Making God Laugh

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One in six couples will experience infertility at some point in their marriage. Infertility is medically defined as the inability to conceive after 12 cycles of “unprotected” intercourse or 6 cycles using “fertility-focused” intercourse. A couple who has never conceived has “primary infertility” and a couple who has conceived in the past (regardless of the outcome) but is unable to again has “secondary infertility”. Many couples who experience infertility have also experienced miscarriage or pregnancy loss.

This week, April 24-30, 2016, is National Infertility Awareness Week.

We, a group of Catholic women who have experienced infertility, would like to take a moment to share with you what the experience of infertility is like, share ways that you can be of support to a family member or friend, and share resources that are helpful.

If you are experiencing infertility, please know you are not alone. You are loved and prayed for and there are resources to help you with the spiritual, emotional, and medical aspects of this journey.

The Experience of Infertility

In the beginning of trying to conceive a child, there is much hope and anticipation; for some, even a small fear of “what if we get pregnant right away?” There is planning of how to tell your husband and when you’d announce to the rest of the family. It is a joyful time that for most couples results in a positive pregnancy test within the first few months. However, for one in six couples, the months go by without a positive test and the fears and doubts begin to creep in. At the 6th month of trying using fertility-focused intercourse (using Natural Family Planning), the couple knows something is wrong and is considered “infertile” by doctors who understand the charting of a woman’s pattern of fertility. At the 9th month of trying, the month that, had they conceived that first month, a baby would have been arriving, is often the most painful of the early milestones. At the 12th month mark the couple “earns” the label from the mainstream medical community as “infertile.”

As the months go by, the hopes and dreams are replaced with fears, doubts, and the most invasive doctors’ appointments possible. As a Catholic couple faithful to the teachings of the Church, we are presented by secular doctors with options that are not options for us and are told things like “you’ll never have children” and “you have unexplained infertility;” by our Catholic doctors we are told to keep praying and to have hope as they roll up their sleeves and work hard to figure out the cause of our infertility, with each visit asking, “How are you and your husband doing with all of this?”

We find it hard to fit in. We have faith and values that are different than our secular culture, but our small families, whether childless (primary infertility) or with fewer children than we hoped for (secondary infertility), make us blend in with the norm. We have faith and values that are in line with the teachings of our Church, but our daily life looks so much different than the others who share those values and that makes us stand out in a way that we would rather not. We are Catholic husbands and wives living out our vocation fully. Our openness to life does not come in the form of children; it takes on the form of a quiet “no” or “not yet” or “maybe never” from God each month as we slowly trod along. Our openness to and respect for life courageously resists the temptations presented to us by the secular artificial reproductive technology industry.

Often times our friends and family do not know what to say to us, and so they choose to not say anything. Our infertility stands like a great big elephant in the room that separates us from others. Most of the time, we don’t want to talk about it, especially not in public or in group settings because it is painful and we will often shed tears. We realize it is difficult and ask that you realize this difficulty as well. We will do our best to be patient and to explain our situation to those who genuinely would like to know, but please respect our privacy and the boundaries we establish, as not only is infertility painful, it is also very personal.

One of the hardest experiences of infertility is that it is cyclical. Each month we get our hopes up as we try; we know what our due date would be as soon as we ovulate; we know how we would share the news with our husband and when and how we would tell our parents. We spend two weeks walking a fine line between hope and realism, between dreaming and despairing. When our next cycle begins—with cramps and bleeding and tears—we often only have a day or two before we must begin taking the medications that are meant to help us conceive. There is little to no time to mourn the dream that is once again not achievable; no time to truly allow ourselves to heal from one disappointment before we must begin hoping and trying again. We do not get to pick what days our hormones will plummet or how the medications we are often taking will affect us. We do not get to pick the day that would be “best” for us for our next cycle to start. We are at the mercy of hope, and while that hope keeps us going it is also what leaves us in tears when it is not realized.

Some will experience infertility with a complete lack of cycles. Some couples won't even get to experience the benefit of being able to really try to conceive because of this harsh reality, which is a constant reminder of brokenness for those experiencing it. The pain and anxiety that comes from a lack of reproductive health can be crippling.

And yet others, despite hormonal dysfunction and health issues, will experience the cyclical nature of infertility through conception itself (or recurring conception). These couples go on to lose their children (early, full term, or shortly after birth, and anywhere in between) either once or many times. If you know that we've experienced a loss (something we may or may not have the courage to share), know that we are grieving. It wasn't "just" a pregnancy or "just another" pregnancy that was lost; it was our living baby that died. And we are more likely to be traumatized by the cyclical nature of our infertility because of our losses. We do not get to choose that our cycles will mimic our losses. We are at the mercy of hope.

Our faith is tested. We ask God “why?”, we yell at Him; we draw closer to God and we push Him away. Mass brings us to tears more often than not and the season of Advent brings us to our knees. The chorus of “Happy Mother’s Day” that surrounds us at Mass every year will be almost more devastating than the blessing of mothers itself. We know that the Lord is trustworthy and that we can trust in Him; sometimes it is just a bigger task than we can achieve on our own.

Please…

• Pray for us. Truly, it is the best thing that anyone can do.


• Do not make assumptions about anything—not the size of a family or whether a couple knows what is morally acceptable to the Church. Most couples who experience infertility do so in silence and these assumptions only add to the pain. If you are genuinely interested, and not merely curious, begin a genuine friendship and discover the truth over time.


• Do not offer advice such as “just relax," “you should adopt," “try this medical option or that medical option”—or really give any advice. Infertility is a symptom of an underlying medical problem; a medical problem that often involves complicated and invasive treatment to cure.


• Do not assume that we will adopt. Adoption is a separate calling and should be discerned by every married couple irrespective of their ability to conceive biological children. Infertility does not automatically mean that a couple is meant to adopt.


• Do not assume that if we try to adopt that the process will be successful. Many adoption attempts fail and don't result in a couple receiving a child placement (temporarily or permanently). Some couples are flat out rejected from attempting to adopt by different agencies and governments. Just like adoption is an incredibly intrusive and emotionally charged issue that is part of a separate calling in the journey to "parenthood", it isn't always a possibility for infertile parents. Do not assume we can. And be gentle if we are trying. It's extra painful to be infertile and not be able to adopt. And we are likely so hurt that we can't bear to share the details with everyone.


