A New Year

The year 2011 has gotten off to a crazy start. First, the Seahawks upset the Saints in the NFC wild card game. Then, we got a call informing us that a birthmother who had already delivered her baby had selected us as her adoptive family, and we became parents overnight.

Before I launch into the story about how our son, Calvin, joined our family, I want to provide the backdrop for the amazing sequence of events that the Lord orchestrated in a way and at a time I would have never anticipated. I should also forewarn you that this post will be quite lengthy, so unless you have mad speed-reading skills like Colin and Gavin, don't expect to pound this out in five minutes or less.

In my last post I wrote on Christmas Eve, I stated that my hope in Christ as my loving Savior remained firm, which was and is absolutely true. However, my hope for becoming a mom was pretty much toast. The trials of the past year – all the failed fertility treatments, unanswered prayers, and physical and emotional struggles, in addition to the accumulated disappointments over the course of the past three years of trying to conceive – weighed down on me during the holidays, and I felt totally defeated. Being around my pregnant sister-in-law, Kim, who treated me with utmost sensitivity and respect, for which I will forever be grateful, made my heart ache simply because I didn't know if I'd ever be able to become a mom; I didn't know if I'd have a little one to hold and care for next Christmas or any thereafter.

Many times throughout this whole process of trying to expand our family, I've felt that I've reached the end of the line, that God had dealt me more hardships than I could handle. Last month was one of the lowest of those lows, as I had reached the point that I didn't want to pursue any more fertility treatments. We had a consultation with a specialist at Seattle Reproductive Medicine, and though it did provide some useful information, which I won't go into detail about now, it didn't make me much more inclined to keep trying the fruitless, expensive medical route. And while we knew there were several options still available to us, including embryo adoption and traditional adoption, I didn't really want to think about any of them. Stick a fork in me, I was done. Done with the disappointment, done with the uncertainty, done with thinking about ever having a baby.

Interestingly, during a conversation with my mother- and sister-in-law over the holidays, I told them about how some adoptive families get matched with a birthmother immediately after she gives birth, that they get a call and have to drop everything to pick up their child at the hospital, going from a childless couple one minute to parents the next. I asserted that that was something I couldn't ever imagine doing since I'm such a planner and would not feel capable of making that drastic life change in such a short amount of time.

(Insert "never say never" and other applicable cliches here.)

This feeling of hopelessness pervaded my thoughts at the start of the New Year. I even began writing a blog post about the aftermath of IVF and how we'd decided to take a break from fertility treatments. But before I got a chance to finish that post, we got a few e-mails from our adoption agency. Apparently they were having a busy start to the New Year, as they had three birthmothers contact them about wanting to make adoption plans, including one who had already given birth. Colin and I read the e-mails explaining each situation and decided to show our profile to two bmoms, the first time we had elected to do so. With one of those e-mails, I broke my own rule about not looking at baby pictures the adoption agency sent for fear they would make me cry, and I did almost break down when I saw the photo of a sweet, cherub-faced baby boy sound asleep in his hospital bed. There were some health concerns about this baby, but his MRI results came back normal, so we told the adoption agency we still wanted our profile shown to his bmom.

That was Friday, Jan. 7. We spent the weekend praying about the two bmoms, trying not to get too worked up about the possibility of adopting one of their babies. At church that Sunday, Pastor Dave gave a sermon about how Abraham and the rest of the individuals in Genesis who made it into the Faithful Hall of Fame in Hebrews were pretty much all screw-ups. They lied, cheated, stole, murdered, committed adultery, rejected God's sovereignty, etc., and yet God still remained faithful to them. The sermon really spoke to me, as I've felt like a total failure in terms of trusting the Lord throughout these struggles with infertility, and yet He has provided for me and comforted me despite all my shortcomings. So that was encouraging, but I still felt nervous about the bmoms looking at our profiles, and had a hard time getting to sleep that night. I didn't know it was the beginning of the end for me as far as sleeplessness goes.

