One Day at a Time

It’s been a long time since I last blogged here.

And staring at this page, an old familiar, yet distance friend -- I wasn’t sure I could even put into words how I feel. Or what the point of it would be.

So much has changed since my last blog. Some of the best and worst moments of my life. But how do I completely express the profound joy and pain that I have gone through since then, and for who? Is it better to internalize my thoughts and feelings? Is it better to keep them safe inside? Maybe. Maybe expressing them out loud is only putting myself out there to be hurt or judged or criticized. Because who, in the infertility world who hasn't been so lucky, wants to read about the deep and total joy that having a baby has brought into my life. And who wants to hear about the complete devastating hole that losing my mom, my best friend, has caused in my life. This is a forum for infertility, not the loss of a mother. This is a forum to complain about never been able to conceive, not finally being given the miracle of a child. And who, if not my mother -- the first person who would read my blog and call me to encourage me on, to tell me that she believes in me, that I’m an amazing daughter who deserves the best in life -- will care?

Yet here I am. Back to this blog. Back to this journey. A journey I never thought I would take again.

After I was blessed with the gift of my son, I was forever grateful to CCRM for bringing such a miracle into our lives. But I swore that I done with infertility, that I was happy with one child, that I was blessed beyond belief and felt like leaving that life behind me forever was the right thing to do. Of course, I always wanted a sibling for Cooper, but I didn’t want to be greedy, I didn’t want to risk any more money, time or emotion in the land of infertility. I was happy with my miracle and had decided to move on. Or so I thought.

Five months after giving birth to our miracle baby, we found out my mom had stage four cancer and had been given less than a year to live. It was the absolute, most devastating moment of my life to date. My mom. My rock. My biggest fan and supporter. My best friend. How could something like this happen? She was only 61. She was healthy and fit and happy and filled with joy and gratitude. She had a beautiful marriage, friendships, and her dream of becoming a grandma had finally come true. She was over the moon in love with Cooper and was filled excitement for the future. She was supposed to be here for all of this. It didn’t seem real.

We moved our family back home, went through 16 rounds of chemo, a heart-breaking amount of pain meds, and within 9 months she had lost her battle with cancer. My mother was gone. Just like that. Being an only child, and also having an extremely close relationship with my mom, I felt completely lost. And still do.

Maybe this is why I’m back. Maybe this is what prompted me to change my mind about wanting another child. I suddenly feel the need to make my family bigger, to fill the void that has been left behind, to grow my family, instead of watch it get smaller. Watching my mother (the most wonderful, loving, and positive person in the world) slowly die, was the worst nine months of my life. And this was mixed along with some of the absolute greatest moments of my life, holding my baby in my arms, watching him smile and laugh and take his first steps. My heart was overcome with emotion that I was unable to understand, much let alone, try to express.

It has been 20 months since Cooper was born and 6 months since my mom passed away, and I have realized one thing: You have to enjoy each moment you have been given, good or bad, right or wrong, happy or sad. We have to try to stay in the present moment and make the most of it.

Which has led me and Dave back to CCRM.

We had our consult with Dr. Schoolcraft and booked our tickets. We fly to Denver over Easter weekend for our one day work-up.

Where will we go from there? Nobody knows. And that’s the thing about life. You just never know.

All we can do is take it one day at a time.