Funding An Oven For Our Bun

It wasn’t long after our first anniversary that Eric and I decided we wanted to grow our family. The time wasn’t perfect. Money was tight. Work was stressful… but we just couldn’t help but want to start having those tiny humans we had dreamed about since we decided on forever with each other. After about 6 months or so of nothing happening, I started tracking things, taking my basal body temp, all sorts of at home tests… this went on for a year. After about 18 months, I was out on a girl’s night painting pottery. I was surrounded by some lovely women on all walks of life… and I casually brought up that we were “trying” … something Eric and I kept to ourselves for the last year and a half. Something in my gut just wanted to keep it private… I didn’t want people to ask invasive questions I couldn’t answer. But on this particular night I felt like maybe I should mention it… and they all encouraged me to call. A few nights later I was out to dinner with another dear friend… brought it up and asked for her Dr’s information. I made the call, scheduled the appointment… it was another 2 months before we could even get the consultation. I remember praying and begging that God would allow us to conceive and I would be able to cancel. We made our way past the sculptures of families and plush uterus dolls to the office and for the first time in a while, I felt like there was hope. After answering all his questions and showing him the app I was tracking everything on, he pretty much said everything looked good and pending anything cray (my words) we should be good to go! A few months of clomid, IUI’s and still nothing. I had a panic attack the first time the Dr wanted to do an extensive exam… so he let me go without one because statistically, I should have been fine without. I also had pretty extensive records of my cycles for 12 months… so that also bought me some time. three months later, my Dr decided I needed to bite the bullet to see what was going on in my uterus that prevented me from conceiving. When the day finally came, I had to take some special happy pills to get me to sit still. Leading up to this appointment, I had experienced some abnormal bleeding for the first time, or at least the first time I noticed. My anxiety was at an all time high- at least to date. It’s been higher since. During the exam, he found what he believed to be two benign fibroids. He referred me to a surgeon who was better equipped to remove them. I had to wait for what felt like an eternity. For the first time in my life my cycle was 12 days late. It was a cruel moment of hope that I was actually finally pregnant against all odds after two long years of trying. A blood test confirmed that I was not pregnant, and my uterus was just a big fat deformed jerk. I had the procedure to remove the fibroids… and had to deal with a uterus balloon for a week. Guys. I almost left that detail out… but I mean… It’s a big freaking deal. It is as uncomfortable as it sounds. And then… the removing of the stinking uterus balloon is STILL top 5 most painful things I have ever experienced. I talked Eric into going to work instead of coming with me because I didn’t think it was going to be a big deal… BUT a friend of mine insisted on taking me… thank goodness because not only was I told I had cancer… but I was in a good amount of pain and wouldn’t have been able to drive. It’s weird to look back on how things work out and seeing God’s hand in it all. I don’t know what it’s like for other people who are told they have cancer… all I know is what it was like for me. I looked around the room… made eye contact… took note of all the smiling faces in the pictures on his desk.  I knew that this moment was going to change my life, and yet couldn’t really comprehend what he was saying. I heard what I wanted… maybe what I needed to that day. That what I had was rare… but treatable. That after maybe some hormone therapy, and some time (6 months or so), I would be back at my fertility Drs office and on track for more fertility treatments and eventually possibly pregnancy. It was a blur… despite knowing in my head I needed to try my best to remember what he said because I was going to need to tell Eric. And my family. Oh my gosh. My mind wandered to how I was going to tell my mom, sister and brother. They had already lost my dad… and my sister. How was I going to tell them I had cancer? How could I tell them this and protect them at the same time? Maybe I wasn’t paying as close attention to what he was saying as I thought. He slid a box of tissues across the desk, but I wasn’t even crying… I thought to myself “ok… what did I miss?”. At one point, I asked them to get my friend who was in the waiting room. I thought maybe someone else needed to hear it too so we could dissect it together and make more sense of this. I will give this Dr a pass because he’s in the telling people they’re pregnant business and not the telling people they have cancer business. I took the first available appointment for a CT… as soon as my CT was finished, I scheduled my first appointment with the oncologist. We really thought that it was just a formality, and were not prepared at all for what was next. The Oncologist was such a jerk. As he was going through my family history, he became so flustered when I couldn’t tell him the exact type of cancer my grandmother had… Finally, I just said “well, she’s dead so it’s not like I can call her and ask”! After working through his computer issues and his annoyance that I didn’t know all the things I was never told (because you don’t tell children these details)… he tells me I need to undress from the waist down and have an exam. I looked at Eric and he was just as confused as I was… when I asked why he needed to exam me he blurted out “You have endometrial cancer! Do you think I will treat you without examining you?!”. Boom. Just like that it hit me… I had real cancer. Not a cancer scare… not just a few cells that were removed with the fibroids that were malignant… that I had actual, real cancer. Serous Adenocarcinoma to be exact. I didn’t google it because I was told that it wasn’t going to tell me anything about ME … because it was caught so early. Before we left, he made a comment about how he was more interested in saving my life than my uterus. Holding the script for an MRI we left… still in a daze trying to figure out what the heck just happened. It took about two weeks to get the appointment for the MRI, and we were able to get the oncologists very first appointment the next day- two days before Thanksgiving. We sat in the tiny, hot room overlooking Philadelphia. I was barely seated before he blurts out “well… It’s just as I thought… we’re going to have to remove everything. Uterus. Tubes. Cervix. Ovaries. It looks as though it’s spread to more than 50%”. It’s hard to articulate the moment you know your life is never going to be the same. Devastation. Shock. Pain. As soon as he said that he rolled right