On Monday, the day the bmoms were going to look at the profiles, I tried to get some work done, and to distract myself, thought about what we should do with the new hutch we bought on Saturday (only $160 on craiglist!). I carried my phone around with me to the bathroom and everywhere else, and checked my e-mail every two minutes. I repeated Proverbs 3:5 – "Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding" – to myself over and over and over again. Colin went into work briefly in the morning, then came home and started to freak out, which is a rarity for him. The impact of becoming a parent instantaneously hit him before it hit me, but after some time to think about it and talk to his bro, he calmed down, thankfully just in time for my freak-out.

In the late morning, I got an e-mail from our caseworker, who said we were a finalist for the bmom of the baby boy whose picture had melted my heart. I gotta say, that was a weird message, knowing that we were finalists for the bmom, as if this was American Adoptive Idol or something. She wanted to verify that we were OK with an open adoption, to which we replied yes, as long as we started out slowly and used the adoption agency for facilitation. We waited for a few agonizing hours after that until 5 p.m., then I resigned myself to the probable fact that we wouldn't hear anything until Tuesday. We made dinner, started watching the BCS championship game, and tried to relax. Then around 7:30, I got a call from an unknown phone number. It was another caseworker who told me that the bmom had looked at all the profiles and had made her decision. She had picked us.

It's difficult for me to describe my feelings at that very moment because I was absolutely shocked. My mind couldn't process what the caseworker was telling me, and I could barely say anything to her other than "That's great." What a lame response to the news that you're going to be a parent! She mentioned a few things about the baby boy, like how there were a few minor medical issues and tests to be run, but overall he was healthy and quite alert, already interacting with the nurses and others who came to visit him. She told us we needed to drive out the next day to meet the bmom and our son. Then she asked if I had any questions, and for the life of me I couldn't think of anything, other than "What the freakin' heck is going on?!?" (which I refrained from saying aloud).

At some point during this conversation, I looked at Colin and mouthed the words "I can't do this." When I got off the phone, my hands were shaking, and the floodgates opened wide. The emotions of that moment – joy, relief, fear, and surprise – totally overwhelmed me, and my stalwart husband hugged me tightly and whispered soothing reassurances until I calmed down. Honestly I don't remember much else about that particular moment due to the shock. As you may remember, the last time I was in shock was after I got the call from the doctor that we didn't get any embryos from IVF. So in the span of a little more than 50 days, I went from one state of shock to another, each under very, very different circumstances.

Once I had regained a semblance of composure, we began calling various family members and friends and telling them the news. I e-mailed my boss and sent her all my work in progress, apologizing for ditching work so suddenly. Then I did what any sane person would do and started furiously cleaning the house, which is one of my foremost coping mechanisms. Colin resorted to his: playing Call of Duty.

As you can expect, I didn't get much sleep that night. I got up early on Tuesday and shoveled the driveway (it had snowed several inches over the past 24 hours) to help prevent Colin from wrecking his back before our drive and to help us get on the road as soon as possible. We dropped Kaffy off at the kennel and headed out in a snowstorm. En route, Colin downloaded a baby name app on his iPhone, and we started discussing possible names for our baby boy, an experience that was and still is hard to believe that we were undertaking. We narrowed it down to our top three: Calvin, Caleb, and Caden.

Immediately upon arriving at the adoption agency office, we were told that the birthmother and her mom were there waiting to meet us. We walked in and said hello to our son's biological mother and grandmother, which was a strange and wonderful experience. I won't go into much detail about our bmom to protect her privacy, but I will say that she is a friendly, sweet young woman who impressed us with her maturity and strength. The grace with which she was handling the whole situation was amazing to me, and I am so, so very thankful for her and for how much love she demonstrated toward our son.

