Please God, No Phone Call

The procedure on Tuesday went well. Thank you all for your prayers. We have gotten so much support throughout this whole ordeal that I doubt I'll ever be able to express the extent of my appreciation. I hear daily that we are part of prayer chains and people are lighting candles for us. I've received messages from people I've never even met. It's almost as if you all want this just as much as we do! Dankeschön!

It was my first time being put under anesthesia and I tried really hard to be a good patient. I swear. Before we went in, I told myself that I wouldn't talk a lot before they put me under or when I woke up. I said I would try not to tell them where to start my IV. I wouldn't mention anything about the sip of tea I had that morning, even though I was supposed to be NPO after midnight. Ooops! ;)

My mother-in-law ("Mama Frick," as I like to call her) accompanied me and we giggled a lot. She especially liked the fancy footwear she was required to wear.

As we arrived, the nurse asked me if I had my long T-Shirt/nightgown with me... 

"Umm...no? I didn't know I was supposed to bring anything with me...besides my ovaries."

"The doctors usually tell you to bring a long T-Shirt."

"Hm, no. I feel as though I've been poorly informed this whole procedure..."

...awkward silence...

"Ok, Mrs. Frick, I'll bring you something to wear."

And off she went to fetch me my makeshift nightgown.

I read on a little sign in the changing room that I'm allowed to keep on my underwe....no, sorry, "undertrousers" and jewelry. They didn't mention anything about a bra or socks but I made that decision myself. I didn't realize that morning that my socks would be visible to everyone. Hell would freeze over before I walk barefoot in any public place, plus my feet were cold, so I left them on. I was (am?) a bit behind on the laundry so it was slim-pickin's that morning. I came out of the changing room like this:

Tada! XL purple scrub top, no pants, complete with bright pink and purple leopard socks. I figured, what the hell, this isn't a fashion show...I'm just here trying to get pregnant, people.

They showed me to my bed, which had a little post-it note stuck to the foot - "Frau Frick." Eventually, the anesthesiologist came and talked to us. Random thought as she was jibber-jabbering:

"I wonder if she thinks Mama Frick is my lesbian lover..."

She placed an IV in my left antecubital (typical) and asked me some questions. 

"Have you eaten or drank anything after midnight?"

"Nope." ::poker face::

Some time later they came and wheeled me back into the operating room. I was instructed to take off my undertrousers and put them under my pillow. I laughed thinking that it's like some sort of twisted tooth fairy thing. Maybe while I'm asleep, they'll exchange my underwear and leave me a baby under my pillow! I walked from my bed to the table/chair-looking apparatus. There were three women around me preparing machines and tools. At some point, someone put a telephone in my hand...

...???...I answered it.

"Uh, hello?"

"Guten Morgen!"

Then I noticed the big glass window in front of me. I assumed it was the laboratory because I saw a bunch of computers, monitors, and microscopes. I could see another woman with a phone to her ear inside the lab smiling back at me.

"Guten morgen..." I replied.

And then there was silence. With the phone still to my ear I looked to the other women like "WTF, a little guidance would be nice!" Then they decided to tell me what the heck is going on. I'm supposed to say my name into the phone. Oh, um, ok?...

"Mein Name ist Rachel Frick?"

"Ok, Dankeschön!"

And then someone took the phone from my hand. Weird...

I "assume the position" and the women start to strap in my limbs. The anesthesiologist is there and tells me that I will feel weird for a moment and then "the dreams will come." I see her push the syringe of milky, white liquid into my vein..."Propofol" I state to myself. I look down at my legs in the stirrups and smile at my neon leopard socks right next to the doctor's head. As I stare at the ceiling and wait the anesthesiologist asks, "Are you an English woman?"

"No, I'm American." I reply.

...and that's the last thing I remember.

My nose got a little tingly and then I slept. It was peaceful and easy. I hope that's how it was for our pup, Tyson when we had to put him to sleep.

The next thing I hear is Mama Frick digging through her purse. It feels like a Sunday morning. I'm so tired and I just want to sleep a little bit longer but someone is already awake and making noise. All I want is for her to be quiet so I can sleep some more but I'm waking up slowly. The nurse in me counts my own respirations...they're about 5/min. (Mama Frick later told me she thought I wasn't breathing at all until she saw my eyelids flicker.) At some point, I reluctantly open my eyes and notice, for the first time, that there is a stork above my bed.

Yea, I look drunk and the XL scrub top makes me look like a sphere but that's as good as it gets. Again, I'm just there trying to get pregnant. I feel like we just got there but hours have passed and I can tell Mama Frick is getting antsy from sitting on that uncomfortable chair. I remember I'm not wearing any underwear and find them right where I left them. I slip them on under the blanket and start to take out my IV (see picture). Suddenly, the doctor comes around the corner and sits on my bed. I pretend like I wasn't just removing my own IV. She's talking and I'm trying really hard to listen but I'm only about 70% awake at this point. I try to wake myself up but it's useless.

She informs us that they took out 3 eggs. That's not very many but "hey, it's better than 2!" I tell myself. Things are still a bit hazy but she seems optimistic. She asks me one more time about "assisted hatching." With assisted hatching, they laser off a small part of the embryo membrane in hopes to increase the chance of it implanting on the uterine wall. I told her it's up to her. Eddie and I already signed paperwork for it and I told her money isn't an issue. I told her that we will go with her suggestion and not do it unless she sees the need.

She said that they will fertilize the eggs that afternoon and I am to make another appointment for Friday for implantation. She told me that they will call me if, for some reason, the embryos do not develop to cancel my appointment. She told me to make sure the phone number they have on file is correct. There were more instructions but I assumed Mama Frick was in a better state of mind to absorb the information.

In order to leave, Mama Frick had to accompany me on one walk so she escorted me to the bathroom. I was a bit wobbly but I made it into the stall. No one mentioned anything about bleeding (?) but I assumed that's normal. I went back to my bed and the anesthesiologist came to check on me. I asked her how I got from the table back to my bed and what happened to my hair net. She said two of them helped me walk.

