Another month, another year, but hope springs eternal

It’s pretty much a universal human flaw that we don’t appreciate what we have. We always want more, and I’m no different.

This week, I turn 36 years old and it’s not a day I’m excited about.

I know what you’re thinking. Thirty-six isn’t that old, quit my whining, right?

And you’re right: I’ve got a great husband who loves me, despite my numerous flaws. I have a son that lights up my life every moment of every day. I have a loving, loyal dog, who — despite a freakish ability to escape every kennel we construct for him — I love dearly, and two cats that are practically my four-legged children.

But it’s just not enough.

Another month has passed, and we are still no closer to expanding our family. I worry so much about the statistics of “a woman my age.” It’s a phrase I have heard frequently in the doctor’s office (by three different doctors, in fact). Sure, most women after the age of 35 go on to have healthy, full-term pregnancies, but the risks go up after that magical age deadline. I can’t help but obsess over terms like preeclampsia, gestational diabetes, Down syndrome and miscarriage.

Now, just to be clear, if my next child has health problems, I will love him or her with all my heart either way. But no parent would hope for that scenario. We are dedicated to creating a life for our children where they are better off than we ever were.

I’m trying to stay positive, but with each passing month that seems more and more difficult. I have one more month the natural way, then I go back onto fertility medication. Then there’s only three to four monthlong rounds of that before I graduate to more advanced procedures — if we choose to pursue them.

My body is rebounding from surgery quite well, and I’ve been struck by the notion that a woman’s body, at the end of her lifetime, has quite a story to tell. There are pregnancy stretch marks, a caesarian-section scar and now four incision marks — all within 8 inches of one another — on my torso. Each mark tells the story of the most significant moments of my life, and I hope as hard as I can that there are more marks to come.

It is so easy to get drawn into the self-pitying spiral, and there are days that I don’t win that fight, but I have to keep hoping. In our darkest hours, when life’s circumstances are beyond our control, isn’t hope all we have?

Yes, I yearn for more, because I have so much more love to give. In the meantime, I hope. I hope the wish for my future is granted; I hope to cherish my present as much as I can, and I hope to not dwell on the failures of my past.

— Sarah Leach is editor of The Holland Sentinel. Contact her at (616) 546-4278 or sarah.leach@hollandsentinel.com.

Heavy thoughts now at the top of my mind

I have a weight hanging on my shoulders.

Actually, it’s hanging around my gut. … And my thighs. … And the region that was once known as my butt, but has recently been reclassified as a planet.

It’s safe to say I need to lose some weight.

To be fair, I have never been a slim gal. I’ve always carried at least an extra 20 pounds, but I was pretty content with keeping within that range.

I was one of the lucky ones, I’m told, when I gained 35 pounds with my son, and I actually saw a quick pound-shedding after he was born. But the number on the scale started to creep up after my son turned 1 — and up and up it went.

Now my son is 2, I’m about 40 pounds overweight, and it’s time to do something about it.

My friends keep trying to reassure me: “Don’t put too much pressure on yourself; you just had a baby after all.”

I’m curious as to how long society is willing for me to ride on the coattails of that fact. Do you think I could get away with it until my son graduates from high school? Then maybe I can gain the sympathy freshman 15 when he goes off to college? Perhaps I could then be firmly in the grandma classification and just give up?

I have been getting in my own way, really. I work too much, at a desk job, no less. And I was born with an affinity for food. Seriously, there are very few things I don’t like (I’m looking at you, butter pecan ice cream). So inactivity + food love affair = lifelong weight struggles.

When I finally realized I was getting too heavy again — let’s face it, I’ve been in this position a few times — I convinced myself that I shouldn’t bother because I was trying to have another child. It was sound reasoning, I told myself: “Why lose a bunch of weight, only to gain a bunch of weight, only to lose a bunch of weight again?”

But we have not been blessed with another baby yet, and I’m running out of excuses.

It might mean getting up an hour earlier for exercise in the morning, but keeping myself healthy keeps me around longer — for all the babies I hope to have. I’m going to start right away. … OK, maybe tomorrow.

— Sarah Leach is editor of The Holland Sentinel. Contact her at (616) 546-4278 or sarah.leach@hollandsentinel.com.

A new journey unfolds to expand our family

The word “benign” has many definitions: gracious, mild, gentle, harmless.

But to me, it means so much more. It means I don’t have cancer and that I still have a chance at achieving my dreams.

A few weeks ago, the doctor found a cyst on my ovary and I needed to have laparoscopic surgery. It was discovered in the course of me being treated for infertility problems. And the moment the doctor told me about the growth, I was faced with two greatest fears: Do I have cancer? and Will I be able to have more children?

Now, people might think that because I share a lot about my life through a regular column in the newspaper that I would have no trouble sharing these recent concerns, but they would be wrong. Something I ran into was the intensely private nature of infertility and the reticence of others to talk about it.

So I had to make a choice: put myself out there and try to get people comfortable with talking about it, or keep it private. When I started this column, I was newly pregnant and just embarking on the journey of motherhood. Now I am on the journey of trying to be a mother again and it is hard.

We have been trying for over a year with no success. I have seen three different doctors, went on fertility medication, then underwent the surgical removal of half of my ovary. It actually was a good outcome, as when they wheeled me into the operating room the doctor prepared me for the possibility of losing the entire ovary, therefore halving my chances of being pregnant again.

The reactions I have gotten are mixed, from completely empathetic to downright uncomfortable. I mean, let’s face it, no one wants to talk about someone else’s reproductive issues. But what surprised me were comments like, “Well at least you have your son.”

Just because I want another baby does not mean I am not grateful every single moment for my son. In fact, it’s my love for him that is fueling my effort to give him a sibling.

Another comment was, “Well you can always adopt.” My husband and I are very open to the idea of adoption, but it’s not as easy as that. When you have a baby and suddenly have infertility problems, it is painful and confusing. I want answers as to why my body suddenly stopped working properly, but the doctors can only speculate. I want to know what the options and probabilities are of getting pregnant, but the doctors don’t have a crystal ball. And when you mix all the hope and anxieties together, you don’t really know when to stop pursuing having biological children.

I don’t know what will happen next, but today I am healing from surgery and the growth was benign. Today I celebrate my good health and hope is renewed for now. And hopefully I will be brave enough to share the successes and setbacks that this new journey will bring.

-- Sarah Leach is editor of The Holland Sentinel. Contact her at (616) 546-4278 or at sarah.leach@hollandsentinel.com.