• Ask how we are doing and be willing to hear and be present for the “real” answer. Often times we answer, “OK” because that’s the easy, “safe” answer. Let us know that you are willing to walk through this tough time with us. Frequently we just need someone who is willing to listen and give us a hug and let us know we are loved.


• Offer a Mass for us or give us a prayer card or medal to let us know you are praying for us. Just please refrain from telling us how we must pray this novena or ask for that saint’s intercession. Most likely we’ve prayed it and ask for the intercession daily. Please feel free to pray novenas and ask for intercession on our behalf.


• Be tolerant and patient. The medications we take can leave us at less than our best; we may not have the energy or ability to do much. Please also respect us when we say "no, thank you" to food or drinks. We may have restricted diets due to our medical conditions and/or medications.


• Share the good news of your pregnancy privately (preferably in an email or card or letter and not via text, IM chat, phone call or in person) and as soon as possible. Please understand that we are truly filled with joy for you; any sadness we feel is because we have been reminded of our own pain and we often feel horrible guilt over it as well. Please be patient and kind if we don’t respond immediately, attend your baby shower or don’t “like” all of your Facebook updates about your children. Again, it is really about us, not you.


• Help steer group conversations away from pregnancy and parenting topics when we are around. We like to be able to interact in a conversation to which we can contribute meaningfully.


• Do not exclude us from your life because you think we may be uncomfortable. It is actually more painful to be left out because of the cross we're carrying, and we know that doesn't make a lot of sense to our families and friends. We will excuse ourselves from events or situations if we must, and please let us do so gracefully if the circumstance arises.


• Do not ask when we are going to “start a family.” (We started one the day we got married).


• Do not ask which one of us is the “problem”—we are either fertile or infertile as a couple.


• Do grieve with us if you know that we've experienced a miscarriage, stillbirth, or infant death (or many). You may not know what to say to comfort us, and that's ok. Let us grieve at our own pace and on our own schedule without guilt or explanations, even if we have living children. Do not offer platitudes for why you think it happened, how you think it's part of God's plan for us to suffer, or any number of things you think might have been wrong with the child. It was our living baby that died. Let us grieve, pray for us, and if you can, let us know you care by being there for us in our grief. Let us know that you remember that our baby lived, no matter how short of a life.


• Do not say things like "I know you'll be parents some day," or "It will happen, I know it will!" Along the same lines, please do not tell us stories of a couple you know who struggled for years and went on to conceive or to "just adopt and then you'll get pregnant" (this one actually only happens a small percentage of the time). Only God knows what our future holds, please pray with us that we are able to graciously accept His will for our lives.


• Do not pity us. Yes, we have much sorrow. Yes, we struggle. But, we place our faith in God, lean on the grace of our marriage, and trust that someday, whether here on earth or in heaven, we will see and understand God’s plan.

Because this topic is so difficult for so many women and men, the best thing our friends and family can do (and indeed strangers we encounter who may be aware of our struggles) is pray for us. We are grateful for those who offer their prayers and support in a gentle way. Your support is invaluable to us.

Lastly, remember that compassion means "to suffer with." We didn't sign up for this to happen. We can't control whether we overcome this. And we're doing our best to navigate the murky waters and maintain our sanity and our faith and our relationships with our family and friends through it all. We truly need your support and love to accomplish that. Please, please suffer with us and be Christ to us. No other understanding of our cross will be more merciful or more loving than if you put yourself in a situation to sympathize or empathize with us. The pain of infertility is exacerbated by the fact that it draws us into ourselves. We need your help to remind us in the most difficult moments that we aren't alone, God didn't forget us, and that we have something precious to offer through the fruitfulness of our marriage even when it isn't manifesting in the children we so desperately want to hold. Together, we can offer up our shared suffering for Christ. It's a powerful witness to both of our faiths to travel this road together and we'll manage it better with your help than if we have to travel it all alone.

***************************************************************************************

This post was made possible through the collaboration of 400+ members of a "secret" Facebook group of Catholic women and men struggling with the pains of infertility in all of its forms. Together we are stronger. And in having the conversation, we are breaking the silence.

If you are Catholic and experiencing the pains of infertility and would like to join a "secret" Facebook support group, please visit this page and send a message to the page owner.

I don't know about you, but I need a smile today.  Here's my attempt to make us all smile a bit.


Here are the previous years: 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014

One in six couples will experience infertility at some point in their marriage. Infertility is medically defined as the inability to conceive after 12 cycles of “unprotected” intercourse or 6 cycles using “fertility-focused” intercourse. A couple who has never conceived has “primary infertility” and a couple who has conceived in the past (regardless of the outcome) but is unable to again has “secondary infertility”. Many couples who experience infertility have also experienced miscarriage or pregnancy loss.

This week, April 19-25, 2015, is National Infertility Awareness Week.

We, a group of Catholic women who have experienced infertility, would like to take a moment to share with you what the experience of infertility is like, share ways that you can be of support to a family member or friend, and share resources that are helpful.

If you are experiencing infertility, please know you are not alone. You are loved and prayed for and there are resources to help you with the spiritual, emotional, and medical aspects of this journey.

The Experience of Infertility

In the beginning of trying to conceive a child, there is much hope and anticipation; for some, even a small fear of “what if we get pregnant right away?” There is planning of how to tell your husband and when you’d announce to the rest of the family. It is a joyful time that for most couples results in a positive pregnancy test within the first few months. However, for one in six couples, the months go by without a positive test and the fears and doubts begin to creep in. At the 6th month of trying using fertility-focused intercourse (using Natural Family Planning), the couple knows something is wrong and is considered “infertile” by doctors who understand the charting of a woman’s pattern of fertility. At the 9th month of trying, the month that, had they conceived that first month, a baby would have been arriving, is often the most painful of the early milestones. At the 12th month mark the couple “earns” the label from the mainstream medical community as “infertile.”

As the months go by, the hopes and dreams are replaced with fears, doubts, and the most invasive doctors’ appointments possible. As a Catholic couple faithful to the teachings of the Church, we are presented by secular doctors with options that are not options for us and are told things like “you’ll never have children” and “you have unexplained infertility;” by our Catholic doctors we are told to keep praying and to have hope as they roll up their sleeves and work hard to figure out the cause of our infertility, with each visit asking, “How are you and your husband doing with all of this?”

