I currently have four boxes of generic Lovenox sitting on my kitchen counter. Seeing those boxes brought back a lot of old feelings and memories. This time I am no longer fighting to stay alive, instead I am fighting a battle to get pregnant.

Pregnant. Is a word that cuts through me like a knife. Being pregnant actually terrifies me. Part of me was hoping that the perinatologist would say no to my crazy endeavor. Instead she said "40 units of lovenox through Stims and 20 weeks gestation. At 20 weeks you will switch to 60 and so on." She advised that if I got pregnant with twins we'd have to double the dose. Twins, she approved me for two embryos, not just one but two. She is leaving it up to me to decide.

Getting an approval and a lovenox protocol assigned was the easy part. Now comes the hard part, growing eggs that lord willing will turn into healthy little embryos that will grow into our take home baby. I still haven't decided yet on one or two. We will wait to see how strong the embryos are. But first I just need to grow some eggs. Eggs are the only thing I can wrap my head around, the rest is just to magical for me to comprehend. Once I hear that they got eggs I will be at ease and start thinking about embryos. Step by step is how I am digesting this complicated process.

A process that has no guarantees. Just like We walked in, We can walk right back out empty handed. Take home babies are a gift and I have yet to be given one. God took my two babies before I even had a chance to say hello. In my heart I know my babies will hand pick our take home baby, their sibling on earth. When our child is old enough he/she know that he/she is my 3rd baby and that their siblings are in heaven. They died so that this baby could have a place in our arms, this baby to come will be the one who broke the storm, our rainbow.

Here's to healthy eggs that turn into embryos that turn into our take home baby and my sleeping babies who paint the colors of the sunrise.

23 years ago today I came home from attending a twins game with my fellow school patrol kids. It was our reward for a job well done. I was overly excited about going to the metrodome and getting to go to the big city. Like a normal 11 year old girl would be. I could tell my mom was trying to be excited, but something was off. 

Like all mom’s do she called my dad into my room and sat me down. I could tell she was about to cry, she said “I’m sorry Mannie but Cora died today.” My soul was instantly crushed, I had questions, I was angry, and the tears came seeping out. The last thing I knew was that she was going to the nursing home to recover from a bad fall and that she would be home in a few weeks. It was spring. Cora had to come home to see her violets bloom. Violets were her favorite flower. I felt lied too. At 11 I instantly associated nursing homes with death. Cora went in alive and well she didn’t get to leave. 

I cried for hours that night and I was so upset that my parents kept me from school the next day. Ms. Dorothy had plans for me. I went over sniffling with my Mama at my side. Berk and his wife were there too.  I remembered him from the pharmacy. Dorothy and Berk decided that I should get to pick out Cora’s final outfit and jewelry. 

Through my tears I opened her wardrobe and ran my fingers across her dresses. Her nylons and unmentionables were neatly folded on the shelf, her shoes at the bottom, and her ratty sweaters rested on the hook. The clothes smelled just liked her, I breathed her in as I looked through her dresses. Green was her favorite color. I picked out a green dress with stripes, black shoes, and nylons, because according to Cora a lady always wears nylons. I carefully chose a pair of clip on earrings, a pearl necklace, an owl pendant necklace and the matching Pearl bracelets for her. Basically I had the necklace layering thing down at 11, I am sure Cora shook her head in heaven when I chose not one but two, she’d never wear two.

Her funeral arrived sooner than I liked. I sat in the front row next to my mom in  full on ugly cry. People squeezed my shoulder, they thought this was my first funeral. Nope it wasn’t. I just lost my best friend and I was devastated. The minister made mention of our funny pairing, a 97 year old woman with an 11 year old best friend. We laid her to rest in the Wisconsin country side, at the Swedish cemetery.

Since Cora left I have written her 22 letters (#23 will be dropped off on Easter), tended her grave, left photos, and planted flowers. Every time I go I am instantly 11 again and the tears they still fall. I trace my fingers across the letters in her name and clear away the dirt on her stone. A stack of pennies, show the visits I’ve made to this tiny sod yard. She died at 97, 3 years shy of her 100 year goal. If you ask me she died to young. 

Cora and I spent hours playing dress up, she’d drape her pearls on me and I’d run around in her heels and with a purse half the size of me. She would always tell me I looked beautiful and would offer me an empty cup of tea. Speaking of tea, Cora would reuse her tea bags three times before she threw them out and she horded condiment packets like I horded barbies. She never let anything go to waste and always always mend her cardigans no matter how ratty they became. 