I've been drunk before...pretty schwasted at times...but I've never blacked out. I've always been some-what conscious of my actions. It's weird to think that there is an hour of time that I don't remember. People were talking to me (in a foreign language, at that!) during that time and I was doing things that I have no recollection of. Again, it was my first time under general anesthesia and, for some, this happens often, but to me it's still creepy.

After what feels like eons of waiting, we figure out that we're free to go and that the nurse will take (finish taking) out my IV at the front. I make another appointment for Friday and double-checked the phone number they have saved. I resisted the urge to give them a fake number.

I've never not wanted a phone call so bad. I remember in middle school hoping for a phone call after cheerleading try outs. I would wait by the phone for hours...but this is the opposite. I walk around all day with my phone in my pocket. I double, triple check to make sure the volume is as loud as possible. It comes in the bathroom with me. When I shower, I hurry out and check if there are any missed calls. I don't want a phone call. Please God, don't let them call me. I routinely check the clock. I try to calculate what time the people in the lab probably get to work. When the clock strikes 6 PM I exhale because I assume they have gone home for the day. That's one more day that our embryos survived. Each night, Eddie and I give each other a triumphant smooch because our "babies" made it another day.

I don't know what I would do if I got the phone call canceling my appointment. I'd probably puke. No, seriously, I'm almost certain that I would vomit into the phone, on the ground, and all over my feet. Maybe I wouldn't even answer it at all. If I ignore it, maybe they will still grow? Ok, I'm getting ahead of myself.

I just looked at the clock. 12:15 PM Germany time. That means in exactly 24 hours and 5 minutes until the embryos will be placed back inside of me. Tomorrow afternoon at 12:20 PM they will place, depending on how many developed nicely, 2 of the 3 embryos back inside. The one left over will be frozen. Then the worrying will stop...

Hah! Yea right, then I'll be worried whether or not they'll implant. Ugh, so much stress. As sick as I am with worry, at least my worrying is evolving and changing. We're nowhere out of the woods yet but it's nice to no longer worry when we will be able to start this process. It's been a lot of waiting. I feel like they do one small thing and then we wait. One more appointment and then more waiting.

Mama Frick and I went to KFC (yes, I said KFC) after the appointment and I talked to her about how I'm tired of waiting. She said when we get pregnant we still have to wait 9 months to meet them. And then I joked and said,

"Yea, then we'll probably be waiting 18 years to get rid of them."

And then she said "Maybe, but then you'll wait and hope that they come back around and visit." And I realized she was talking about herself.

"...yes, but when they do, hopefully it will be with lots of grandbabies!" I added.

So, not that any of you ever call me, I am ordering complete radio silence on my phone until about 1 PM tomorrow. Don't call me...if you do, I'll probably have a heart attack and not make it to my appointment at all tomorrow. Keep up the prayers! All your extra praying squeezed out an extra egg! :)

Germany vs. America

201.   They have Ben and Jerry’s ice cream in Germany but, much like all American products, it is ridiculously overpriced. Oh, and might I add, that at times, I pay it because, well…a girl has cravings!

202.   German cars (Mercedes, BMWs, etc) are cheaper in America. Someone please explain the rationality behind that.

203.   Eastern Germans : Germany :: West Virginians : America, you followin’ me?

204.   Once, on a long boring drive, I brought up a random detail about the Holocaust I remembered learning in school. After explaining the tragic fact, Eddie responded with “What’s the Holocaust?”

…

I was momentarily stunned and we figured out that they call it something different. I’m interested in knowing what the German history books say about it.

205.   On the same note, I had to travel to Germany and proof read Eddie’s younger sister’s English paper to learn that during the years of segregation, white bus drives would make the blacks pay to ride the bus but then get off again and enter through the doors further back. But while they were walking to the back door, the bus drivers would drive away after they paid!

206.   It goes without saying that, dating someone from another culture can be difficult at times. Sometimes I just want to make a simple statement about something but end up explaining who/what something is and the original statement loses it’s meaning.

i.e. Eddie doesn’t know who Jimmy Buffet is…

“You know… ::breaks into song:: Cheese burger in paaaradise. PARADIIIISE!”

“…no.”

“Ok, nevermind, forget it.”

It’s not a huge deal but sometimes we get stuck on small details like that, and it reminds us we come from different upbringings.

207.   The cost of living is high in Switzerland. Eddie lives in Germany but works in Switzerland. Our plan is for me to do the same. Ideally, one lives in France and works in Switzerland.

208.   Our grocery carts typically go front to back. Their carts can go from to back and left to right. Something small I noticed while grocery shopping.

209.   Speaking of grocery shopping and carts…you have to pay for yours in Germany by putting in a 1 Euro coin and then unchaining them from each other (like at Aldi stores in America). During one of my earlier visits to Germany, Eddie's sister, Elisabeth and I went grocery shopping. After loading the groceries we bought in the car, Elisabeth, asked me to take the cart back and she would pick me up at the front of the store. I said ok, happy to help out further! However, while I was walking the cart back, an old woman came up to me and (in German) asked me if I could just give her my cart and in exchange for the 1 Euro coin in her hand, so I did! I got in the car, happy that I understood what the old woman wanted and thinking I did a good thing. I handed Elisabeth the coin and…her face dropped, and in turn, so did mine.

“What? What’s wrong? What did I do?!?”

Apparently, it wasn’t a coin in our cart, but rather a little token Mama Frick had given Elisabeth years ago that she uses every time she shops. She told me it was ok and we didn’t have to get it back but what am I supposed to do? Jip an old woman out of 1 Euro and lose a gift from Mama Frick to Elisabeth? Bravely, I told her I was going in to get it back!

Once I bought another cart, I went in the store and I realized that the place was packed with little old Omas (grandmas). I finally found the right one and tried sneaking by to see if that was the cart with the coin. Finally I just explained to her, in my horrible, broken German, what happened. I was so embarrassed, I think my cheeks where so red. She put her groceries in mine and we switched carts. FYI I said “Kart” when I should have said “Wagon.” Karte = card/ credit card. Great. Needless to say, I don’t make eye contact when returning my grocery carts now…ugh!

They just need those areas that take up a whole parking spot where we just push the carts into when we’re done and pay a young lad to come out in the rain to collect them!

