We are going to adopt: Part 3

You may be wondering why I am posting my personal, adoption entries on my photography blog.  I am currently formulating a plan to merge my photography business with our adoption.  Before too long, all of my earnings for photography will be going strictly toward our adoption.  We aren't sure how we feel about fundraising and all of that yet, but I feel great about being able to provide a service to help us attain this dream. Look for changes soon!

So like I said, things got really crazy when I got sick.  After my second surgery, the doctors had determined by biopsy that I did indeed have endometriosis in my chest.  Endo is an incurable condition that feeds on the body's production of estrogen. Cut the estrogen = put the endo in remission = happy, healthy Ariel.  After I had healed from surgery, I drove back to Houston to meet with my surgeon and an OB to come up with some sort of plan to keep my wind bags operational. The doctors gave me two options.  Get pregnant (which would give me 9 mos estrogen free) or take a nice little trip down menopause lane.  I'll spare you the details, but I must say it's fun to tell older ladies that I really do understand what a hot flash is.  Like really.

You would think that this would have answered our "same mind" question.  Not only did I want to do in vitro, now I needed to do it.  For my health. I know I had come to terms with the thought of adopting, but now this.  My chance to get my way.  My mind raced with these thoughts as sat in front of the doctors.  They gave me a referral to the best infertility specialist in Houston, and promised to talk with her to get me in as soon as possible. My heart was full, but not full of joy.  I don't know what it was.  It wasn't good though.  Kind of like a mixture of dread and sadness and about to be sickness.  I am not an extremely emotional person, but it took all I had to keep composure on the way out of the hospital.  Finally in my car, I focused hard on getting out of Houston without killing myself or anyone else.  Out of the city, onto the highway where my thoughts could leave the act of driving and get back to where they wanted to be.  Tears came, lots of them.  (so much for you believing me when I say I'm not an emotional person.  Hey, this is a touchy subject!) Out loud:  "What the crap is your PROBLEM ARIEL???" I was really confused. Usually, if I cry, I know what I am upset about.  I carried on in this fashion for a good few minutes, and then the words just rolled out of my mouth: "I think in vitro is wrong!" I sat there stunned, realizing the implication of what I had just voiced.  In my heart of hearts, I had always known I felt that way.  But not until I was staring it in the face, with a legitimate reason to claim "my" way, had I dared to go there, to admit it to myself. Oh, it was awful.  My dream was dying right there, I was killing it.  I wanted to deny it, but I couldn't.  I knew it was wrong, I knew I was going to have to trust God. His ways are higher than mine!
That 3 hour drive was rough.  When I got home, Matt was visibly concerned when he saw the the hot mess I had morphed into. For some reason, I couldn't bring myself to tell him what had happened immediately.  I just said that it had been a hard day, and he gave me space.  He is such a good man, and he knows just how to handle me.  That night as we were laying in bed, I told him.  He smiled and said that he knew what I was going to say.  That darn man.

I know all of this sounds crazy.  Perhaps it doesn't make any sense at all.  But I don't want to forget it how adoption began for us, and how God allowed the pieces to fit together. That was the second time that I had felt Him move in a major, undeniable way.  He loved me too much to allow me to deviate from His plan for my life. I'm not going to go into why I think in vitro is wrong, but I have solid reasons.  If you look, you'll see them too.  I know many people do it, and I believe that every human life was wrought by God and only breathes our air because He commands it. So I don't believe that the children born of in vitro aren't supposed to be here, or aren't loved and treasured by God.  The last thing I want this blog to do is stir up debate.  It's just a story, my story.

Things are going to look up in my next post, I promise. We're past most of the bad news, and it's just hope from here pretty much.  I feel kind of guilty about talking about how hard it was.  In this day in age, we all want to seem like we never hurt.  Maybe sharing this pain makes it seem like adoption isn't for us, because the idea didn't bring immediate, bursting joy.  But I know that's not true.  God called us for this.  I know it.  There aren't words to tell you how much I know it.  And isn't that sweeter?  Because He works in our hearts, adoption will never be second best.  It's what we want, in our heart of hearts! There are even moments when I realize that I would be disappointed if I got pregnant! I'm getting ahead of myself now.  I better spell check this and post it before I lose my nerve.

