I was doing so well...

It's been said--though not by Albert Einstein, by the way--that insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. 

We knew something had to change after our latest miscarriage in August this year. Our story seems like a broken record stuck on the same sad song playing over and over, until one realizes that it's actually four separate songs, though very similar in detail. Those four songs have consumed and drained and haunted us to the core. We held onto hope that "maybe the next time it will work" while grieving our first three losses, but the fourth one hit differently. So, something had to change. 

In September I took the five days of bereavement allowed to me per my employee handbook for our loss. During those days, I sat in my feelings, I cried hard, I released my tears, and I also moved my body and breathed fresh air. I painted by number and prayed, meditated, and sat in silence. I leaned into self care. I did not run away from my sadness. I attended therapy and was connected with support networks and resources. I scheduled doctors appointments and went to consultations and requested all the medical tests possible because those are all things I can control in a situation that is so wildly beyond our control. And I was doing so well...

Side note: take every opportunity to visit Lake Superior that you can.

Until a burst of wind fueled the cyclone of October and dropped my dad's brain cancer diagnosis into the mix. Life turned into: 

• Me, attending my own previously scheduled hospital appointments, and once those finish, taking the elevator to the floor where my dad is being monitored in the ICU. 
• Me, going to the clinic for a scheduled blood draw while also waiting for a phone call from my mom so I can listen in on my dad's pre-operative care plan. That phone call coming exactly as I'm scheduled to go in for a poke, and knowing very well that patients having labs drawn are not supposed to simultaneously be on the phone, I go in anyway because I also need the results of my blood draw. Me apologizing to the lab tech for being on the phone but also being unwilling to hang up or wait. My dad is important. I am important. Both statements are true.
• Me, learning about newly discovered kidney conditions (mine) because did you know that the kidneys and the uterus are formed by the same cells and when there are issues with one, there are likely issues with the other? Also, me, learning all about brain tumors and treatment options and questioning why I never wanted to become a doctor.

I really was doing so well, and then all that happened. All that is still happening. And yet, Emi and I refuse to set our dreams of becoming parents aside. My family is important, and that family includes the next generation.

So, going back to that. We started asking for help, and the responses we are receiving are all the puzzle pieces falling into place. Even if they're not all neatly contained within the same box and aren't being received all at once, these responses are our reason to remain hopeful on this journey. Infertility is not for the faint of heart. For those wondering what to say or how to help, allow me to quote a random Instagram post that appeared in my algorithm that really resonated with me: 

• I see you. I am sorry. I am so sorry. (repeat x5)
• Is it okay if I hug you?
• Here is $26,000 for you.

That last bullet point is where we could really use some help. We have an exciting plan in the works involving IVF and a gestational carrier, and that plan, exciting as it is, has a lot of medical and legal costs involved. For those willing and able to donate to our cause, you can find me on Venmo @tracyskluzacek.