As weird as the scenario was, we actually had a great time chatting with her and her mom, and to me it felt very comfortable and natural. She told us she picked us because of our personalities as illustrated in our family profile, and especially liked how important our family was to us, because her family is so important to her, and they're all supportive of her adoption decision. Apparently, they had all looked at the family profiles separately, and each of them had picked the "Seahawks couple" for the adoptive family (we had a photo of us in our jerseys in the profile book), which to me is another example of God's hand at work in this story.

After socializing for a while and discussing our preferences for an open adoption – starting out slowly with pictures and e-mails and occasional visits at the adoption agency – we said goodbye to our bmom and her mom and headed to our next meeting with the attorney. Fortunately that meeting was pretty quick, and our attorney laid the groundwork for the necessary legal steps. As part of the conversation, he had to start a document for the new birth certificate the baby would be given when the adoption was finalized, and he asked us what name we wanted to give him. So right there on the spot, we decided to name him Calvin, representing Calvin and Hobbes, Colin's favorite comic strip; giving him the same first and last initials as Colin; and providing him with an easy nickname I love, Cal. My bro-in-law John later pointed out that Calvin is a combination of Colin and Gavin – how cool is that!

Finally after all these meetings, we got to go to the hospital and see our son for the first time. Walking into the hospital, I was so nervous I thought I would pass out. I'm not sure why I was so nervous then, maybe for some ridiculous fear that he wouldn't like us. But in any case, after sterilizing my hands before entering the NICU, I walked into my baby boy's room as if in a dream. I saw him in his little plastic hospital cradle, hooked up to a ton of monitors, and watched him breathe peacefully in his sleep. Then the nurse asked me if I wanted to hold him, and she handed him over to me, a moment I will remember forever. My first thought when I held him was "This is the most beautiful baby I have ever seen." My second thought: "This is not my baby." Not in the sense that I didn't feel a connection with him, but more in the sense of incredulity. I was completely astonished that this amazing blessing was happening to me, and try as I might, I could not hold back a few tears of joy and wonder. We took several pictures, and then Colin held him for the first time, and I cried again. It was unbelievably precious for me to see my beloved husband being a loving father and cradling our son in his arms.

The next several hours were a blur (well, the whole trip was a blur, but this timeframe wasn't all that exciting, and thus can be summarized without going into too much detail). We had a quick dinner, went on a shopping spree at Target to get a few essentials like a car seat, and headed back to the hospital to see Calvin. His birthmother was there with her father, and she gave us a gift for Calvin – a little teething toy and a froggie rattle, which she had bought because I'd mentioned that I'd like to do a frog theme in his nursery. They took off, and we got to spend more time watching Calvin sleep. The nurses used this time to inundate us with instructions about how to care for a newborn. They were all so kind and nurturing, and apologetically commented on how "This is probably a lot of info to take in." It was, and by the end of the evening, my brain was ready to explode. It was exhausting staying there so long, but definitely worth it, as we got to see Calvin open his eyes and watch us intently as he ate, which we've now discovered is his absolutely favorite thing to do. Needless to say, it was a long day. We got to our hotel, exhausted from all the day's emotional activities, and tried to sleep (unsuccessfully).

The next day was no less busy, involving another meeting with the attorney and a long time of kickin' it at the hospital, waiting for the doctors to finish their business with Calvin. They ordered some tests but didn't seem concerned about much other than his tiny extremities, which were tightly clenched and lacked flexibility. The working theory is that he was pretty squished in utero, and all the doctors thought he would improve with some physical therapy. They also had him wear some splints that looked really uncomfortable, and after getting home, we ditched them since they were too big and he obviously hated wearing them.

We waited and waited and waited, all the while having nurses coming in and out overwhelming us with more info about what and what not to do. Our caseworker came in and had us sign a ton of paperwork, then finally, the doctor gave the OK to release him. That was around 5 p.m., just in time for us to hit rush hour. Calvin did great on the way back and slept the whole way, even though I kept checking on him every three seconds to see if he was still breathing.