into the possibility of chemo and radiation, but he STILL didn’t know. More questions than answers. There was a lovely combination of tears and snot all over my face almost immediately…and couldn’t find any tissues. The Dr reached for his phone and asked me for my fertility Dr’s information, so he could “help” us start the process of an egg retrieval. I was shaking… I could barely see past the tears while reaching for my phone… I pulled up the information and slid it across the desk… thinking to myself “what kind of sadistic animal doesn’t have tissues when telling someone they are going to lose all of their reproductive organs?!” Finally, I saw it… the box behind him on the window sill. As I got up to get them myself I listen to him tell my fertility Dr all the patients they had in common… “so and so is pregnant thanks to you…and so and so…”… each miracle story a stab right in the heart. Where was my miracle? The most information I knew about my cancer was learned second hand from what he was telling my fertility Dr. He was OK with giving me six weeks for an egg retrieval, but no more than that. It was type 2 endometrial cancer, he wanted to test me for lynch syndrome (whatever that was), there was 50% uterine invasion, non-hormone receptive, possibly papillary but needed more testing. We left shell shocked and silent… the only thing sure of is that I never wanted to see him again and he was absolutely never touching me again. We went home… but didn’t get out of the car. We sat in our 5-passenger vehicle, looking at our pop-up camper that sleeps 5, in the driveway for our 5-bedroom house. We were prepared for kids. We wanted kids. Every decision we made up until that point was made with “for when we have kids” in mind. And now, suddenly, the dream was all but dead. About to be surgically removed because if not, the organ that was supposed to carry our children would kill me. So, we did what anyone would do… we went out to eat, went Christmas shopping… and then we came home and started to decorate for Christmas. I barely remember telling our families, if I’m going to be honest. I could if I tried… but telling them was worse than being told. The weeks that followed we just did our best to stay positive. We didn’t tell too many people. I found a new oncologist that I loved. He immediately made me feel safe. He listened to our story and genuinely was sad for us that we were in this situation. He gave me a big hug on our way out the door and I knew I was in good hands. He was an answer to prayer. The meds for the egg retrieval came in days after Christmas as we were on track for an egg retrieval exactly a week before I was scheduled for my Hysterectomy. As my Dr put it, we were swinging for the fences. I was on really high doses of everything hoping to retrieve 12-15 eggs, in hopes that 8-9 would fertilize, and we would be able to freeze 3-4 healthy embryos. The final week before the retrieval involved ultrasounds and labs every other day. The tech was always super sweet and positive… but I could tell it was difficult for her to get a good look at what was going on in there. It was a few days before the retrieval that my Dr sat me down and told me that despite our best efforts… my body just wasn’t responding to the hormones as they had hoped… and it looked like we would maybe only be able to retrieve 3 eggs. I quickly did the math and realized he was trying to prepare me for the possibility that it wasn’t going to work. I left that day and just cried. It’s all I could really do. I prayed that maybe… just maybe God would please give us a chance to have a biological child. I was trying to be grateful for excellent insurance that covered the cost of the meds ($15,000 worth, not including the cost of the labs and ultrasounds and retrieval procedure) … because not everyone has the opportunity to even try… but it was hard. I felt like I was quickly losing even the shred of hope I was clinging to for dear life. The day of the egg retrieval came, and they were able to retrieve 5 eggs! We waited a few days and we got the call that all five were successfully fertilized. Nothing short of a miracle. It was a few days before my surgery and I was running around making sure my house was clean, that all my FMLA and disability paperwork was complete and submitted. The day or so before my surgery I received a voicemail from the fertility office that for whatever reason, only one embryo was healthy and strong enough to freeze. One. I was in the parking garage of the hospital about to get my final pre-op labs drawn and I listened to it again. There were no more details than that… and I didn’t have it in me to call and ask for more reasons why. It didn’t matter, anyway. We had one. One chance. One really freaking perfect strong little fighter nugget of hope. I remember my prayer was that someday, I would be able to hold a baby in my arms, look into that tiny little face and see parts of me and Eric. God comforted my heart with the question “do you really believe what you say you believe?” meaning… I have always believed that life begins at conception. And even though only one little guy was strong enough to be frozen… we still had 5 that were fertilized. That means, that someday when I get to heaven… I will have at least 4 babies there waiting for me… my prayers were answered… even if it wasn’t in the way I had hoped. And we still have our one chance at a baby here on this earth… which is pretty exciting. And also, the scariest thing in the world. We need to not only find someone willing to carry this child of ours, take countless shots, invasive exams, and lab tests… we need to trust that they will be able to carry him or her full term. We have chosen to use an agency to help us select a surrogate that we are not related to in any way. We have had many people offer… but we decided it is best if we go with someone we will be able to separate ourselves from if the baby does not make it full term. We trust in God’s sovereignty in this whole situation… and we are hopeful that the baby will continue to thrive. Even still, we are trying to protect ourselves as much as humanly possible. Surrogacy is expensive. There are a few variables that are to be considered… it can cost up to $75,000 when all is said and done. This is our Everest. We don’t know much about the process at this point, and we will update as things move forward. But we know that we need to start fundraising as soon as possible. This is where finding words is the hardest. We are asking that you not only join us in prayer… but that if you are able, to help us financially as well. Even just sharing this page would mean the world to us, as it gets us that much closer to building our family. We want to thank you for taking the time to read this. We will continue to post updates here as we move forward. We will also be hosting other forms of fundraising other than this site- like our t-shirt fundraiser here: https://babyvp.bigcartel.com/

 

Love,

Connie & Eric