210.   America has a much freer attitude more along the lines of “Live and Let Live.” Germans are much too into each others business, "nosy," if you will. For example: I often catch Germans looking in my shopping cart! ?!?!? Why do you care what I’m buying? Back off!

Happy Harvest, Frau Freak!

After about an hour drive north to my fertility clinic, I park the car and take the stairs up to the second floor. When I reach the secretary, I always have to repeat my name multiple times because "Rachel" is pronounced ::throaty sound:: "Rahhhhel" and my last name "Frick" sounds more like "Freak" when they say it. I refuse to say either name like them. Sometimes I just tell them my birthday because I don't feel like repeating or spelling anymore.

Step 1: Wait on bench in hallway.
Step 2: Give blood sample.
Step 3: Wait 1 hour for results.

During this one hour waiting period I like to go to Starbucks and walk around the Freiburg train station to kill some time. I'm still 12 years old and I think coffee tastes icky so I usually just get a hot chocolate. I tried the "Pumpkin Spice Latte" one day because everyone flips their shit when this time of year comes around because "it's baaack" but I don't see what all the fuss is about. Why does everyone feel the need to take pictures of it with different filters on Instagram? Give me a "Zimtschnecke" any day though! (Zimtschnecke - "Cinnamon snail" - Cinnamon roll).

After an hour passes, I check back in and the secretary tells me to take a seat in the waiting room.

Oh no...the waiting room...::gulp::

I walk slowly down the hall and peak around the corner. Phew! Empty. Once there, I wait about another 15-20 minutes alone before they call my name - "Frau Freak?" ::eye roll:: I round the corner into the doctor's office. She is sitting across from me at her desk next to her computer and my file is open in front of her. I try to read her face before taking a seat but I get nothing. (Germans have chronic poker face.)

After some small talk, she leads me into the adjoining room and instructs: "Take off your undertrousers." Up until that last sentence our conversation has been in German. I'm surprised but when I close the curtain the get undressed I smile to myself because I've never heard the word "undertrousers" before. I repeat it in my head. Where did she learn that word? Is it British English? Should I correct her? Naaaah. Instead, I make a mental note to start using it at home with a British accent. "Hey Ed! Do you fancy my new undertrousers?" "Do you think I look fit in these undertrousers?"

I sit down and "assume the position."

When I say I have to get an ultrasound each time, it's not the cute kind that they use on pregnant women's bellies. You know, the one where they use a little bit of gel? The one in the holder next to the keyboard in this picture? No, each time I go, I get an "internal" ultrasound...with the rod looking thing that extends to the monitor screen. Pleasant, right?

Through this process we see that for the FIFTH TIME the eggs still aren't mature enough to be harvested. I get dressed (put back on my undertrousers) and we meet again at her desk in the other room. At this point in time I am trying to comprehend how this could be true. Why are the eggs not maturing? I'm doing the injections precisely as instructed. What else could I possibly be doing wrong?

My blood results from that morning still aren't back yet so she tells me to take a seat in the waiting room again. I round the corner obediently...only this time, I didn't prepare myself for it to be occupied. There is another woman sitting across from me at about my 10 o'clock with a round, gravid belly and I cringe.
"Don't look at it, Rachel. Don't look at her. Keep your eyes on the piece of square tile in front of your feet."
I busy myself with my purse, searching for the tissues that I knew to pack earlier this morning in case I didn't get the news I was hoping for. I can feel my eyes burning as the tears start to form. I keep my eyes closed because another pregnant woman has entered the waiting room and I just can't stand the sight of another pregnant belly in my face right now. So I sit there, with my head tilted back against the wall, and let the tears roll down silently. I don't bother to wipe them until they are gathered under my chin. The other women here probably think I'm nuts but I don't give a what.

Down the hallway I hear another ultra sound machine start up and the static sound of gel being placed on the probe. Then it starts, the rhythmic heartbeat of a baby. Based on my expertise, I'd say it's a healthy heart frequency of about 130. It's a sweet sound...but the baby is in someone else's belly...not mine. And I ache.
"Rachel, thou shalt not covet. Don't listen to it. It will be over any second."
But the beat continues. Would it be too much if I curled up in a ball in a corner with my eyes closed and my fingers stuck in my ears rocking back and forth and humming until my name was called? It's been said before but people with infertility issues should have the option of a separate waiting room. At this point, the room I'm picturing includes padded walls.

I resist the urge to scream because I figure they might change their minds on helping us get pregnant if they think I'm a nutcase. That or I will have psychologists/social workers breathing down my neck the whole time, and we don't want that now, do we? I try to pull it together before the doctor finally meets with me again. She says my hormone levels are ok and gives me a few more prescription papers. I don't even have to look at them, I already know they're for more shots...and more shots equal more money. As I take the prescriptions from her hand I can hear my bank account emptying like a toilet flushing.

After this short encounter I have to return to the secretary counter and make another appointment in 3-4 days. As we try to coordinate days and times the tears start to stream again this was supposed to be my last exam before the retrieval. I tried to hide them from the doctor but I get the feeling the secretaries know I'm unstable and report back to the doc. You think German is an ugly language? You should hear the way it sounds when you have and big lump in your throat and you're trying hard not to burst out into tears. Not pretty.

I finally exit, call for the elevator, and begin to hyperventilate. Just as the elevator arrives another man joins me. He greets me but I can't look him in the eye. Instead, I bolt for the stairwell where I let it all out just as the door closes behind me. My cries are extra loud as they bounce of the narrow walls but at least I'm alone. I have to wait until I no longer feel dizzy to go down the stairs. Wouldn't want a broken arm on top of all these issues...

I walk blurry-eyed through the city to the nearest pharmacy that I know has the hormone injections always in stock. I hand the man working there my prescriptions and his fetches the syringes. He tells me something about how long the shots are good for and something about a refrigerator but I'm not really listening. I've heard it all before and just give him a nod. He tells me my total and my face drains of color. I start to cry again too (why not?). As I put my card in the machine I pray to God that there is enough money in our account. As he bags up the meds he gives me a kind smile and tells me I can have a body wash for free from the display behind me. "Danke..." I manage to squeak out and then off I go...600 Euros poorer but, hey, 1 free body wash richer!