When we arrived home, our friends Chris and Elizabeth were there to greet us with dinner. They said "Welcome home, Mommy and Daddy!" and I wondered who they were talking about. On our doorstep was a pizza and bag of baby gifts from Colin's colleagues, the first of many gifts and care packages given to us from our wonderful friends. Calvin started to wake up, so we picked him up and took him into his room. That is another moment I will always remember, as we walked into the room that our friends from church had completely furnished, with a crib and diapers and blankets and everything we could possibly need plus more. They answered our desperate call when we let them know we were leaving to pick up our son, and they outfitted Calvin's nursery in a room that had not been prepared at all, save for the paint on the walls.

On the wall, they posted signs of encouragement, including one with 1 Samuel 1:27 on it – "I prayed for this child, and the Lord has granted me what I asked of Him." I am still amazed to think that this has happened, that God has answered my prayer. And though there are many issues still unresolved, especially concerning the legal process, and I'm pretty tired, after several sleepless nights even before we brought Calvin home, I am overjoyed to be a mommy to the most precious baby boy.

Our main prayer request right now is for the remaining legal issues. To try to summarize them, the birthmother has signed consents, but the birthfather is undisclosed. According to state law, a notification must be printed in a legal journal as a formality to allow the birthfather to acknowledge paternity. From the date of publication, which will be in a few weeks, he has 45 days to step forward and try to claim parental rights before they are automatically terminated. It is highly unlikely that this will happen, and according to the lawyer, no one ever reads the legal journal. However, there's still that scary possibility that he could find out, so we're praying that that doesn't happen, and that parental rights will be completely terminated so that we can proceed with our petition for custody. Of course, we could also use prayer for us learning how to be parents, and for Calvin's legs and arms to continue improving in flexibility.

There's much more I can talk about Calvin and his fun personality, our experiences during our first week of having him, how Kaffy is adjusting to having a little person in our home, and our first court hearing, but Colin and my mom are telling me to go to sleep since Calvin is currently asleep, and from what I hear, all moms know they should sleep whenever their child is sleeping.

So I'll wrap up this story by emphasizing God's amazing timing in bringing Calvin into our lives. He planned for Calvin to be born at a time when Colin was still on break from school, when we somehow miraculously had enough money in the bank for the hefty adoption fees, and after we had tried an unsuccessful attempt at IVF. Had we not tried IVF yet, or if IVF had worked, we would not have elected to show our profile to any birthmothers. We would not have taken home our beloved son.

In my post-IVF entry, I spurned any forthcoming Christian-ese comments about how God didn't want IVF to work because He had something better planned for us. I should've known He would prove me wrong, giving me a gift that is far, far better than what I had asked for in a way that I had never, ever expected could happen.

Hope for the holidays

This isn't the Christmas I'd hoped for.

Actually, this is the third Christmas in a row that isn't turning out the way I'd wanted. For three years now, my vision of a perfect Christmas involved me being pregnant or being a mom. But apparently, my vision isn't God's will for my life, at least not this year, yet again.

This disappointment is made even more hurtful by the fact that God has answered others' prayers for pregnancy and a child, but not mine. They get to celebrate Christmas with their children and/or anticipate their children being born at some point in the future, but I don't know if I'll have children at any point in the future. For them, this is the most wonderful time of the year; for me, it's the crap, crappiest season of all.

For the past few weeks leading up to Christmas, I've pouted and pitied myself and gotten irritated with people asking me for gift ideas since I won't be getting the main gift I want. But then, I had a revelation, something that may come as a shock to you, as it did to me:

Christmas isn't about me.