We find it hard to fit in. We have faith and values that are different than our secular culture, but our small families, whether childless (primary infertility) or with fewer children than we hoped for (secondary infertility), make us blend in with the norm. We have faith and values that are in line with the teachings of our Church, but our daily life looks so much different than the others who share those values and that makes us stand out in a way that we would rather not. We are Catholic husbands and wives living out our vocation fully. Our openness to life does not come in the form of children; it takes on the form of a quiet “no” or “not yet” or “maybe never” from God each month as we slowly trod along. Our openness to and respect for life courageously resists the temptations presented to us by the secular artificial reproductive technology industry.

Often times our friends and family do not know what to say to us, and so they choose to not say anything. Our infertility stands like a great big elephant in the room that separates us from others. Most of the time, we don’t want to talk about it, especially not in public or in group settings because it is painful and we will often shed tears. We realize it is difficult and ask that you realize this difficulty as well. We will do our best to be patient and to explain our situation to those who genuinely would like to know, but please respect our privacy and the boundaries we establish, as not only is infertility painful, it is also very personal.

One of the hardest experiences of infertility is that it is cyclical. Each month we get our hopes up as we try; we know what our due date would be as soon as we ovulate; we know how we would share the news with our husband and when and how we would tell our parents. We spend two weeks walking a fine line between hope and realism, between dreaming and despairing. When our next cycle begins—with cramps and bleeding and tears—we often only have a day or two before we must begin taking the medications that are meant to help us conceive. There is little to no time to mourn the dream that is once again not achievable; no time to truly allow ourselves to heal from one disappointment before we must begin hoping and trying again. We do not get to pick what days our hormones will plummet or how the medications we are often taking will affect us. We do not get to pick the day that would be “best” for us for our next cycle to start. We are at the mercy of hope, and while that hope keeps us going it is also what leaves us in tears when it is not realized.

Some will experience infertility with a complete lack of cycles. Some couples won't even get to experience the benefit of being able to really try to conceive because of this harsh reality, which is a constant reminder of brokenness for those experiencing it. The pain and anxiety that comes from a lack of reproductive health can be crippling.

And yet others, despite hormonal dysfunction and health issues, will experience the cyclical nature of infertility through conception itself (or recurring conception). These couples go on to lose their children (early, full term, or shortly after birth, and anywhere in between) either once or many times. If you know that we've experienced a loss (something we may or may not have the courage to share), know that we are grieving. It wasn't "just" a pregnancy or "just another" pregnancy that was lost; it was our living baby that died. And we are more likely to be traumatized by the cyclical nature of our infertility because of our losses. We do not get to choose that our cycles will mimic our losses. We are at the mercy of hope.

Our faith is tested. We ask God “why?”, we yell at Him; we draw closer to God and we push Him away. Mass brings us to tears more often than not and the season of Advent brings us to our knees. The chorus of “Happy Mother’s Day” that surrounds us at Mass every year will be almost more devastating than the blessing of mothers itself. We know that the Lord is trustworthy and that we can trust in Him; sometimes it is just a bigger task than we can achieve on our own.

Please…

• Pray for us. Truly, it is the best thing that anyone can do.


• Do not make assumptions about anything—not the size of a family or whether a couple knows what is morally acceptable to the Church. Most couples who experience infertility do so in silence and these assumptions only add to the pain. If you are genuinely interested, and not merely curious, begin a genuine friendship and discover the truth over time.


• Do not offer advice such as “just relax," “you should adopt," “try this medical option or that medical option”—or really give any advice. Infertility is a symptom of an underlying medical problem; a medical problem that often involves complicated and invasive treatment to cure.


• Do not assume that we will adopt. Adoption is a separate calling and should be discerned by every married couple irrespective of their ability to conceive biological children. Infertility does not automatically mean that a couple is meant to adopt.


• Do not assume that if we try to adopt that the process will be successful. Many adoption attempts fail and don't result in a couple receiving a child placement (temporarily or permanently). Some couples are flat out rejected from attempting to adopt by different agencies and governments. Just like adoption is an incredibly intrusive and emotionally charged issue that is part of a separate calling in the journey to "parenthood", it isn't always a possibility for infertile parents. Do not assume we can. And be gentle if we are trying. It's extra painful to be infertile and not be able to adopt. And we are likely so hurt that we can't bear to share the details with everyone.


• Ask how we are doing and be willing to hear and be present for the “real” answer. Often times we answer, “OK” because that’s the easy, “safe” answer. Let us know that you are willing to walk through this tough time with us. Frequently we just need someone who is willing to listen and give us a hug and let us know we are loved.


• Offer a Mass for us or give us a prayer card or medal to let us know you are praying for us. Just please refrain from telling us how we must pray this novena or ask for that saint’s intercession. Most likely we’ve prayed it and ask for the intercession daily. Please feel free to pray novenas and ask for intercession on our behalf.


• Be tolerant and patient. The medications we take can leave us at less than our best; we may not have the energy or ability to do much. Please also respect us when we say "no, thank you" to food or drinks. We may have restricted diets due to our medical conditions and/or medications.


• Share the good news of your pregnancy privately (preferably in an email or card or letter and not via text, IM chat, phone call or in person) and as soon as possible. Please understand that we are truly filled with joy for you; any sadness we feel is because we have been reminded of our own pain and we often feel horrible guilt over it as well. Please be patient and kind if we don’t respond immediately, attend your baby shower or don’t “like” all of your Facebook updates about your children. Again, it is really about us, not you.


• Help steer group conversations away from pregnancy and parenting topics when we are around. We like to be able to interact in a conversation to which we can contribute meaningfully.


• Do not exclude us from your life because you think we may be uncomfortable. It is actually more painful to be left out because of the cross we're carrying, and we know that doesn't make a lot of sense to our families and friends. We will excuse ourselves from events or situations if we must, and please let us do so gracefully if the circumstance arises.


• Do not ask when we are going to “start a family.” (We started one the day we got married).


• Do not ask which one of us is the “problem”—we are either fertile or infertile as a couple.


• Do grieve with us if you know that we've experienced a miscarriage, stillbirth, or infant death (or many). You may not know what to say to comfort us, and that's ok. Let us grieve at our own pace and on our own schedule without guilt or explanations, even if we have living children. Do not offer platitudes for why you think it happened, how you think it's part of God's plan for us to suffer, or any number of things you think might have been wrong with the child. It was our living baby that died. Let us grieve, pray for us, and if you can, let us know you care by being there for us in our grief. Let us know that you remember that our baby lived, no matter how short of a life.