This is what baby-making paraphernalia used to look like to me:

 

(Ok, those are gag gifts left over from my bachelorette party, but you know what I mean!)

But this is what it looks like now:

You think $48.00 for a lingerie set from Victoris Secret's is ridiculous? Mull this one over: One of the front left syringes (yellow boxes) costs 53€ ($73.00)...ONE SHOT! That big syringe pen in the middle - $500.00! This is just my medicine, people! Don't forget that we get charged for each visit, each blood draw, each procedure, etc. etc. etc.! Keep in mind that this is just Month 1 - Attempt 1 too! You can imagine my frustration to hear each time that, despite 27 subcutaneous injections, the eggs aren't ready to be harvested. (Note my Fall table decorations: "Harvest Blessings - the warmth of home and family" says the candle holder. "Happy Harvest!" the little pumpkin wishes me. Thanks, I'm trying, guys...I'm really trying.)

Our fridge now looks like this:

Normal convo in our house:

"Hey Babe! Did you forget to buy more butter?"

"No, I got some, it's in there somewhere!"

"I don't see it!"

"Did you check on the shelf with the Gonal and Ovitrelle?"

"Yea...not there!"

"What about under the Orgalutran?!"

"No...oh wait, yea, there is it! Found it!"

A small glimpse of what I have to do twice a day.

(Warning: If you can't handle needles, don't click play!)

This is what happens each time I take Orgalutran and last for about an hour.

This happens sometimes too.

The drive home from Freiburg is always a tearful one. I wonder what the passers-by think when they look in my car and see the driver having a silent break down. There are times when I think I'll have to pull over until I can catch a good breath. Then my phone rings and it's my husband. I love him and he calms me. Just once, I want to give him good news. Just once, it would be nice to not let him down. Can one thing work out on the first try? As I return home the messages start to come in too, friends and family wanting to hear how it went and when the eggs will be harvested, fertilized, and implanted.

On Tuesday, they'll put me under anesthesia and go in and take out the eggs. As of today, I only have 2 mature eggs on the left side. At this point I should have at least 8-10. I have to keep giving myself injections until then. At this point I have more faith in God than in the shots.

Genesis 30:22 - "And then God remembered Rachel. He listened to her prayers and opened her womb."

I trust Him and I believe in His word. (How can I not when he mentions me specifically?) Although the word "remembered" infers that at some point He may forgotten about me...I can look past it and trust in Him fully. I know one day he will answer my prayers but I really need this to work next week. I really need this to work. It just has to...

Germany vs. America

191.   Sometimes Germans will ask “Do you do sports?” I used to respond with “Well, I swam when I was younger.” but what they really mean is “Do you work out?” Sometimes I want to explain the difference but I don’t have the energy. I mean, either way the answer is no... ;)

192.   Another common mistake I hear all the time - When departing, Germans will tell me “We’ll see us!”   ???
What they mean is “We’ll see each other later.”
They translate “Wir sehen uns” word for word but it doesn’t make sense in English. So when a German says that to me I'm just like “Yea, see ya later!” But then they get confused because you don't say "See you later" unless you are actually going to see them later that day. So then there like "Wait, when?" Ugh...confusing...

193.   McDonalds/Burger King is the only place that has a drive thru and it’s commonly referred to as the “McDrive.”

194.   Eddie likes the idea of our drive up ATMs, mail boxes, and banking services, not to mention our drive thru gas station stores (Sami Quick Stop) in America. His friends and family were amazed by these services. Turns out, the Europeans have to actually get out of their cars to run errands...psht! What a joke! :)

195.   During an earlier visit to Germany, Eddie and I had to deposit some money in the bank. While we were driving, Eddie asked:
“What’s today?”
“April 7”
“No I mean the day.”
“Wednesday”
“…shit….” …and he proceeded to slow down.
Confused, I start looking behind us to see if we were being pulled over. Nothing. I saw him looking at the clock so I did too. Ok, 2:00 PM? So, what? I finally asked him what’s wrong.
“…The banks are only opened for a half day on Wednesday.”
Oooohhhh, the good ol’ half-day, should have known! Frickin’ EUROPE! What is a half day? Is it a halfway through the week holiday? Who does that? I’ll tell ya who, only the Europeans. Americans wouldn’t have that for a minute!
Same thing goes for the fact that we have to plan things around the “lunch break.” Here’s an idea people, half your workers take a lunch break at 12 PM, the other half at 1 PM! Business continues as usual and your customers are happy! Problem solved! ::sigh::

196.   Basically, America is way more consumer friendly. Most stores will match competitors prices. Eddie was amazed when I got Circuit City to come down on their price of a PS3 controller by a quick phone call to Radio Shack. Or when Foot Locker apologized for not having Eddie’s shoe size and offered to ship them to my house for free.
Basically, they just know that if we don’t buy it right now from them, we will go right down the street and buy it from someone else. You don’t have that luxury in Germany. The German businesses know that if you don't buy it from them, well, you're S.O.L.

197.   Germans don’t have the right to bear arms. I like that we can legally own guns in America if we want to. On multiple occasions, Eddie’s parents have found strangers wandering around their yard claiming they “just wanted to see the new sauna house.” There is a high probability that, if that happened in America, you would be greeted with a sawed-off shotgun between your shoulder blades. I liked going to sleep in America knowing that it is a mystery to a burglar whether or not I sleep with a 9mm in my night stand or not…try me, buddy! Juuussst try me!

198.   Germans can’t name their babies whatever they want like we can. There are rules. After working in the NICU at OSU, I think there should be some limitations. Two Words: "Lotsa Dollas." Sheesh!


199.   When was the last time you saw a cigarette machine? Come to Germany and you’ll see one every couple of blocks! It's sad...

200.   They don’t have a “cheap seats” movie theaters where we live. I once took Eddie and his sisters to Movies 8 in Boardman and we paid $0.75 per ticket. Olivia was so shocked that she saved the movie stub as proof!