This idea and its implications about the sinfulness of my sullen attitude have been validated through several experiences in recent weeks: reading the story of Jesus' birth at our small group Christmas party, listening to a sermon on God's promises represented by the post-Flood rainbow, and hanging out with friends who have kids but are going through other hardships that can make the holidays difficult to endure. All of this helped me remember that although I don't have a "perfect life" in the sense that I don't have a baby, my life is perfect in the sense that I have a Saviour. And more than that, this life isn't about pining away for the good things I don't have; it's about giving praise and glory to the Giver of all good things.

So, this isn't the Christmas I'd hoped for, but I do have hope in my Redeemer who gave me the greatest gift of all.

Remembering Emily

Lately I've lacked the time and motivation to do much blogging, but today I wanted to write a quick post in remembrance of my first sister-in-law, Emily Soule Hesse, who died in a car accident six years ago on this day.

My sister-in-law Emily reminded me of my own sister Emily in several ways: she was smart, beautiful, funny, and a stylish dresser. She was an extremely passionate person, always eager to talk about her interest in psychology or desire to help those struggling with eating disorders. Most of all, she was passionate about her faith, family, and friends, and when you talked with her over coffee, you could tell she was really listening and truly cared.

Emily also reminded me of myself in a few ways: she was sensitive and wore her heart on her sleeve, she hated to lose at putt-putt golf, and she loved a pretty sarcastic guy who enjoyed teasing his wife. She was my ally and friend, and I was sad when she left this home for her eternal one.

We will always remember Emily and look forward to seeing her along with other loved ones in heaven someday.

Today I have a new sister-in-law, another ally and friend, and I am grateful to have her join our family, to have another woman to talk to and hang out with when the guys are playing Call of Duty or lamenting the latest Seahawks' loss. I'm also thankful for Emily's sisters, Beckah and Jess, and my parents-in-law, and on some days, my brother-in-law Gavin. And of course I'm blessed with the greatest parents and siblings and other bro-in-law ever.

It's good to be part of the Hesse/Brandler family.

Many thanks

I know I laid the whole grief thing on a little thick in my last post, and while I don't need to apologize for being honest about my feelings, I should reassure everyone that I'm doing OK. Not great, but OK. The initial shock is over; I've had several good cries and probably will have more. But my soul is not in the depths of despair, as the Psalmists or Anne of Green Gables would say.

The response of family and friends has been overwhelming. We've received calls, e-mails, Facebook messages, cards, food dropped off at our door, and offers from family members to hop on a plane and fly out to be with us. Being on the receiving end of such encouragement and compassion is a little strange for me, almost to the point of making me uncomfortable, because I like to be the one to help others and show them love. So this experience has been humbling as well as harrowing, which is a good thing – it's important to learn how to accept grace without feeling compelled to reciprocate.

While I am wholeheartedly grateful for everyone's kindness, I have to acknowledge that I can't repay it. I can't even respond individually to each person's message right now, though I hope to do so eventually, because it would take a really, really long time to call or e-mail all those who have been praying for and supporting us. I feel like the arrival of our children, however/whenever that happens, will be the most anticipated event since Brangelina's twins were born. (By the way, I would not mind if you prayed for us to have twins, as that has been my dream since I read Sweet Valley High in grade school.)

And of course we ask for your continued prayers. After we heard the news that we didn't get any embryos, I told Colin I didn't know what to pray for anymore with regard to our infertility struggles. His response was "Pray for the story of our children."

We don't have any children of our own to be thankful for this Thanksgiving, but the Lord has given us countless other blessings that we appreciate. In the latest Whitworth Mind & Heart, which is often written with the help of my PR whiz sister Emily, new school president Beck Taylor referenced 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18 – "Rejoice always; pray without ceasing; in everything give thanks, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus." I cannot say that I rejoice in the fact that IVF didn't work, that I am thankful what might have been our last chance to get pregnant was a failure. I'm just not there yet. But I can give thanks to Him for pouring out His love on us through our family and friends, and I can thank all of you for being instruments of His grace.

