiful face that they are right. I loved that girl when she was inside of me, but I learned through the pain of delivery and looking at her that I couldn't ever imagine what love is, or what pain is.
I just wanted to take a moment to share my beautiful, perfect angel with the world. I can't ever have her back, and all I can do is cry a thousand times, but I can make sure her story doesn't die.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)