• Do not say things like "I know you'll be parents some day," or "It will happen, I know it will!" Along the same lines, please do not tell us stories of a couple you know who struggled for years and went on to conceive or to "just adopt and then you'll get pregnant" (this one actually only happens a small percentage of the time). Only God knows what our future holds, please pray with us that we are able to graciously accept His will for our lives.


• Do not pity us. Yes, we have much sorrow. Yes, we struggle. But, we place our faith in God, lean on the grace of our marriage, and trust that someday, whether here on earth or in heaven, we will see and understand God’s plan.

Because this topic is so difficult for so many women and men, the best thing our friends and family can do (and indeed strangers we encounter who may be aware of our struggles) is pray for us. We are grateful for those who offer their prayers and support in a gentle way. Your support is invaluable to us.

Lastly, remember that compassion means "to suffer with." We didn't sign up for this to happen. We can't control whether we overcome this. And we're doing our best to navigate the murky waters and maintain our sanity and our faith and our relationships with our family and friends through it all. We truly need your support and love to accomplish that. Please, please suffer with us and be Christ to us. No other understanding of our cross will be more merciful or more loving than if you put yourself in a situation to sympathize or empathize with us. The pain of infertility is exacerbated by the fact that it draws us into ourselves. We need your help to remind us in the most difficult moments that we aren't alone, God didn't forget us, and that we have something precious to offer through the fruitfulness of our marriage even when it isn't manifesting in the children we so desperately want to hold. Together, we can offer up our shared suffering for Christ. It's a powerful witness to both of our faiths to travel this road together and we'll manage it better with your help than if we have to travel it all alone.

***************************************************************************************

This post was made possible through the collaboration of 430 members of a "secret" Facebook group of Catholic women and men struggling with the pains of infertility in all of its forms. Together we are stronger. And in having the conversation, we are breaking the silence.

If you are Catholic and experiencing the pains of infertility and would like to join a "secret" Facebook support group, please let me know and I will happily add you.

(This is a repost from last year on Holy Thursday.)

"With Open Hands"

That's what I was originally going to title this blog.  I went with "Making God Laugh" because I didn't have a picture of hands to go along with the other title, and you absolutely cannot have a nice blog without a good picture.  See, even if you don't have much that's useful to say, you should at least look good doing it.  Irony of ironies, I have the same boring header I had when I started this blog 4.75 years ago...so much for that decision based on appearances.  ;)

The phrase "with open hands" came from a talk I heard in college at our campus parish.  The speaker was discussing how we receive gifts from God.  He was trying to make the point that we are stewards but not owners, and God is free to take back the gifts at any time.  Here's the image he gave us:

Imagine each gift God gives us is a balloon.  The gift could be anything:  spouse, particular talent, job, health, etc.


Imagine standing with your hands out ready to catch the balloon.  Each of your fingers has a thumbtack on it.


The only way to catch and hold the balloon with thumbtacks is if you keep your hands wide open.



If you would try to grab the balloon or hold it tightly, it would pop.  If at a later point God wanted to take back the balloon, He would have to pry it out of your hands, and it wouldn't look as beautiful as when he originally gave it to you.

The speaker's point was that the proper posture before God is flat, open hands.  We gladly receive what He gives us, but we don't become overly attached or turn the gift into an idol or think we deserve the gift because it might be on loan to us for a limited time.  On the day God asks for the gift back, it will make it all the more difficult to let go of the gift if you sit there with fists clenched saying, "Mine.  Mine."

With that background, here's the story...

Three years ago on Holy Thursday I was sitting in a dimly lit church.  Evening Mass had finished a while ago, and there were only a handful of people remaining in adoration.  I imagined Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane, pleading with God that there be another way besides the cross.

“My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me; yet, not as I will, but as you will.”  (Matthew 26:39)

“My Father, if it is not possible that this cup pass without my drinking it, your will be done!” (Matthew 26:42)

He prayed the same thing a third time.

So I thought, if Jesus prayed like that, I can too.  I started to pray with all sincerity and lots of begging, "If it is possible, let the cup of infertility pass from me; but not my will but yours be done."  I definitely put a lot more emphasis on the first part (infertility passing) than on the second part (your will be done).  :)  It might have turned into praying just the first part...

Normally I don't hear God speaking to me directly in prayer.  That night I did.  In the middle of my begging, I "heard" this in my head:  "I want your fertility.  Give me your fertility."

I immediately thought of the balloon metaphor I described above and how fertility was the balloon I was grasping onto with all my might.

If I wasn't already crying, by that point I was.  I'm not proud of it, but the first thing I said to God in response was, "I can't.  It's asking too much."  I wondered if that's how Jesus felt in the garden; if He knew the answer to His prayer was "no" but the thought of going through the crucifixion just seemed so overwhelming that he had to ask to be spared.  (Clearly the crucifixion is light-years different than infertility.)

I feared that if I gave my fertility to God and relinquished my "control," it would mean infertility forever and the death and burial of my dreams.

I left church that night with no resolution.  I kept thinking that I can't let go.  It's too painful.

I wish I could say this story has a happy ending—that I've been able to let go and give God my fertility.  There has been progress for sure, but I'm not completely there yet.  The thought of one day stopping all TTC meds doesn't distress me as much as it used to; I can see how there would be peace and acceptance in that decision.  If that day comes, I'm sure there will be a whole new level of grief to face, but along with that will come boatloads of grace...grace that I don't have today.

When I originally wanted to name my blog "With Open Hands," I knew that I did not have open hands, but hoped that it might continually inspire me to work toward it.  Even though I didn't use it for my title, it has been a motivator for me nonetheless.


**Special thanks to DH for humoring me when I said I needed him to model for me.

That would be too good to be true, right?  Well, it sort of almost happened to us.

Two days before my lap in November, a dear friend of mine M called.  We aren't in contact often, but it's one of those friendships where once you do talk, it feels like nothing has changed.  We could talk for hours if we didn't have other obligations, husbands, etc.  She has known about our IF from the beginning and has always been very supportive.  We caught up a bit, and then M explained the reason for her call.  One of the young patients she saw in clinic was pregnant and was looking for a couple who would adopt the baby when he/she was born.  The patient asked M directly, "Do you know of any Catholic couples?"  Where they live, it may have been difficult to find a Catholic couple, so the patient knew she would need to be proactive in trying to find one.  I assume most of M's patients know she is Catholic, which is why the patient asked her.