We are going to adopt. Part 2.

Where was I?  Oh yes, different pages.  The worst possible place for a marriage to be.  We have a wonderful marriage, and we agree on pretty much everything.  We love each other, like each other, enjoy each other.  That in itself can only be attributed to God.  We were such idiots when we got married, headed straight for failure.  But He saved us. He taught us to respect and love one another.  To love Him... That's another story though...
So facing the fact that we were in complete disagreement about our future was not fun.  I felt so lonely, so far away from him at first.  And I was angry.  We didn't really work it out; we couldn't.  We finally just quit talking about it and went on with life.  And we both kept praying.  Alone, and together, hands clasped kneeling before bed, despite the pride and selfishness that welled up inside of me. That was October 9, 2009. 

The First Heart-Change

This is a journal entry I wrote on Oct. 18, 2009.

Wow.  What a day.  Today something important happened.  I was listening to the sermon at church about Ephesians Ch. 3, and it was like God was definitely speaking to me.  I saw my life unfold in front of me as if it was a carpet.  Pastor was talking about Paul, and how he called himself a prisoner of Jesus Christ.  He rejoiced in his suffering as a Roman prisoner. And he completely trusted God.  God worked good through him.  When we fully trust in God, we allow Him to work mightily.  I have long prayed that God would teach me how to trust Him.  And now I see.  For the past 4 years, I have clung to the hope of having my own children, from my womb, and the joy that would come from being pregnant.  But that all revolved around me.  Yeah, I guess I could be satisfied with adopting, as a last resort.  Hopefully.  It was all selfish!  For my fulfillment!  Today I realized that if I will trust God, and allow Him to use me, He will do great things.  Think of all of the good that can be done if I can just trust!  I feel like I am standing at the edge of a cliff, and I have enough faith to jump, giving up all control.  I have been told and have read that God will protect me, and if I believe it, I will jump.  The fear is strong.  There is a lot to be afraid of. But I felt my world shift today.  No longer a selfish dread about what will happen if things don't go according to "my plan".  I felt that fade, and I felt a twinge of excitement as I thought about what joy will come from serving my Lord and being confident I am doing His will.  How can I ever teach a child to trust Him if I don't trust Him myself?
Paul had absolute, total trust in God's purpose.
Phil:1:12 says " For I want  you to know brethren, that the things which happen to me have actually turned out for the furtherance of the gospel."

That was the day that adoption became an option for me.  I wasn't ready to say that I wanted to do it.  Those motherly instincts were still there.  The idea of not ever getting to see 2 lines, or to feel a kick, or to hear that first cry, a cry of both our voices in one, still hurt.  It still does.  But I knew that God would take me where I couldn't take myself in my own strength.  He would give me the courage to face my fears about what people would say, whether or not I could really love the child, what if the child turned out to be crazy and hard  and ruined our lives.  I know that sounds extreme, but if you've stood or are standing in my shoes, you know.  Even if you're to afraid to voice it.  He would sustain me through the trials.  After becoming a Christian, I kept hearing people talk about "surrendering" to God.  I never understood what that meant.  Now I do.  God has denied us biological children for a reason. To give us faith. To fulfill His purposes.

I'd like to say that immediately after my revelation, we decided to adopt, and lived happily ever after.  My heart was changing, but it wasn't there yet.  Adoption was still second best in my heart of hearts.  But at least it was an option. 
Christmas came, and we got busy with life.  We continued to pray.  2010 rolled in and things got a little crazy. In April, I went to the doctor for this pesky recurrent chest pain, and ended up in the hospital for 2 weeks with a collapsed lung.  The next month it happened again, and I had my second surgery and it was confirmed by biopsy that I have a condition called catamenial pneumothorax. Basically, I have endometriosis in my diaphragm, which put holes in the diaphragm, causing the lung to collapse.  I could go into all of the details, but I prefer not to think about those couple of months.  It was a really trying time.  I didn't know it then, but another piece of our family future would fit together during these challenging months.