It didn't work

And I mean it really didn't work. Out of six eggs that were retrieved, only three of which were mature enough, none of them were fertilized. Even with the most advanced reproductive medical technique available – a procedure called ICSI, in which sperm are injected into the eggs – none of them were fertilized. We've achieved the ultimate fertility fail.

The retrieval was not extremely successful, either. Six eggs were extracted, several shy of the usual 10-12, which the doctor thinks may be due to my endometriosis. On top of that, my blood pressure dropped when I tried to get up after the procedure, and they had to do a blood test to make sure I didn't need a transfusion. I didn't; I was just dehydrated and in need of fluids. Thankfully, my friend Elizabeth and her daughter stayed with me at the clinic while all this was going on and kept me company until Colin could get off work and take me home. When we left, the doctor said she expected from those six eggs, we'd probably get 1-2 embryos.

We waited for the results the next day. I did a little work, read my Bible, listened to worship songs, and prayed pretty much every minute. Colin had to teach class and go to meetings, the last thing he wanted to do at such a tense, uncertain time. We waited until 3:30, when the doctor called me and said, "I'm afraid I have bad news. We didn't get any embryos."

I keep replaying this statement over and over again in my mind. Like the times when people have called to say that someone I love has died, I get stuck in that moment and feel nearly paralyzed with shock and devastation.

Our doctor was very kind, sympathetic, and apologetic. She said she wouldn't have told us she thought we'd have 1-2 embryos if she didn't really believe that would be the case. She said I had three "beautiful"eggs, and the sperm looked good, and the ICSI process went fine, so she didn't know why they didn't get fertilized. She said if we decided to try IVF again, she would use a different protocol of medicine to produce better stimulation, and she even convinced the clinic to waive the ICSI fee the next time around. She said she was sorry it didn't work. She said, "I wish I could just give you a baby."

I got off the phone and began sobbing. Colin held me in his arms and I wept until I felt numb. We sat on our living room couch for hours, while the sun went down and our phones kept ringing, not feeling like getting up to turn on the lights or check our messages. Poor Kaffy stared at us, whimpering, seeming to sense our anguish. Our little family stayed there, grieving in the dark, trying to process the loss of the ability to add to our family.

Neither Colin nor I had high hopes of IVF working. We recognized the reality that at most, there was a 50% chance of us getting pregnant. So we were prepared for the pregnancy test to come back negative. We were not prepared for the possibility that we wouldn't get any embryos, that we wouldn't make it all the way through the IVF process.

This probably doesn't make a lot of sense to those who haven't been through infertility, but in my mind, even having one embryo result from IVF would have been a blessing because it would've meant that Colin and I had at least one baby. And if we had been able to transfer the embryo, even if it didn't implant, at least I would have been "pregnant" for a short while. Of course, going through all that and not having the embryo implant would have been a terrible blow as well because a little life would have been lost. One scenario isn't better than the other; they are equally painful and disappointing. It's just difficult not being able to complete a process that you have invested in so much financially, physically, and emotionally.

It's also hard to grasp the implications of the failed fertilization. Are my eggs and Colin's sperm genetically incompatible? Is conception, whether naturally or in a Petri dish, physiologically impossible for us? It sure looks that way.

I absolutely believe all the verses that say nothing is impossible with God. He's the Creator of all life, for cryin' out loud; it'd be ridiculous to think He couldn't create a biological child out of our genes. It's not a matter of power; it's a matter of preference. For whatever reason, He is choosing to not give us a biological child.

And that is the hardest blow of all. I have prayed over and over and over again for a baby, and He has said no. Colin has prayed, our families have prayed, our friends and several others we don't even know about have prayed, and He has said no. He has answered many, many of my prayers for other issues in miraculous ways, and has always been faithful to love and take care of me even when I've been utterly faithless. He has rescued me from my sin and given me eternal salvation; I have nothing to complain about. I am not complaining that God hasn't given me something I deserve; I am crying because He hasn't given me something I've earnestly asked Him for, something that would bring me joy and bring Him glory.