Even though M and I have a mutual friend AB who has all the adoption paperwork completed and has been waiting to be matched with a baby for two years, M thought of DH and me first.  Before she called me, M's husband tried to convince her to call AB instead of us, but M felt DH and I were on her heart for a reason.  [I later remembered that AB was not interested in private adoption and wanted birthmothers referred to AB's adoption agency to view all the available couple profiles, not just theirs.  So it wasn't like we were taking this opportunity from them, directly anyway...]

I asked M for some very general info about the patient and found out she was a college student.  She was in her early second trimester, which put my guard up a bit; from what I've read of others' adoption stories, it seemed rather early in her pregnancy to be choosing adoptive parents.  M told me that the patient herself had been adopted, and since she had a positive experience growing up, she naturally thought of adoption for her unborn baby.

I would have told M while I was on the phone with her that we were interested and that she could give our contact info to the patient, but I knew DH would need time to mull all of this over first.  So I restrained myself and instead of, "Yes! Yes! Yes!" I responded with, "Can I get back to you in a few days?"

I got off the phone and tried to squelch all my excitement (a possible baby! in spring!) to calmly tell DH about the call.  Given that I was two days away from surgery, he did not want to discuss anything else until after surgery.  I expected him to say that, so I just asked him to think and pray about this.

During our long drive the night before my surgery, I felt the urge to bring up the topic with DH.  I knew he cannot be pushed into anything, and I had no intention of twisting his arm, but I felt like this was a sort of time-sensitive issue, and I didn't think I'd want (or be able) to talk about serious things in the days after major surgery.  I said a quick prayer to the Holy Spirit and gently broached the topic...

I pointed out that this particular situation eliminated the majority (maybe all?) of the reasons that have prevented us from starting the adoption process.  We had a good talk.  Even though he still had reservations about the situation, he agreed that M could give our contact info to her patient so we could learn more from the patient herself.  (I was jumping up and down inside!  I really didn't think DH would want to take that step yet!)  I e-mailed M from the hotel before I went to bed.  I wrote that if the patient wanted, we could be available to meet in person while traveling after Christmas, as we would be a few hours away while visiting relatives.

Advent came and went.  Then Christmas.  We heard nothing.  By New Year's, we realized there would be no meeting.  I was a little disappointed, but more that we hadn't even had an e-mail yet.  I was getting a little antsy thinking that if this was going to be a possibility, we would need to start working on the paperwork to get approved to adopt.  As January passed, I focused more on my upcoming robotic lap and assumed we probably wouldn't be adopting this baby.

My prayer since learning of M's patient was that God's will be done.  I did tell God that I would be delighted if He wanted this baby to be part of our family, but I tried my best to just put it in His hands and not try to sway Him my way.  ;)  I guess something that IF has taught me is that when you're really attached to a specific prayer request, it is rather painful when the answer to that prayer is "no" (or "not now").  Detachment has been a difficult and at times unwanted lesson for me to learn, but I see the freedom in it now.  So with this situation, I planned to go forward until we hit closed doors, trusting that either way, God's will be done.

Just over a week after my January surgery, M e-mailed and said that the patient decided to parent. My first reaction (surprisingly?) was happiness for the patient and her baby.  The next day at Mass I was hit with a wave of sadness.  I know this was never our baby, so we didn't lose him, but I think to go from some tangible hope that there's a real baby out there who could join our family back to square one was more painful than I expected.  It felt like just another "no" to our desire to have kids.  It didn't help that the hymns at Mass that day mentioned "sorrow" and "grief" (trigger the waterworks). The deacon whom we know a little from various events even asked me if I was okay as we greeted him after Mass.  Just another grieving IFer over here...nothing out of the ordinary...

The sadness I felt has faded, but it's hard not to want to pry the adoption door open again, now that it was open for a brief time.  With DH’s unemployment and related issues, we're not able to start the adoption process even though I have wanted to for a long time.  I had accepted that for the foreseeable future, our only chance to grow our family would be the biological route, which, let’s face it, isn’t going so well.  I had peace knowing it might be years before we could start down the adoption road.  This situation that M shared with us—someone figuratively dropping a baby on our doorstep—was the only way we would be able to adopt at this point.  I’m trying to put those desires on the back burner, but it’s not easy.  Just trying my best to trust God through all of this.  :)

When IF and my other crosses are feeling extra heavy, I find encouragement reading words from the saints, especially when they speak about suffering.

For previous posts in this series, go here: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3



"To love God’s will in consolations is a good love when it is truly God’s will we love and not the consolation wherein it lies. Still, it is a love without opposition, repugnance, or effort. Who would not love so worthy a will in so agreeable a form? To love God’s will in His commandments, counsels, and inspirations is the second degree of love and it is much more perfect. It carries us forward to renounce and give up our own will, and enables us to abstain from and forbear many pleasures, but not all of them. To love suffering and affliction out of love for God is the summit of most holy charity. In it nothing is pleasant but the divine will alone; there is great opposition on the part of our nature; and not only do we forsake all pleasures, but we embrace torments and labors." ~St. Francis de Sales


"I am suffering, and suffering very much, but thanks to our good Jesus I still feel a little strength, and when aided by Jesus what is the creature not capable of doing?" ~St. Padre Pio


"You should humble yourself before God instead of becoming dejected when He sends you His Son's sufferings and makes you aware of your weakness." ~St. Padre Pio


"As regards the spiritual trials to which the paternal goodness of the heavenly Father is subjecting you, I beg you to be resigned and if possible tranquil on the assurances of he who takes the place of God, and who speaks to you in his name; who loves you in Him and who desires every blessing for you. You are suffering, it is true, but with resignation, because God is with you and you don't offend Him, but you love Him. You are suffering but believe, also, that Jesus is suffering within you, with you, and for you." ~St. Padre Pio


"The greatest grace God can give someone is to send him a trial he cannot bear with his own powers—and then sustain him with His grace so he may endure to the end and be saved."
~St. Justin Martyr


"Let us go my soul, go and speak with the good Lord, to work with Him, to walk with Him, to fight and to suffer with him. You will work, but He will bless your work; you will walk, but He will bless your steps; you will suffer, but He will bless your tears. How great, how noble, how consoling it is to do everything in the company and under the gaze of the good Lord, and to think that he sees everything, counts everything!" ~St. John Vianney


"If you suffer with him, you will reign with him. If you weep with him, you shall rejoice with him; If you die with him on the cross of tribulation, you shall possess heavenly mansions in the splendor of the saints and, in the Book of Life, your name shall be called glorious among men." ~St. Clare