The Hope Dies Last

There is a German saying “Die Hoffnung stirbt zuletzt.” The literal translation is “The hope dies last.” This can be no truer than in the case of infertility. Each month you hope. You cling to it…tooth and nail actually. I see hope every month…but not so much in myself these days. I see it in the eyes of my angelic husband. When was the last time you saw hope? Not just heard the word like “Oh, I hope I win the lottery” or “I hope the Buckeyes win today.” I mean witnessed it so intense that you felt as if you could reach out and touch it. Was it on the news as parents begged for the safe return of their missing child? A daily hope that their child will walk through the door. The last time I saw it, it looked like this:

You are in the middle of dinner with your husband and his head snaps up. You see a light bulb go off in his head and then he asks you the date. When you answer, his eyebrows crinkle and you know exactly what he’s thinking. As you cut your chicken, you are cringing on the inside. In his head, the gears are turning as he calculates your last cycle. He smiles broadly and proclaims that you are "about two days late!" You put down your fork and knife and try to soak up the twinkle in his eye. As you chew your last bite, you try to memorize the small wrinkles on sides of his eyes. Your heart warms because you married such an optimistic man. At this moment you can see hope in its entirety. It’s like a delicate bubble that he is holding out with pride in front of you.

Only now, you have to reach out with your one finger and pop that large, round bubble of his. The lump you feel in your throat can be from the chicken you swallowed in a hurry or it may be because you're fighting back tears. The truth is, you started yesterday but haven’t had the guts to tell him yet. How many more times will you cry alone in a bathroom? As you wash your hands, you scold yourself in the mirror for anticipating otherwise. I usually need about a day to deal with these emotions alone before I tell Ed...before I disappoint him...again. It’s like telling a child Santa doesn't exist…but having to do so every 4 weeks. Month after month. Year after year. The craziest part of it all is that this hope…or this faith…whatever you want to call it, rebuilds itself each month. When Eddie gets so excited at the “chance” of getting pregnant naturally, I feel sad for him. But when I actually stop to think about it, I should be sad for myself. Why don’t I have the same outlook as him? It’s almost like I want to preserve his innocence. I don't consider Eddie to be naïve as in inept, I just don’t want him to be become jaded, or frustrated, or bitter…like me. When I am a few days late his eyes brighten as he says "Hey! Maybe you're pregnant!?" And I can't help but mirror his enthusiasm with a "Yea, maybe you're right!" On the inside, I am thinking that I shouldn't get my hopes up. I dread telling him each month that I started because his head drops and his smile melts away.

Throughout this process, I've had to have multiple check-ups and ultrasounds. I lie there and watch on a screen as the doctors point out my ovaries. They are clicking around and printing out pictures. I momentarily get nervous but then they tell me I have many follicles in the right ovary and even more in the left…and I swell with pride. How silly is that? Like a thirsty sponge, I soak up any and all positive news these days. If I could, I’d wear around a shirt that says “I have many ovarian follicles!” or lead a parade down the street, or post it as my Facebook status…(or write about it in my blog).

As they move the transducer probe over slightly, they point out my uterus. My eyes widen and begin to dart around the screen. Searching. Praying. HOPING. My mouth opens and I speak before I think:

“Is it empty?” I ask.

“Yes,” they answer, not taking their eyes off the screen, “it’s empty.”

And I hurt. Why do I hurt when I already knew the answer? I’m so stupid for asking. I've done this on two separate occasions. “Die Hoffnung stirbt zuletzt.” They then point out my bladder and, in order to cover up my pain, I crack a joke and ask if it's empty too...

I have an old colleague/dear friend whose husband got a vasectomy, despite her everlasting desire to still have more children with him. She told me how she still hopes each month that her period won’t come. That, somehow, just one little guy will sneak out and get through. “Die Hoffnung stirbt zuletzt.” The fact we still have faith despite daunting statistics is wonderful to me.

How wonderful yet simultaneously sad is hope. What is perhaps the saddest is witnessing the moment when the hope does die out. The moment when the missing child's body is found in a lake. I ache for the friends that have been forced to make decisions ending their dreams of conceiving or ever conceiving again.

The last conversation that I had with a friend who recently made a tough decision:

Me: Ok. Keep me updated.

Her: Thanks. I will.

Me: Want some more prayers?

Her: No, that's ok, I'm way over them.

Although the hope of conceiving naturally is dimming for me, we thankfully have one option left. I thank the Lord daily that our hope has not yet died and pray for those whose has. I still trust, seek, believe in, and need Him but I just get tired sometimes. I worry that when he sees me cry that he thinks I'm giving up. 
"Delight yourself in the Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart. Commit your way to the Lord, trust in him and he will do this - He will make your righteousness shine like the dawn, the justice of your cause like the noonday sun. Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for him."
I know what I am supposed to do but I'd be lying if I said that last part isn't hard as hell...

(As always, photo courtesy of my talented brother-in-law, Johann Frick - JF Photography.)

Germany vs. America

181.   There are a lot more traffic circles in Europe. We have some in the States but nothing compared to over here. Rules for these circles: They always go to the right, no need to turn on your blinker signaling upon entry. If you plan on exiting within the first 2 streets get in the outside lane. If you plan on going more, you get in the inside lane of the circle. Always try to signal out. I must admit I have a small amount of stress in these circles.

182.   Oktoberfest is actually at the end of September. It is the celebration of the beginning of October...er, Oktober...whatever.

183.   Their loose-leaf paper looks like grid paper, not like the blue lined paper with the pink margin line and three holes.

184.   Their crutches don't go under the arm pits. They look like the old-school polio ones around the forearm...kinda weird at first.

185.   I once wanted to buy a baby onesie that had German words on it but it was hard! I had to go to multiple stores! Almost all of their baby clothes have English on them. I can't imagine buying/having my kid bee-bop around wearing something I can't read/understand!

186.   I never saw this but a girl I worked with who lived in Germany for 8 years said that in some public places there is a hole in the bathroom floor and a place to put your feet. Supposedly you straddle the hole and pee. No toilet to sit on, just a hole in the floor and an outline of where to put your feet...sick...

187.   "Farfignewgen" is actually spelled ""Fahrvergnügen" and means the "Pleasure of driving."