I know what some people will say to try to comfort us because I've heard these standby expressions before in other situations: "When God shuts a door He always opens a window" and "God didn't answer your prayers because He has something better in store for you." First off, these statements are not necessarily true – some people go through life one trial after another, experiencing terrible suffering that isn't relieved until they get to heaven. Just think of all the missionaries who lived under persecution and were martyred for their faith. Secondly, these statements are not helpful or comforting. Right now, I don't see an open window, and I don't know what "better" thing God has planned for us. The future is uncertain; the present is painful.

I believe the Lord has a purpose in choosing to not allow me and my beloved husband to conceive, so I don't need any placating words of wisdom or suggestions as to what His reasons are. I just need time for God to heal my broken heart – my heart which He has broken. I need time to grieve over something I never had.

Big day tomorrow

Our retrieval is scheduled for 10 a.m. tomorrow. I don't have much to say other than that I'm thankful to be moving forward with this process.

We had another GracefulWait women's meeting this evening, and one of the main topics of discussion was fear and anxiety. If I'm a pro at anything, it'd be that. You name it, I've worried about it, especially when it comes to medical issues. Colin thinks I should get some type of filtering software – you know, the kind people use to block porn – and instead use it to prevent access to WebMD and health chat forums.

A ton of people must be praying for us, because as we prepare for the big procedure tomorrow, I am surprised to find myself not freaking out. I'm definitely nervous and concerned about the outcome, and wouldn't say I'm completely at peace about everything. Yet I feel like I am safe, that I'm being protected and cared for. It's hard to describe, and I can only attribute it to God's faithfulness and sustaining grace.

While reading through the Psalms, I recently came across a verse that I'll be clinging to over the next several days: "When my anxious thoughts multiply within me, Your consolations delight my soul" (Psalm 94:19). And I'll keep repeating my mantra that has gotten me through many an invasive and awkward gyno procedure: "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me" (Philippians 4:13).

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First, the update: The ultrasound yesterday showed that several follicles were growing, though some were borderline in terms of the threshold size needed for retrieval. Also, my progesterone level was a little high. Given this information, our kind and thorough doctor explained that if progesterone levels are too high, it can affect the success rates of IVF, so she presented us with two options. We could do the retrieval on Wednesday and likely not get many eggs, or do it on Thursday and have more eggs but possibly have to freeze all the embryos and transfer them later once my progesterone levels were regulated.

This news was a little disconcerting, as it sounded to me like both options were less than ideal. To relieve my anxiety, my kind and caring husband called the doctor and discussed the situation at length. While I've heard that frozen transfers aren't as successful as "fresh" transfers, the doctor said that those studies refer to frozen embryos transferred after fresh ones, meaning that they already used the best-looking embryos. She reassured him that studies done with "freeze all" embryo transfers have not shown statistically significant differences in pregnancy rates from fresh embryo transfers.

Pretty confusing stuff, though I think I understood the point: The more follicles, the better, even if they aren't transferred right away. After talking and praying about it, Colin and I decided to go with the doctor's recommendation and wait another day.

We won't know for sure until the retrieval on Thursday; however, the ultrasound and blood tests today looked promising. So now we wait and see what happens, and pray that the conditions will be favorable for a successful retrieval and transfer.

Enough of the gyno talk for now; let's move on to the explanation for the title of this post: It's the name of a recent South Park episode poking fun at everyone's favorite social networking time-waster – I mean, tool – Facebook. In this episode, Stan gets sucked into a Tron-like Facebook world where he must defeat his virtual self at Yahtzee in order to delete his profile, while Kyle loses all his friends after accepting a friend request from a nerdy Farm Town enthusiast. It's pretty funny, but not nearly as much as this hilarious post from an IF blogger writing in response to a Washington Post article on infertile couples and Facebook. This is seriously the funniest thing I've read online of late, and I think that even those who haven't been through infertility will get a kick out of this fictitious stream of status updates and comments featuring the beloved characters from 90210 (original series, thankfully).