(about the apostles in a boat all night during a storm - Matthew 14:22-33) "Jesus suffers them to be tossed the whole night so as to inspire them with greater desire for him. This the Lord ever does: when he is to rescue from any evil, he brings in things terrible and difficult. When divine aid is near, the Lord permits us to be afflicted all the more, so that then we may receive his help with more devotion and thanksgiving." ~St. John Chrysostom


"Nothing unites us so closely to the Sacred Heart of our Lord Jesus Christ as the cross which is the most precious pledge of His love." ~St. Margaret Mary Alacoque


"Abandon yourself blindly into the hands of this Heavenly Father Who loves you better and more than you love yourself. . . He will take care of you despite every difficulty." ~Bl. Columba Marmion


"In times of desolation, God conceals Himself from us so that we can discover for ourselves what we are without Him."
~St. Margaret of Cortona


"I would, then, that I could convince spiritual persons that this road to God consists not in a multiplicity of meditations nor in ways or methods of such, nor in consolations, although these things may in their own way be necessary to beginners; but that it consists only in the one thing that is needful, which is the ability to deny oneself truly, according to that which is without and to that which is within, giving oneself up to suffering for Christ’s sake. . . For progress comes not save through the imitation of Christ, Who is the Way, the Truth and the Life, and no man comes to the Father but by Him." ~St. John of the Cross


"You must believe in truth that whatever God gives or permits is for your salvation." ~St. Catherine of Siena


"You will save more souls through prayer and suffering than will a missionary through his teachings and sermons alone." ~Jesus to St. Faustina


"If the angels were capable of envy, they would envy us for two things: one is the receiving of Holy Communion, and the other is suffering." ~Jesus to St. Faustina


“You will be consoled according to the greatness of your sorrow and affliction; the greater the suffering, the greater will be the reward." ~St. Mary Magdalene de Pazzi


"I always want to see you behaving like a brave soldier who does not complain about his own suffering but takes his comrades' wounds seriously and treats his own as nothing but scratches." ~St. Therese of Lisieux


“If God gives you an abundant harvest of trials, it is a sign of great holiness which He desires you to attain. Do you want to become a great saint? Ask God to send you many sufferings. The flame of Divine Love never rises higher than when fed with the wood of the Cross, which the infinite charity of the Savior used to finish His sacrifice. All the pleasures of the world are nothing compared with the sweetness found in the gall and vinegar offered to Jesus Christ. That is, hard and painful things endured for Jesus Christ and with Jesus Christ." ~St. Ignatius of Loyola


These last two were written by a priest suffering from terminal cancer:

"Our faith is based on a real, personal encounter with Jesus Christ. How does this happen? For those who believe, this encounter can happen anytime or all of the time. In a particular manner, though, and I would say privileged manner, it happens through suffering. Suffering opens doors that are not open otherwise. My experience of suffering these past weeks has forced me to cry out to God, to cry out to other people for help... The spirit of self-sufficiency and independence must die to give way to the spirit of openness and dependence on others. Along with this comes a brutal fact: I am powerless. I am powerless before the limitations of my humanity and I am powerless before the forces of evil. We know these things on a certain conscious level, but nothing confronts us with these truths like suffering. And here in this place of vulnerability, is where Jesus is most present." ~Fr. Will


"Those who suffer attract the attention of our Lord's Heart in a special way. He desires to come close to those who suffer, because he is mercy. He wants to help us and comfort us and heal us. He is able to come close to those who suffer because the suffering have broken hearts desperate for healing. The desire for mercy makes us capable of receiving it. Those who suffer know of this desire, a desperation for help. While painful to be in that place, it appears the only way possible for us fallen human beings: 'unless you take up your cross you cannot be my disciple.'" ~Fr. Will

This is a repost from last year. I wrote reflections on the Stations of the Cross. The text indented in italics is from a booklet used at our parish (author unknown).


Station 1: Jesus is condemned to death

Jesus, our brother, we stand in silence as you are condemned by Pilate. Standing in silence is not new to us. We have stood silent as you went hungry by our tables, as you were orphaned in our wars, as you walked powerless in our world. We always stand in silence for we, like Pilate, are bowed, broken and afraid. Break the chains of this silence which lies so heavily on our lives. Give us the courage to speak in your behalf.

Jesus was completely innocent, and yet He was sentenced to torture and a cruel death.  I am not innocent.  My sin is always before me, and while I know infertility is not a punishment for sin, it is a consequence of living in a fallen world, and it is my present reality.  In moments when I am tempted to think that I don't deserve to be infertile for whatever reason, help me, God, to remember that I am not innocent like Jesus was and give me the humility to accept my infertility.


Station 2: Jesus accepts his cross

Jesus, our brother, we watch you bear the cross and do not understand. Our hearts are hardened. Everyone tells us that suffering is evil and must be avoided at every cost. We flee sickness, sorrow and pain. Your carrying your cross says something different about suffering. Help us to follow you even when we do not understand.

There are many aspects of life that cause suffering for the infertile—BFNs, difficult or untreatable diagnoses, dashed dreams, lack of compassion from others, and watching others get pregnant easily.  My first instinct is to try to run from this cross.   But Jesus redeemed the world through the Cross, and He allows me to participate in that redemptive work through my sufferings.  St. Paul says, "...I am filling up what is lacking in the afflictions of Christ..." (Colossians 1:24)  Jesus gave suffering value and power, so I will follow His example, take up my cross willingly, and offer my sufferings for the good of others.


Station 3: Jesus falls the first time

Jesus, our brother, you have fallen with your cross. We wonder if you have not fallen again today. Everywhere we see signs of weakness: in our church, in our nation, in our world. We see dissension, controversy, turmoil. We are scandalized. We do not understand. Our faith begins to falter. Help us to find you hidden in your weakness. Help us to find you beneath the cross.

By the time Jesus fell the first time, He had been deprived of sleep, food, and water; scourged; crowned with thorns; and physically abused.  With a heavy weight on His shoulders, it is not surprising that, after all that had been done to weaken His body, He fell.  There are many things in my life, both big and small, that weaken my resolve to carry the cross of infertility faithfully.  Reminders of what I don't have can be especially painful, like sitting next to family with a baby at Mass, passing by a pregnant woman in the grocery store, receiving an invitation to a baby shower, or seeing pictures of the children of friends married for less time than me.  God, help me to be grateful for all the blessings you have given me, and help me to get up after I feel crushed by the weight of infertility.


