Hope resurfaced and I had a pretty enjoyable weekend. We browsed furniture stores (desperately need to replace our nine year old sofa set). Watched Doctor Who. Went to Mass - the kids were surprisingly well-behaved.
I tested again Monday morning. Another negative. I had spent the big bucks and bought the two pack of HPT's with words; I didn't want to spend time deliberating what I was seeing. In my mind, Monday's test took a while to come up with an answer. Given my mental options, I decided to cling to hope, thinking maybe this embryo was just a slow bloomer. This specific HPT reads hcg levels of 25 and above. Maybe I just wasn't quite there yet.
Got up early yesterday to drive down to my closest lab that will run STAT tests while Bryan stayed home from PT to watch the kids. And then I waited and waited and waited. And paced and prayed. Turns out the lab forgot to send off my blood for testing until their evening shipment. We finally got the call around 7 in the evening that my tests were indeed negative.
Last night I alternated between feeling numb and sad. I'm kind of past the angry stage - that was mostly over the weekend when I kept psyching myself out in different directions.
I prayed too and from the lab yesterday (a 45 min drive each way). I kept trying to pray for a sense of surrender, that I fully and completely place myself in God's hands. And I just couldn't do it. My prayer kept coming out, "God, I'm trying, I'm really trying to surrender myself to Your will. But I don't like where I think this is headed. I still think my will is best. I know I should surrender myself to You. I know You're looking out for me. And all three of those little ones are likely with You [this was before I knew the test results]. But, God, I want to hold on to my hopes and dreams just a little longer. I'd rather pray for a miracle than surrender to what seems to be the inevitable. I'm trying here, God, but I don't like it. Not one bit."
In some ways, I am comforted because this loss is different. No, scratch that, the pain is somewhat lessened because this loss is different. This was our third embryo transfer (two in 2009 and this one). Back when we miscarried in July of 2009, I couldn't help but blame myself, my body must have been deficient in some way. Or I personally must have made some bad choice that forced the end of that pregnancy. I've since come to realize that a lot of embryos just won't make it. No amount of coding or clinic predictions will make a difference. Though I will add that these embryos being fifteen years old did not help their case.
I'm also not as alone this time around. I have two other Catholic friends who have experienced embryo adoption; they also know the pain, the struggle, the wait. And there are a growing number of women blogging about embryo adoption, sharing their personal hopes and dreams and fears. And successes.
There are two bloggers whom I follow whose personal thoughts on loss deeply affected me. Jen is a fellow embryo adoption blogger; her most recent embryo transfer was the day before mine. She wrote eloquently about their grief in an entry called "Clinging to the Truth."
Similarly, Marie is a Catholic blogger who has dealt with recurrent miscarriage. One of her recent entries was titled "Why God?" and it has echoed so many of the things I've felt in my heart.
I told the kids last night that there weren't baby seeds in my tummy anymore, that they had gone to be with Jesus instead. We're going through the "why" stage now with the twins and, inevitably, a volley of why's followed. "Why, Momma?" "Well, Jesus decided He wanted the baby seeds home with Him instead of growing in my tummy." "Why?" "Sometimes baby seeds just aren't strong enough to grow for very long. So Jesus calls them home." "Why?" And then I had no more answers.
taken from Jen's entry linked earlier