It's funny, and it's sad, because it's true. Facebook can be a great way to reconnect with friends and family and let everyone know what's going on in your life, but by enabling this open channel of communication, it exposes you to a world of hurt. For every person who posts a status update about something wonderful that has happened to them or been given to them, there is someone who has either had that same wonderful thing taken from them or has never experienced it and perhaps never will. Such is life: haves and have-nots, blessings and misfortunes, times to rejoice and times to weep.

This truism applies to any situation – work, school, family, friends, church, hobbies, sports (if you're a Seattle sports fan, you're more accustomed to the misfortune end of the spectrum). So it's completely natural for Facebook users to brag about how great their lives are, or conversely, complain about how the world is out to get them and make them miserable.

In my Facebook news feed, the overriding topics by far are pregnancy and kids, which is understandable given the demographics of my friend group. I can't blame anyone for doing this, and certainly wouldn't expect anyone to stop posting updates about any topic, children or otherwise, for fear of hurting a friend. It's nearly impossible to post something that won't bother someone in some way.

However, I do think it is helpful to communicate major news directly to those who may be going through a hard time instead of blabbing it to the masses. I'm referring specifically to pregnancy announcements, though this could probably apply to other scenarios, e.g. if you get engaged, call your friend who's single, or if you just landed a new job, e-mail your pal who's out of work.

You see, reading a Facebook status update announcing someone's pregnancy is equivalent to a kick in the junk. It produces a sudden, stabbing pain that leaves a lingering soreness and possible mental scarring. It shoves the fact that God has blessed that woman with the gift of a little life growing inside her directly into the face of a woman from whom God has withheld that gift, and compels her to send congratulations in the comments section to fulfill her duty as a loving friend. And if you think that's bad, consider the shock of going to the profile page of a friend who recently contacted you about a non-pregnancy-related topic, and discovering that her profile picture has been replaced with a sonogram image. Ouch.

When you're going through infertility or infant loss, these updates blindside you, and the resulting comments are no better. I appreciated how the blogger I mentioned earlier highlighted the disparity of comments on updates associated with pregnancy/children versus those pertaining to one's profession or industry. Post about your kids, you get hundreds of comments on how cute they are, what fun it is to be parents, etc. Post about getting a promotion or some major accomplishment you achieved at work, and you get maybe 2 likes and/or a comment chastising you for boasting about yourself.

Again, I think this is human nature. Talking about your children and posting photos of them is fun, and despite my grief over not having a child yet, I still enjoy hearing about my friends' families. It's just a heck of a lot easier paying attention to the Facebook activities of friends who have been sympathetic and supportive of us through our struggles. Knowing that they care and still want to maintain a friendship with me even though I'm not a mom yet helps me love them and their children without feelings of jealousy or bitterness.

Of course, I could take the Matthew 5:30 "if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off" approach and simply not log into Facebook anymore. As the Stirrup Queens blogger mentions in her post on this topic, some people question why these "barren b****es" don't just get over it and delete their accounts. I agree with this to some extent, but think it should be noted that disengaging from connections with family and friends on Facebook would only further isolate those people who are hurting and in need of support. And when you feel alone, like you're a social pariah who can no longer relate to most of your friends, breaking away from relationships and suffering in private only make things worse. Believe me, I know from experience.

That said, in lieu of upcoming events, I think I'll probably need to go off the grid for an indeterminate time period, especially if/when we're waiting to find out about the success or failure of IVF. To avoid any potential meltdowns, I need to become bubble girl for a little while and protect myself from Facebook-induced rages.

Maybe I'll switch to Twitter. Or maybe I'll convince Colin to start a Twitter account on my behalf: Bleep My Wife Says About Her Uterus, coming soon to a CBS station near you.