188.   First time moms get over 1000 euros and then an additional 200-600 euros a month PER CHILD!

189.   Wedding planning is a lot more intense in America.

190.   Sometimes people act like Germany is another planet. I get people who act personally offended with "Wait...what do you mean they don't have Chipotle there?!?!?" And on the opposite end of the spectrum I get "Does it rain there?" I see the two extremes, people that think everything should be the same and others that think everything is completely backwards.

What to Expect When You're Not Expecting

Well, when you're NOT expecting you can expect everyone else to be expecting. Basically, everyone around you will get pregnant before you...and I mean everyone.

As I've said before, my God is a very funny man. He has a twisted sense of humor...I don't get it, but I do respect it. Every time I hear about a new pregnancy I picture him in heaven sitting at a drum set and striking the rimshot with a loud ::ba-dum-tchsss!:: Want to know some of the people he makes parents before us? Here are a few examples:

The guy from high school that likes to show random, unsuspecting women pictures of his penis even though he's married. Yea, God will make him a daddy before Eddie. ::ba-dum-tchsss!::

The couple that wasn't even sure they wanted to be together last Christmas and neither have a job/education. God thinks they'll be fit parents.

The woman who openly drinks alcohol during her pregnancy with no qualms about it. Don't worry, she will be a mommy before you. You'll find yourself praying for more strength not to smack the drink out of her hand with your left hand while simultaneously smacking her across the face with your right.

"Oh, you're going to jail? Here! Let me make you a parent first!"- said God an acquaintance of yours.

"Oh, you've known each other for a milisecond? Here's a baby!"

Remember your abusive (in every sense of the word) ex-boyfriend? Yep. You betcha'! He'll be puffin' on a "It's a Boy" cigar any day now too.

All the "But we weren't even trying"-ers. ::sigh::

Two words...Jenelle Evans. ::ba-dum-tchsss!::

Ok, two more words...Amber Portwood. (Love me some Teen Mom references.)

In this difficult time you'll recall stories from work of mothers who delivered their 5th baby but didn't even have custody of the other 4 children because the state took them away.

You'll care for babies at work whose parents snorted cocaine and shot up heroine for months before the baby came out prematurely. You'll smile and be polite to the parents' faces but at night you'll ask God why they get to be parents but it is so difficult for you.

When you're not expecting you can expect the pregnant women to be everywhere. Everywhere you turn you'll see them, complete with their gravid bellies and inside out belly buttons...just staring you down like a cyclops.

When you're not expecting, expect to be blind-sided by new pregnancies. I can assure you that you will be caught off guard but you can also be somewhat prepared. What I recommend doing is having responses on reserve for such moments.

While out for ice cream and you see an old friend of a friend. You recall how she used to have an eating disorder and note that she's still rail-thin.
Her - "Hey Rachel! How are you? Good! Yea, I'm doing well too...just got some ice cream. Eating for two these days! Baby was craving ice cream!"
God - "ba-dum-tchsss!"
Me - "Wow, that's so exciting, congratulations! When are you due?"
Her - "End of the month! It's going so fast!"
The nurse in you can't help but already diagnose the baby with IUGR/SGA. As you watch her enter the bathroom you can only hope that she isn't depriving the baby of any necessary nutrients.

After getting some Chinese take out with the hubby, you see an old classmate of yours pushing a baby stroller. A baby stroller?! That was fast!
"Jane?! Hey! How have you been? Is that yours?" ::as you peek into the stroller::
"Haha, yea, I didn't steal it!"
"Haha, ok good! How old is she?" ::noting the pink headband::
"Thanks, she's 4 months."
"Aw, she's so sweet! I'm so happy to see everything is going well with you guys!"
As you walk away you do the math and realize that she was pregnant while you were in class together...well into her 2nd trimester, in fact. The realization that she probably hid her pregnancy from you to spare your feelings starts to surface and you feel lousy.

I like to think I've perfected the look of maintaining a smile while it feels like I was just kicked in the gut. My comments are genuine but so are these underlying feelings. It's a weird mixture.

So, what does it feel like? Let me try to describe a scene for you. I remember once Eddie and I were in a meeting and he got a text message from someone on his phone. So-and-so was pregnant and they were having a boy! I wish there was a camera on my face when Eddie leaned over and whispered it to me. I wonder if the feelings I felt inside could be seen on the outside. If not, I wish I had some sort of device in me that could measure it. My stomach dropped, my heart skipped what felt like multiple beats, and my blood chilled. I feel like everything in me sank/lurched. This "wave?" that came over me was so intense but yet so quick. I was able to push it away and smile back at Eddie and whisper "That's awesome news!" We exchanged a small high-five. When I turned back to look at the speaker, I felt my face flush and I had to dig my thumbnail into my index finger to keep me from tearing up. I prayed to God that I could keep it together. I couldn't cry in the middle of this meeting. I have to wait until I'm back home...safe in my bed or in the shower. What feeling is that? What do I call that wave of sickness? Is it envy? Is that why they say "green with envy" because it's momentarily nauseating? I don't know what it is but I just learn to cope with it. If it is envy then I know it's wrong but how do I stop it? 

"Well then, Rach, if you're so emotionally unstable, who can get pregnant?" Um, well, do you want an honest answer? My close friends and family are allowed to get pregnant. People are also allowed to get pregnant if I know that they have also had infertility struggles. That's the reality of it. I realize that all these pregnancies need to happen in order for the human race to continue but I just wish it was our turn.

I'm also aware this type of thinking makes me look silly but I don't need anyone else's judgment. I worry daily about God's judgement over me. When I cry does He think it's because I don't trust him? I do all the things I am expected to do. I walk the line that I assume He wants me to. I jump through all the hoops that I am supposed to and climb each and every obstacle He puts before me. I am married and I love my husband more than I can wrap my own brain around (no, really, the love I have for this man is beyond my own comprehension). We both have jobs, we have supportive families, we can provide for and love a baby to the utmost extent...but no, we're the ones that must wait. And as if these feelings aren't tough enough to stomach...I also have the feelings of guilt and shame. Like I'm crazy, or weird, or two-faced, or cold-hearted for feeling the way that I do inside while trying to be happy and supportive to everyone else. It's a whirlwind of emotions that I carry with me each day. I don't know if I would call this a "Why Me?" post but rather a "Why Them?" or a "Why Them and Not Us?"