We are going to adopt.

Lately I have been thinking about how I would document out adoption story once it started, and then I realized that it started many, many years ago. That realization caused my pulse to quicken with fear. Yes, fear. Reason being that I love to document everything. Realizing that this journey has already begun, without my acknowledgment, means that moments have gone undocumented, and are essentially gone. That is what scares me. Moments past are my treasures. I sporadically kept diaries as a child, and as an adult, I have journaled, pages upon pages, life full, moment full, me full. I know that sounds remarkably self-centered, as if someone would actually care enough someday to know me so well. But if I found journals of my great-grandmother, I would treasure them. Not everyone would, but I would. Am I doing this just in case someone treasures my life happenings someday? No. Am I doing it only to share with you? No. All of my journals are the "old fashioned" way...you know, pen and paper? The kind when you seriously don't worry about your handwriting, or grammar, or spelling, but where you just pour out, unabashed and unashamed. And then you hide them in places like old coat pockets or in the bottom of a cedar chest in between the folds of a blanket (don't worry, my real hiding places are much more creative than these). These journals are the kind that you carefully locate and secure before the PCS movers arrive to turn your house upside down, and move to another room entirely if your in-laws (or anyone for that matter) are staying in your guest room.
So, not because I think someone will care, not because I have some desire to be heard do I write. Why I do it I really don't know. I just do. Maybe the main reason is because I want to remember, want to be able to feel the feelings of my whole life again if I want to. And perhaps sharing parts of my life might be, by the grace of God, a small encouragement to someone out there. I don't really know. So if you're not into my helter-skelter, all over the place kind of writing, that's okay. I'm not doing it for you anyway.
I'm noticing that all of my personal posts have some sort of disclaimer like the one above. I wonder why I do that. But let's get back to the journey.
Like most girls, I always knew I wanted to be a mother. Even when we were trying not to get pregnant, and somehow thought that maybe we were, I was excited. Once we started "not trying not to", which turned into trying, I used to keep track of the number of months that my heart fell every time I realized that I had been tricked once more by foolish hope. I think that number was around 66 or 67 last time I checked. Truth is, somehow I always knew. Before we had any reason to think anything was wrong, I remember asking the doctor if he saw any reason I might not get pregnant. He laughed and said no. I even asked him to do further tests, answer still no. After a year, we kind scratched our heads and thought hmmm...then two years, then three then four. During that time, I was privy to the discovery of so many pregnancies. I won't tell you how many times I fell into my husband's arms and cried after a friend shared her exciting news, so broken and ashamed of myself for not being able to share in their joy. He learned to be prepared for this, and always held me quiet strong; there never were any words. Moving so much, and not wanting to know, prevented us from getting to the heart of the matter until year 5. I remember the day when the truth rolled in, sure and solid. I sat outside our house before we drove to our appointment, in a swing on a playground, and thanked God that He had made us wait. I thanked him for all the time he had given me to learn how to be a mom from others, and to mature in my faith. Then we drove to the doctor. That experience was awful. The doctor basically insulted us for not realizing there was a problem sooner (which we did) and then told us that my husband was a no go without in-vitro. He even told us infertility "jokes". How anyone could find that a joking subject, I know not. I wanted to punch him in the face and call him many, many bad words. Instead, I blinked back the flood. In the elevator on the way out, we were accompanied by a young teenage girl with a bulging middle. Her eyes said she didn't want this, and mine said I was desperate for it. In the car, the flood came.
My husband couldn't understand how I was so surprised. I don't know either. I think the correct term might be denial. On the way home that day, something else awful happened. We were suddenly divided...on different pages. I wanted to start in-vitro right away, and he didn't. Pause here and think about a little girl throwing a fit because she wasn't getting her way. I admit it, that's what I did. It was a bad day. I'm not going to try to remember how that felt or what I said; I don't want to.
Finally, we agreed to pray that God would give us one mind about how to start our family. So I prayed this, heart bent on it being "my mind" that we came to. I didn't believe that God could change my mind, so obviously it would be Matt's that would be changed.
Ok, that's enough for one post...I'm losing interest in writing and I'm hungry.