Station 4: Jesus meets His mother

Jesus our brother, we are moved by Mary’s love for you. We are amazed by Mary's love for us. It is hard to believe she has not lost confidence in us. But we know she has not. She saw beneath your grime and agony. She saw your hidden beauty. We trust she can do the same for us. We need to be understood these days. We so often feel alone.

My life isn't going according to my plan.  I would have had X (number of) kids by now if I had my way.  Mary's life did not go according to her plan.  Once she gave her fiat, she opened herself up entirely to God's will, but that did not mean she was spared from suffering.  The first two of her seven sorrows happened when Jesus was just a baby and continued throughout her life.  God, following Mary's example, help me to pray, "Not my will, but your will be done," and open my mind and heart to what You desire of me.


Station 5: Jesus is aided by Simon

Jesus, our brother, We have to admire Simon. He took up your cross and followed you. He had so little doubt, so little hesitation. We see you suffering in all around us, in the poor, in the powerless, in the misunderstood. We are so hesitant to come to your aid. We find so many excuses. We remain aloof. Grant us the wisdom and the courage to help the least of your brothers and so help you.

Infertility can be such a personal and private cross.  No two people facing infertility respond to it in the exact same way.  But crosses are not meant to be carried alone.  What I learn from carrying this cross may help me to better support a friend going through her own struggles.  God, let infertility teach me to have a more compassionate heart so that I might be Simon to others as they carry their own crosses and grant me the humility to accept help from others who offer to be Simon to me.


Station 6: Veronica wipes the face of Jesus

Jesus, our brother, you rewarded Veronica for her courage. You left your face upon her veil. You will reward us for our courage; you will leave the imprint of your face upon our lives. "By this will all know that you are my disciples: that you love one another." Help us forget our fears and reach out to serve our needy brothers and sisters.

One way to make the suffering from infertility more bearable is to make an extra effort to serve others. Veronica showed Jesus great kindness, and He rewarded her with an image of His face. When I reach out to others in service, the gift I receive is to see the face of Jesus in those in need. Jesus said, "...whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me." (Matthew 25:40)  God, give me the courage and motivation to serve others despite my pain.


Station 7: Jesus falls the second time

Jesus, our brother, you must have been discouraged by your second fall. We too, know discouragement. Our best efforts end in failure. Those we love do not seem to love us. Regardless of our efforts, life does not bring peace. What shall we do? We will imitate your example and try again, even in the face of futility.

How many times do I fall because of infertility? Doubt, despair, envy, pride...the list goes on. It's discouraging enough to fall once, but when it happens multiple times, it gets harder to want to get up again. Every new pregnancy announcement around me is a new chance to stumble. I should be able to handle each one gracefully by now—I've had plenty of opportunities to practice this—yet still I fall into envy. But if Jesus can get up again while still under the weight of the Cross, so will I try harder next time.


Station 8: Jesus meets the women of Jerusalem

"Weep not for me, but for you and for your children." ~Luke 23:28

Jesus, our brother, in the midst of your sufferings you had compassion for others and their pain. We are often so self-centered. We do not see the suffering of others. We want pity, kindness, and understanding. We are willing to give so little in return. Help us forget ourselves. Awaken us to the pain in the lives of others.

How often with infertility do I look inward and only see my own pain? It's so easy to slip into thinking that my suffering is worse than everyone else's around me; others can't possibly be hurting as much as I am. The challenge is to acknowledge the pain in someone else and respond in love, even when it's hard, like listening to a friend complain about how little sleep she's getting because she has a newborn. I thought I was doing well by biting my tongue—I would gladly get no sleep if it meant I had a baby, and I was itching to tell my friend that—but maybe imitating Christ would mean going a step further and showing her some understanding while forgetting my pain for a second.


Station 9: Jesus falls the third time

Jesus, our brother, your third fall is the beginning of your death agony. Our world is filled with dying people: in war, in famine, in hospitals, on highways. Many this day will die alone. May our prayers become comfort for the dying, especially those who must die alone.

How many times do I want to throw the cross of infertility away because it is just so hard?  How many times do I want to avoid suffering, when I should be trying to avoid sin? When life brings so much pain and sorrow, I have no where left to turn except the arms of Jesus.  The pain can help focus my gaze on the hope in what God has planned for me.  Despite my human weakness, I must remember that my joy comes not from what the world offers me, but from God.  I resolve to pick up my cross daily regardless of how many times I have stumbled in carrying it in the past.


Station 10: Jesus is stripped of His garments

Jesus, our brother, there is something fearful in thinking of you stripped before the crowd. Even the privacy of clothing is taken. You have given up everything for us. We give so little in return. May we have the grace to give, to give of what we have, to help our brothers and sisters suffering all around us.

I need to die to myself—to my wants and desires, to my selfishness and sin. Sometimes suffering is the main or only vehicle which allows that to happen. God knows all the suffering I endure related to infertility can refine me, but like gold that's tested in a fire, the process is not easy or quick or painless. St. Peter says, "...for a little while you may have to suffer through various trials, so that the genuineness of your faith, more precious than gold that is perishable even though tested by fire, may prove to be for praise, glory, and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ." (1 Peter 1:6-7) God sends me graces so that through this suffering my soul might turn into something beautiful, if only I would cooperate.


Station 11: Jesus is nailed to the cross

Jesus, our brother, the pain of those nails was unjust. Your hands which did such good, your feet which walked on errands of mercy, are now punished. You received little gratitude for the good you did. Why should we expect more for the good we do? Help us give and ask nothing in return.

To the outside world, DH and I are a childless couple.  We could be contracepting.  We could be more interested in careers or spending time as a married couple than having children.  We could be doing IVF.  The assumptions and judgements sting, especially from fellow Christians.  Sometimes I wish I could just wear a flashing neon sign that says, "I'm open to life, and I'm following the church's teaching on how life should be brought into the world."  But I don't need approval or a pat on the back from others for trying to live a moral life, even in ways that remain hidden from others' eyes.  Let God's opinion be the only one that matters to me.  Let me be obedient and do good for Him and Him alone.


Station 12: Jesus dies on the cross

Lord Jesus, you have the greatest love for us. What can we say in the face of it? We can only try to imitate you, by responding to the sisters and brothers you have given to us to love.

It is easy to feel alone when you're infertile.  I try to open up to friends or family about what I'm going through and they dismiss my pain, so I retreat inward and feel isolated.  But I am never alone.  Jesus gave His life for me, and He, more than anyone, knows what it's like to feel alone.  He knows my pain and my isolation.  He is with me always.  If I am close to Jesus on the cross, I will be with Him rejoicing when Easter comes.


