The year of change

Every man should be born again on the first day of January. Start with a fresh page. Take up one hole more in the buckle if necessary, or let down one, according to circumstances; but on the first of January let every man gird himself once more, with his face to the front, and take no interest in the things that were and are past. 

~ Henry Ward Beecher

2012. The year the Mayan Calendar ended and we were all told that the world would end. The year that brought so many around the world excitement as well as pain. Grey was once told that leap years are years of change. So far, this pattern has held true for us. 2004 was the year we were married (what a good year it was), followed by a wonderful honeymoon exploring the West Coast and a new position for me which would ultimately lead me to graduate school. 2008 marked the turning point in so many aspects: Grey finished his PhD training and began a postdoc that would open so many doors for him, Lucas's wedding and the news that we would not only have a nephew in the new year but also twins in the family and my graduate training turned a corner, resulting in a manuscript that would not only allow me to graduate but open so many doors for me. Then there's been 2012.

It's no secret that 2012 has been a hard year for Grey and me. One of the hardest years we've ever known. We started Jan 1st thinking we were finally pregnant and eager for the future. Within hours, that ended. Litte did we know that more pain was to follow and on the heels of that crippling depression. Somehow in the middle of the year, we began to rebuild and heal. Without the love and support that we both received here, I don't think any of that would have been possible.

Still, there's been some good things. Over the summer, I secured a postdoc in Boston. Since then, the wheels have been in motion and I've been very busy writing fellowship applications. To date, four applications are out the door at the major agencies with only one internal one needing to be completed. During this time, I've had the opportunity to work closely with my new advisor, building a relationship and showing her how committed I am to this project and my training. So far, it's been amazing and she's incredibly hopeful for something coming through soon. It's the little moments where we synch up that make me smile. In short, the work front has been good. I'm excelling in research and will be writing another manuscript in the new year. Not too sabbie for someone who is battling infertility and loss.

In addition to work, Grey and I are stronger. Stronger than I ever knew possible. I always believed that our marriage was a good one, but like all things it's stress that truly will test it. Needless to say, despite the stress and the pain and the heartache, we are not only standing but fighting. Grey pointed out to me the other day how amazingly strong scar tissue is. It's never pretty, but in a lot of ways it's far superior to regular tissue. In addition, the scars are where the stories are. The stories that make you laugh, make you cry.

I'm no longer naive to what the world holds. Reading back on my New Year's post last year had me shaking my head, thinking about how little I knew. This section in particular got me.

So, 2012, bring it. I know there will be moments of sorrow (there always are), but I also know that I'm stronger because of this path I've been on. There is nothing you can throw at me that I can't handle because I won't be alone. And I'm determined that there will be moments of joy; moments that I can look back on and treasure for the years to come.

It's hard to not want to go back and smack my younger self. To scream about this things to come. And yet, I also see a wisdom there from a younger me who wants to live.

Mo's recent post has been resonating with me in relation to what I'm dealing with. After three years on the TTC road, I'm also ready to move on. This past year has been one where I've watched others I know and have grown to love move on, finally expanding their families. All with some guilt and various levels of apology. The thing is, I don't want to live in the fear and pain anymore. I've had enough for a lifetime.

If nothing else, 2012 has taught both Grey and me that we are made of steel but also that we need to stop apologizing and live. No more comparisons; no more Pain Olympics.

With the closing of 2012 comes more news about our current cycle and movement forward. Our suppression check on Dec 14th cleared me to begin stimming (I practically did cartwheels out of the office when I learned I could drop my Lupron dose). My birthday present this last week was the news from the Endo check: ovaries are quiet and my lining is at ~ 11 mm. The thickest it's ever been. Equally surprising was the news that I was to start PIO that evening and begin Lovenox on Monday. Our transfer is this Wednesday (1/2/2013). That date has since been on my brain: 1, 2, 3. With everything going the way it has, it's hard not to hope.

Here's the thing: the me of a year ago would have been spending the past few days thinking about everything that could go wrong. The me of today is burned out from that. Call me naive, but being cautious and wary has become hard. It doesn't mean I'm not aware that all of this could fail, and I would be so heartbroken if it did, but I can't live in fear of heartbreak.

So, here's my New Year's wish: That there be no more sorrow and instead that there be joy and laughter. That there be light once again. Not only for us, but for everyone who has suffered and struggled. More specifically, I wish for all of us to find your children this year, either the path to them or that we actually bring them home. I wish for this chapter to end for each of us. I wish for resolution for us all.

Welcome 2013. May it be a year of hope.