I hate to admit that I was very bitter about my birthday yesterday, and I did not expect to feel that way. I don’t understand why I’ve had 31 more birthdays than Lily had. Micah tried very hard to make it a nice day for me. He made a cake, and decorated it with butterflies and birds:

It was really sweet of him, but all I could do was stare at the 2 candle. I couldn’t wait to take it off the cake.

I know days like this will get easier in time, but right now, they are more than I can take. I pulled a muscle in the back of my neck from walking around with my head dropped all the time. It won’t heal, and neither can my heart. I just hope and pray that our babies make it. I need to feel life that reignites me.

I am trying so hard to stay positive and eliminate stress. I know how crucial that is right now. I can’t help crying many times every day when I think of Lily, though. The grief has evolved from the desperate, shaky panic that brought physical pain to a weak, draining sadness. I just hang my head and weep. I miss her more than words can express. I listen to people complain about their kids, and I want to scream, “Do you know how lucky you are that they woke up this morning?” Instead, I say nothing. I don’t want to be bitter. I don’t want to be that person.

I keep reliving the last weeks of Lily’s life in my mind, trying to find something that may be a clue as to what happened to her. I am left with nothing. Her eyes were so bright. She was smiling and laughing. There must be great significance in the fact that SUDC occurs during sleep. Some part of her body that regulated her heart rate, her breathing, or her temperature must have failed that night. No one can convince me that it was a sudden onset. It had to have been a sort of ticking time bomb – one that may have begun as early as conception – that we could not detect. That conclusion reminds me of how thankful we should be for the 20 months and 19 days that we had her. Otherwise, I would torture myself, trying to pinpoint the moment when she went from a perfectly healthy child to one with a fatal condition. I have no medical background whatsoever, and even those who do cannot understand SUDC. Early on, I wasn’t as concerned with finding an exact cause because it scared me to have a term that I could research. That has changed. I just want to understand. That is why we are organizing Lily’s Walk for Answers. I want to live to see a day when SUDC can be prevented, or at the very least, I want to read about a successful resuscitation. I hate to know that a parent somewhere in the world is going to experience this, and right now, they have no idea it’s coming. That thought breaks my heart.

We are still busy with weekend visitors, but I wanted to share some highlights from Saturday.

Molly and Mia’s First Holy Communion:

I am so proud of both of them. I also loved seeing Mia in my dress!

Molly, Mia, and William’s birthday party:

Our four beautiful embryos who made it to blast and were transferred:

I spent most of the day on the couch resting. Everyone was so helpful and kept cleaning up the house for me. Micah can’t stop looking at the photo. He is convinced that they are all very strong, and that we will have quadruplets! Please pray that our babies grow and stay healthy! I will post more soon.

… but not nearly as much as people claim. Ice packs work wonders, and I will never complain if all of this results in a healthy baby!

Today is Molly and Mia’s birthday! I can’t believe they are 8 years old! They asked me to post videos of them today, but Molly couldn’t decide what to sing. Mia has a little dance that she always does to make me laugh when I’m upset, so she thought it was the perfect thing to share.

Saturday is their First Holy Communion. And their birthday party. And my embryo transfer. It should be interesting.

We’ve been working through our huge to-do list of yard work and spring cleaning. It’s a bit like nesting. I don’t want to do anything strenuous at all once those babies are transferred. We won’t know their status until Saturday morning, and it’s making us crazy uneasy. Keep growing, embies. We need you!

I don’t want to speak too soon, but I think we may have secured our first official sponsor for Lily’s Walk for Answers. I have been working tirelessly on sponsor letters. Here is one of the many batches that mailed out this week:

I am determined to make this walk a success. Lily loved our walks at the lake so much. I know she will be watching over all of us when we walk in her memory.

I registered Will for kindergarten today. He will be in school full time, starting in September. It’s scary for me. I dreaded the day when the last of our kids went to school. I’m not ready. It shouldn’t have happened like this. When I think about it too much, my head lowers in despair.

I miss Lily so much. I miss feeling her weight when we cuddled; her head on my shoulder. I miss her giggle. I miss watching her stand at the top of the stairs yelling, “Dad!” when Micah came home from work. Our house feels so empty without her. All I could think about today was the fact that I would never have a chance to do things like register her for school or watch her climb the stairs of a school bus.

