Impatiently Waiting for our Miracle(s)

That’s how I’ve felt for the last week… overwhelmed. Anytime anyone asks how we are, that’s my response: “overwhelmed”. We knew that with Reid’s PSC, he may have to have a liver transplant one day. We knew that he had an increased chance of cancer. We knew that this could cause some complications and discomfort. But you think, “we’ll deal with it if and when we get there.” We’re there. And it’s a bit surreal. And very overwhelming. I don’t think my mind has rested since I talked to the doctor following Reid’s procedure last Thursday. I wake up and my mind is racing. I go to sleep and my mind is racing. It’s exhausting! I am thankful to have some answers though, and a “plan” (ha, that’s funny). Reid has been feeling better since we got home. He hasn’t had a fever in 2 ½ days (we were on edge with his fever spiking every couple of hours after we got home from the hospital), and he’s eating normally. He is very tired though. I’m not sure if it’s because his bilirubin is so high, o

When I started writing this blog, it was dedicated to one topic – infertility and pregnancy loss. I guess that’s two topics, but very closely related. I did not think the type of miracle I would be impatiently waiting for would change. We now need a miracle for my husband, Reid. A month ago I shared that we were in the hospital and he had cholangitis. At that time, we knew that it meant his Primary Sclerosing Cholangitis (PSC) – an inflammation of the bile ducts in his liver – was progressing. But we weren’t sure by how much. So we had follow up appointments and procedures scheduled with his doctors. Next Tuesday he was set to go have a Spyglass procedure so we could see where he was. He had been feeling significantly better after his last hospital stay, and we thought things were looking much better. Early Wednesday morning he woke me around 3 a.m. with liver pains (yes, unfortunately he actually knows what liver pains feel like). We decided to come into the ER, given his last si

I think one of the worst feelings you can feel is alone. That’s the way I feel this morning. Completely lonely and isolated. Yesterday was our 2 nd baby’s due date. The baby that I carried to 9 ½ weeks. The one that I picked out a crib for and had narrowed down names for. The one that I started a registry for, and had shared the news of with all of our family and friends. The one that I thought was our miracle baby, having found out the day before starting the IVF process that we were pregnant. The one that I wish so badly I was holding in my arms right now. But I am literally the only person on this planet that feels this way about this baby. And I am the only person that realized that yesterday was his due date. I am not writing to tell you how crappy my support system is, because truly they are amazing. I’m not writing to make anyone feel bad for not thinking of the date, although I’m sure this will do just that. I’m writing to say this struggle – this struggle that SO many pe

I’ve mentioned that everyone dealing with pregnancy loss(es) has milestones and anniversaries that hit us, and they’re hard. I’ve been struggling with some of those lately. Reid and I celebrated our 3 rd anniversary this week, and I’m so happy for that. But it also reminds me that 3 years into our marriage, we’re not pregnant, and have no living babies. I know that doesn’t seem like a long time, but it sure feels like it. My sister and her husband (boyfriend at the time) bought us a really nice wine box for our wedding that has a slot for 1 st Anniversary, 3 rd Anniversary, and 5 th Anniversary, and a wine bottle in each. I love it – such a great gift. But I thought for sure that for one of those first two anniversaries I’d have to pass on the wine. I can assure you I drank plenty of it on Wednesday night. And that makes me a little sad. I HATE April. It marks some very hard milestones for us. We discovered we were pregnant with our first on April 17 th , 2015. I was rushe