Photo courtesy of my talented brother-in-law - JF Photography

Germany vs. America
(I forgot "facts" on my last blog post so here are 20 more for ya!)

161.   Engagement rings aren't as big of a deal as they are back home. It's rare for someone to have a large stone in their ring. The wedding ring is just a band. I like our customs way better...

162.   In Russia, they wear the ring on the right hand. Eddie's father had a hard time accepting the fact that Eddie and I wear ours on our left hand.

163.   They have about 5 Gatorade flavors in Germany. What do we have in the States? Greater than or equal to 25 I'm sure. A lot of people don't know what it is here.

164.   Europeans write the day, the month, and then the year. It's momentarily confusing but I'm getting used to it. In my opinion, their way makes more sense. 

165.   Ok, let's take a second to discuss the commercials on late night German TV. Trash! Worse than "Girls Gone Wild" trash. I'm talking 20-30 sequential 30 second long commercials advertising hotlines for all different "types" of women. I couldn't believe it, it was never-ending not to mention grotesque!

166.   If you're going somewhere to swim in Germany, you typically wear normal clothes there. Change when you get there. Shower afterwards, and put on the same clothes with clean undergarments. Here, you wear your suit there with a cover up over top. I remember I felt silly have Eddie's 10 year old sister help me out with the system at the "Laguna."

167.   Similarly, when you get to said swimming place (usually indoors) do not be shocked to learn that men and women change/shower in the same area. I'll never forget the first time I entered what I thought to be the women's changing room only to be greeted by a strange man's bare ass. Talk about awkward... I'll be changing my kids in a bathroom stall.

168.   Their summer break is ridiculously short. School ends in late June/early July and starts again in late August like ours does. Hah, maybe it has something to do with the 1,233,534 holidays they get a year! (Fact 158 on previous blog.)

169. Everyone has health insurance/coverage here, be it private or public. They have to.

170.   Our hotels are bigger and better in the States. Most of ours have a pool. You would have to go to a "Wellness Hotel" to be guaranteed a pool over here. There are many smaller hotels in the villages but nothing like ours.

171.   They don't have cheerleaders in Germany. I mean come on they might as well not have sunshine and rainbows. Jokes, jokes! There are cheerleaders but it's just a sport. They don't regularly cheer on a certain team.

172.   What we would call the second floor, they would call the first floor...once again, momentarily disorienting!

173.   I see a lot more graffiti in Germany/Switzerland. Maybe they think it's artsy. I don’t like it...

174.   Germany is only 3 times the size of Ohio but has over 7 times as many people. That's about 82 million people living in an area half the size of Texas!

175.   Because of the population density, land is scarce and more expensive to buy.

176.   My baby boys will DEFINITELY wear lederhosen...take a moment to get a visual of that one...so cute!

177.   Sometimes if I'm running somewhere real quick, I'll go with my hair a little damp. Well, don't do this in front of your German/Russian mother-in-law because you'll hear about it for sure! It's CRAZINESS to go out with wet hair. They even have multiple hair dryers at thermal baths so you can dry it before walking outside. Come on people, wet hair doesn't cause pneumonia! Get with it!

178.   This isn't a fact just something kinda funny. My German isn't 100% yet so when there is a conversation going on and I don't understand the context, I'll zone out. Well, many-a-times I'll be listening to them jibber-jabber and all of a sudden everyone will stand up to leave. I just look around at everyone, clueless. I start to gather my things too and think in my head "Oh, ok, I guess we're leaving now?" Ugh... :(

179.   On the clothing labels the washing instructions are mostly symbols. It doesn't say "Machine was cold with like colors, tumble dry low, remove promptly, cool iron when needed." Instead, they have a triangle with an X through it and a square with a circle in it...clearly meaning "No chlorine bleach, tumble dry low"...

180.  There are many doctors that still make house calls. "Ain't nobody got time fo dat!" - said every US doc in unison!

Dear Pa, I Still Don't Get It

Today is Father's Day and if there is anything I've learned from my (almost) two years of living here in Germany, it's how much I appreciate and miss my Pops. This blog is for him.

Let's keep it real by saying that things growing up were not always picturesque...but the older I get the more I realize how impossible it is to have a "perfect family." Let's just say my family puts the "fun" in "dysfunctional" and I am very satisfied with mine.

Let's start from the very beginning. To this day, I still don't get why God chose me out of all 4 of your kids to be your doppelganger (another German word we stole). Wouldn't it make more sense for a son to grow up being the spitting image of his dad? Ever since I was little, family members and friends of the family would call me "Lil' Lenny." It was always creepy hearing that if I "only had a mustache" I would be just like you. Today, I carry this title with pride. I am slightly more impartial to little girls that look like their dads too these days. If I see one at the store, I give her a quick wink. If I care for a baby girl at work that looks like her dad...I give her extra sweetease/sugar water (jk). I like to think there is a special place in heaven for all the daddy's girl look-a-likes. 

I still don't get how you are able to do, fix, and repair everything. I know a lot of children think this of their fathers but I'm serious people...the man can fix anything! But where does all this random knowledge and skill come from? In my eyes, it was simply always there. You know your dad's a handyman when one of your baby brother's first sentences is: "Dad'll fik it!" - "Dad will fix it!" When one of our toys broke "Dad'll fik it!"  If our bike got a flat tire "Dad'll fik it!" or even if someone broke a glass in the kitchen, he'd yell "It's ok! Dad'll fik it!"

I knew things were going to hell in a hand basket with you and mom the day I saw a repairman in our kitchen. In all my years of life we never called a repairman, plumber, electrician, cable man, mechanic, lawn or construction company, etc. etc. etc. I harbor a secret hatred for repairmen because it means my dad is missing. I'm sure the unsuspecting repairman that day felt my stare bore through him with all the intensity of "...and what are you doing here?"