The sadness, the knot in my chest – They haven’t diminished, but I’ve learned that life has to go on. Birthdays, milestones, and new life will keep cropping up in front of us. I have to be thankful for each day I’m given, and celebrate the good that remains.

My egg retrieval took place yesterday, and I wasn’t very well prepared. Since we lost Lily, I have been trying to take everything in life one step at a time. People would ask me what was going to happen next in the IVF process, whether it was meds I was starting or specific dates. I didn’t always have an answer. I didn’t want to get overwhelmed.

I was taken into the OR, and Micah came in just as I was about to be sedated. I remember the anesthesiologist asking me some basic questions, and then I was out! I woke up feeling groggy and uncomfortable. It wasn’t long before we had some good news.

They retrieved 38 eggs! We were amazed. They decided to start Intralipids through my IV. Intralipids suppress natural killer cells in the body, ensuring that embryos will safely implant and grow. It’s a newer, more experimental therapy, but it is recommended in women who have experienced recurrent miscarriage. As an additional precaution, I will also start Lovenox injections.

I had to practically climb up the stairs when we got home. I was in a lot of pain, and slept through most of the afternoon. When I woke up, I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. I started to worry about OHSS. I drank as much water as I could handle in order to keep hydrated. That seems to have helped. I’m feeling much better today!

We anxiously awaited a phone call from the embryologist this morning. The report:

- Of 38 Eggs, 20 did not fertilize
- 18 Eggs fertilized successfully
- 9 Embryos survived

Our embryo transfer is scheduled for Saturday morning. We are hoping that at least 4 survive to blast.

We never found out what caused us to have 9 failed pregnancies, with the exception of my most recent loss (it was a partial molar pregnancy). We are hoping that the eggs which didn’t fertilize/grow properly are the ones which wouldn’t have survived pregnancy, leaving us with only healthy embryos. We have a 75% pregnancy failure rate with natural conception, so our goal in doing this was to have the best chance possible to conceive a healthy child. The embryos are in a good environment in which nature will take its course. Everything is in God’s hands now, just as it would be if we set out to conceive naturally. We were scared to go into this, given our religious beliefs, but we are proceeding with respect for life. I pray that God will give us at least one healthy child! I know Lily would want this for us too.

“What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again.” ― Suzanne Collins

I went to the cemetery to set up all of the things we had been saving for Lily. The manager and groundskeeper must have recognized my car, because they quickly pulled up to ask if I was happy with the headstone. They knew how much it meant to me. They also assured me that grass would be planted soon. I thanked them and forced a smile. I came back a few hours later, and found a layer of top soil and scattered seeds. Everything was done. There was nothing else I could put aside for Lily. I couldn’t think of any more special things to bring. I felt the tremendous weight of sadness on my shoulders, crushing me. Everything felt so final, to a degree which I had not yet experienced.

Molly and Mia wanted to go back at dusk so they could see all of the solar lights. I waited anxiously for them to return from their last CCD class of the year. It was getting dark. A woman approached my car, and I quickly remembered her. The last time I saw her, she was pregnant with her daughter, and she congratulated me on Lily’s birth. She glanced back at the empty seat behind me, squinting as she struggled to break a language barrier.

“I heard you lost your baby. I’m so sorry.”

I nodded, and thanked her. A few awkward moments passed, and she walked back to her car. My eyes followed her for a few seconds before I decided to look busy with my cell phone. She had a strange look on her face, as if my presence put a curse of death on all healthy children. I wondered if the looks of pity, fear, and confusion would ever end. Being that parent – the one whose child suddenly died – now seemed to come with a social stigma. I wanted to feel like myself again, but Lily took much of my identity with her that night.

I blamed my reaction on hormones, wiped my tears, and drove away to beat the sunset. We made it.

Micah hugged me and sobbed. It was the first time I saw him cry in a while, and I could tell that he felt as lost and overwhelmed as I did. We wanted to be Lily’s parents – We were blessed to have been chosen – but we needed more warm goodnights. The goodbye came too soon, and it had grown so dark.