Station 13: Jesus is taken down from the cross

Jesus, our brother, you are laid in the arms of your mother. The agony is over. But the resurrection is not yet. Your Father's plan requires patience. So it is with us. We reach moments when only patience can carry us on. We know that something better will come. But when? Help us share your patience and the patience of your mother.

We know the ending—Jesus triumphs. But that doesn't mean our life looks like Easter all the time. Much of infertility looks like Good Friday. We've been TTC for so long. How many cycles will it take to conceive? Will we conceive ever? How long will we have the cross of childlessness? Will it be life-long? Patience is so important in learning to accept this cross. I have to trust God that His plans for me are for my ultimate good, even if it doesn't look like what I had in mind.


Station 14: Jesus is laid in the tomb

Jesus, our brother, the end of life is so definite. We fear it deep within. We do not want to die. Help us understand that our lives are but a prelude to a new life, a life with your Father.

It is so easy to live for this world.  I have my preferences and dreams of what I'd like life here on earth to look like, but getting what I want (i.e., children) doesn't get me to heaven.  I have to keep my eyes fixed on the eternal and remember that God desires my pursuit of holiness and love above all else, whether life is going according to how I want it to or not.

Thank you everyone who prayed and helped.  She reached her goal.  :)

*******************************************************************

A fellow blogger and dear friend of mine needs our help.

Visit her blog!

Conceiving Hope is going to begin training to become a FertilityCare Practitioner (FCP) in a few short weeks.  Yay!  However, the cost to go through training is expensive, and she hasn't raised enough money yet.

Would you consider donating to help her meet the cost?  No donation is too small!

On her blog, she has a "donate" button on the right sidebar.  She also has a great post explaining why she wants to become an FCP and how the money will be used.

I know she will make a wonderful FCP.  You all know that having an FCP who has walked this road of IF with us will make her both a knowledgeable asset to her clients as well as a sensitive and compassionate listener.  Her future clients will be in great hands!

Your prayers for this endeavor are greatly appreciated!!



And this is a request from me to fellow bloggers....

Would you consider posting a request to help Conceiving Hope on your own blog?  Just trying to spread the word.  :)

My follow up phone call with Dr. E went well.  I don't need any more surgery.  Hooray!  She reviewed the path report with me and explained that she removed several of the black spots from different areas, and they were confirmed to be carbon deposits from my previous surgery (vaporization of endo).  Even though each spot is my body's immune response to a foreign body, she said they will not affect fertility.  (**big relief here**)  I did a bit of light googling later and read that in that situation there is minimal ongoing inflammation, so that put my mind at ease more.

I did have five confirmed spots of endo: 2 behind the bladder, 2 on my rectum, and on my right posterior broad ligament.  They were each small, so it's stage I.  Again, they were all new spots since last surgery.  There was one lesion on my left ovary that she wasn't sure about, but it turned out not to be endo because it only met part of the requirements for endo.  But it's gone, along with the others.  :)

I forgot to ask Dr. E what percentage of patients get new endo growth after a NaPro fellow surgery.  My case doesn't count as a "recurrence" of endo, so I don't fall under the NaPro fellow stats of 22% chance of recurrence after vaporization or 7% chance of recurrence after excision. I've actually never seen stats for patients like me who regrow endo in new spots...  I'll have to ask Dr. K what her experience has been.

I haven't done any cycle reviews with Dr. K since my November surgery, and I haven't asked PPVI for the results from DH's semen culture from December.  I plan to do that before this cycle ends in case she wants to change the antibiotic we would take at the beginning of next cycle.  My culture results from surgery indicate the antibiotic I had been taking is the correct one for the infection I (still) have, but we'll need to know what showed up on DH's culture in case it gives us more info. (Last time we did a semen culture it showed different results from mine.)

Surgery was post-peak last cycle, and we're avoiding this cycle so I can heal (doctor's orders). We'll be back to TTC next cycle.  Recovery continues to go well; I took my last ibuprofen three days ago. I can't fully bend forward at the waist, but I can squat to pick things up from the ground, so that's a welcome improvement.  :)

The spirometer.  I take a deep breath, and it tells me how much air I inspired.  There's some prune juice in the  background.  Good stuff.

It's been a week and a half since my surgery, and I feel really good.  This recovery is so much better and faster than my previous robotic lap two years ago.  I guess the size of the main incision and how much endo is removed makes a big difference in how you feel afterward.  Two years ago, I had the hit-by-a-bus feeling for almost two weeks after surgery.  This time around, I felt almost normal just four days post-op.  Of course, by "feeling normal" I mean while sitting comfortably in a reclining chair happily medicated on two types of pain meds.  Once I had to get up and walk, it was another story.  ;)  About that time I could start to sleep on my side instead of on my back, so my quality of sleep improved greatly (I don't sleep on my back normally).  The first week I was faithfully using the spirometer they gave me in the hospital to do my breathing exercises to fully inflate my lungs.  I had never used a spirometer before, but my breathing post-surgery has been noticeably better than after my lap in November.  The shoulder pain (referred pain from the gas used during surgery) hasn't been too bad and tends to recur when the previous dose of ibuprofen is wearing off.  Already I can bend forward slightly at the waist, which I didn't expect to happen this soon.  I took my last opioid two days ago and have been managing well with ibuprofen alone.

I am a little nervous for my phone follow-up with Dr. E tomorrow.  She told me that she removed all the endo, but there was more to the story.  I have little black spots all over my abdominal cavity, which she assumed to be carbon deposits.  She said she has never seen something like this before. She could only biopsy them with the robot, so there was no way to know what they were for sure until this surgery.  The path report confirmed they are an inflammatory response which usually happens as a reaction to a foreign body.  Dr. E wrote me a very brief e-mail saying she thought they were a reaction to the vaporization of endo (from the surgery with her two years ago).  I have no idea what this means.  Do I need another surgery?  Do they affect fertility?  I do remember when Dr. E stopped by to check on me the morning after surgery she brought up these carbon deposits.  She said that if they needed to be removed, it would require a lot of work because she'd have to cut off a whole layer of tissue (these carbon deposits are everywhere), and then she'd place Gore-tex (material to help prevent adhesions) that either would be removed in another surgery a week later or would be left there permanently.  I am hoping there will be no more surgery, but lots of little spots of inflammation don't sound too good to me.  We shall see...