I'm just going to dab on this subject because it needs said. I mean it with the utmost respect too...I still don't get how you didn't commit homicide after being with mom for so many years. Let's be honest everyone...everyone!...she's not the easiest of people to live with. I made it to around the 18 year mark and things started getting blurry. We can cohabit for about 2 weeks before our strong personalities start to collide.  (Mom, you know I'm right, and I love you still!) Dad, you've been dealing with and loving this woman for many more years than us kids and it needs to be acknowledged and applauded. Congratulations on avoiding 25-life.

I think I need to quote our good family friend Ani Difranco here:

Growing up it was just me and my mom

against the world

and all my sympathies were with her

when I was a little girl

But now I've seen both my parents

play out the hands they were dealt

and as each year goes by

I know more about how my father must have felt

I just want you to understand

that I know what all the fighting was for

and I just want you to understand

that I'm not angry anymore

Growing up I think kids naturally side with their moms but as I get older I recognize a lot of the struggles my dad must have gone through during the divorce too. Although I believe in my heart that my parents could have tried a little harder, I am aware of the pain that both sides feel as a family breaks apart.

Hey Pops, I still don't get how you were able to take us fishing all those times and year after year. You were only able to get your line in the water for probably a total of 10 minutes because you were busy baiting our hooks, retrieving our snagged lures, untangling our lines from each others/the motor (Bronson!), taking fish off our line, getting bobbers from trees, and breaking up fist fights...all while steering the boat. Ok, maybe I get how you took us, but the fact that you didn't throw us overboard and leave us to drown in Crystal Lake is amazing. That's not to say we didn't come back unharmed. We knew going out with dad meant bumps, bruises, scratches, or an occasional stick up the nose :(... The drive home was always capped off with a "Don't tell mom..." "Don't tell mom Brandon fell in the lake again." "Don't tell mom we went to McDonald's." You put up with a lot of crap...no, literally...remember when Bronson crapped himself at Sonny's Bait Shop in Bessemer? ::sigh:: Good times, Pops. Good times. Thanks.

I still don't get why I was the one to go to work with you every summer. Even though you have two sons, I was the one up on the roof with you a majority of the time. I think Julie and I put way more time in roofin' than Brandon and Bronson. Seems a bit backwards doesn't it? Thanks to you I know how to tear a roof, install drip edge, cut caps, lay shingles, and side a house. I feel as comfortable with a nail gun as I do with a curling iron. I'm as nimble as a cat on a 12/12 pitch roof and can climb ladders like a champ. Every day we went to work together you would introduce me to the home owner and tell them that you were teaching me how important it is to go to college. I get that now. Although I miss working outside sometimes, manual labor is hard work. The fact that you've done it your whole life is admirable and the dignity you taught me that comes with a job well done will stay with me forever.

 (Just roofin' our shed, no big deal.)

 (That's a Blow Pop, not a cig, so chill.)

 Proud!

(Roofin' the dog house with the extra material.)

Everything I know about classic rock, I owe to my pops. I can proudly say that my first concert wasn't N*Sync, Backstreet Boys, or 98 degrees...but rather Aerosmith with my father! I knew that when I came home and Van Halen or Styx was playing...it was cleaning time. My dad still quizzes me when songs come on the radio - "Who 'dis?" or as he reaches for the radio knob to turn it up -"For fitty!" which means - "I'll give you 50 bucks if you know who sings this song." Of course, he doesn't follow through with the bet but seeing his face light up when I get the singer/group/song title correct is worth way more than 50 bucks. Thanks to him, I can sing along to almost every Lynyrd Skynyrd, AC/DC, Led Zeppelin, Aerosmith, Journey, Pink Floyd, Queen, Eagles, etc. etc. etc song...all the while being accompanied by Lenny B. to my left on the air guitar and steering wheel drums!

I won all my street fights thanks to my dad. From an early age we wrestled. You vs. Me, Brandon, and Bronson. I remember you picking me up by my ears and laughing. You would lift us up with one hand and squish us against the ceiling! Your classic finisher...dragging us by our toes. All the while, mom screaming from upstairs "Be easy, Lenny! You'll hurt them!" And she was right, one of us usually ended up crying...but we're tougher for it! To this day, I can't walk past my dad sitting on the couch without him sticking his leg out last second trying to trip me. It's weird but I've come to expect it. Thanks to you, I have ninja-like reflexes (not really). What other father gifts their daughter with a switch blade? How about pepper spray or a taser for Christmas? What kind of dad tells their daughter if they don't have access to brass knuckles to grip a roll of quarters or a flat stone? I know where all the pressure points are in the human body. If you heard "I'm going for the jugular!" at our house you had about a 0.3 second window to block yourself from being choked. Normal or not normal? Normal, people!

I still don't get how you absorb and remember any random slang term I ever used. I can use something only once and you will use it properly in a sentence the next day and three years later.

-"Hey, dad! Whatcha' doin'"

-"Oh, nothin'. Just sippin' on some sizzurp."

-"How was the wedding last night, dad?"

-"Fine. Everyone was Patrick Schwasted."

-"Are you going fishing with Uncle Steve this weekend?"

-"For shizzle my nizzle."

-"What did you get at the store?"

-"Bitches, blunts and fo'ties..::pause::...JAY KAY!"

Thanks for trying to stay up with the times. Your attempts at staying up-to-date always make me giggle. It's still funny to me that you were the first one in the family to get a smart phone...

And last but not least...I still don't get how you let me move away. I guess the joke's on you because you made me go on the family vacation trip to Mexico when I met Eddie. Were you already sweating a little when I told you I wanted to go and visit him the first time? How hard was it to let me fly across the world to visit a family you didn't even know? How hard was it walking me down the aisle? Was it weird knowing that at the end of the aisle waited a man that was going to take me 5,000 miles away from you? What does it feel like to be the one to drive me to the airport to leave for good...not knowing when you'll see me again? If it feels anything like it does on this side of it...it hurts and it aches. I wish I could be with you on this day to celebrate and every day. I'm sure you take small comfort in knowing that I am safe and happy with Eddie now too.

"Alles Gute zum Vatertag!"

...to all the daddies out there all the way from Germany! I also pray to the Lord that this will be Eddie's last Father's Day as just a son/grandson.

 I love you, Pops!