Fifty cent pieces always remind me of Cora. She would drop one in my hand on New Years and would tell me to make a wish as we ate spamoni ice cream. I longed for summer, summer meant sitting in the back room, sipping lemonade while playing dominos. She always beat me by the way, that is until I learned how to properly count. She would just roll with laughter when I won and would say “come on again.” I would beg my parents to let me stay up late so I could watch golden girls and the news with Cora. What she did I wanted to do too. 

Cora taught me how to be a lady, to be strong, and to never let anyone decide my future. She’d say “it’s ok to be a spinster Mannie.” Being little I had no idea what a spinster was and that it had to be cool, because Cora was one. 

Cora didn’t have any children, I am the one left with her stories. My memories are all that remain of her. The best way I can honor my best friend is by naming a child after her. She will live on through the stories I tell and domino games I play with CoraLeigh. She will be in every violet we pick and every fifty cent piece we wish on. 

I know deep in my heart that she is smiling in heaven with my babies at her side. She is watching over a piece of me in heaven as a tend to a piece of her on earth. One day when my turn comes she will be in the rainbow that breaks the storm and lands a baby in my arms. 

I was Cora’s and she will always be mine.

Facebook told me in January/February that 6 of my friends were pregnant. It’s a reminder that I am still standing under my umbrella waiting for the rain to pass. Some women fall pregnant easily and then there are those of us who fight tooth and nail to get pregnant. Part of me is jealous of those women, my mind drifts to the land of what if where baby announcements and pregnancy photos exists. A land that I am fighting to be apart of. 

On days where baby announcements fill my news feed I lean on my fellow angel mamas and ask for words of peace. I once had a baby announcement, but Facebook wasn’t as popular back then so I had no place to really shout it. Just like I shared Lucia’s  announcement in a status update, I shared his death. I shared my struggle and I healed openly. I always thought I would get another chance to make a perfectly crafted announcement. That chance slipped through my fingers when we found out Baby E was never meant to be. Instead I once again shared a death, more quietly this time as I didn’t want to shout it to the world. My babies they will always be. 

Lucia and baby E were 5 years apart. According to doctors that’s 5 years to long. It will be two years this May since I was last pregnant. Again they say “that’s far to long.” Apparently doctors think women are magic baby making machines. In which I am the defective prototype sitting in the corner waiting for an update. Since October I have been seeing a reproductive endocronologist, she is nerdy and straight forward. Before I walked in the office she had formulated a plan, clomid wasn’t for me as it raised progesterone, so she skipped to level two. Femera with Ovidrel would be my ticket to motherhood. The doctor politely told me that IVF wasn’t for me as the medications used in the process can increase your risk for blood clots and that IUI was my best option. 

IUI it is!! It’s strange when you think about it. Cycle days 3 – 5 I take the Femera and then go in for a follicle check, if they are good we trigger with Ovidrel and then go in a couple days later for the IUI. Which if you have a fucked up cervix will be done by ultrasound. If everything is lined up you will end up with a baby, maybe. IUI does not guarantee that you will get pregnant. It comes down to science and timing everything just so. Our first IUI in February was a bust. Going in I knew that the first attempts are rarely a success and I didn’t want to get my hopes to high. I stayed even keel and waited for what I knew was a negative. 

So what happens after a negative? Well you repeat until you end up with a magical positive. This time around the doctor is bumping up the Femera and adding in progesterone after the IUI is completed. Who knows just maybe this will work and I will get a baby too. Femera and ovidrel with a little help from progesterone are my passes to motherhood. I’ve got all of my eggs in one basket, faith, a loving partner, and hope in my heart that one day our rainbow will come. 

Dear Sophia,

Auntie was hoping that she would get to share and explain a historic moment to you. You are four and at four you have no idea how close women came to shattering the highest glass ceiling of all. We lost my dear, we lost, our girl Hillary lost.

America was not ready for a woman to lead. As much as we wanted it, the majority spoke and this was not our time. Ms. Hillary did however put one giant crack into the highest ceiling and all we need to do is chip away until it shatters. That ceiling will not be shattered today or tomorrow, we will have to wait, we will have to work for it, but one day it will break. 

Right now your world revolves around preschool and Frozen, you have no idea what this amazing world holds for you. You at this moment have no concept of the election or who Trump is. Your little girl wonder is protecting you and keeping you safe from the problems we face. One day those problems will be handed down to your generation. Sophia when you are a little older you will realize that every life matters and that every life can make a difference. As long as you believe in the greater good, you my girl can make a difference. You are beautiful, you are kind, and your spirit is strong. Sophia be a light that shines so bright it cracks the darkness. 

Sophia I want you to know that you can be anything you want to be and that the world is there for the taking. Never let anyone tell you that you are less because you wear a skirt. You are more than enough, you are Sophia and no one can take that from you. Day in and day out Auntie works in a male dominated profession, she doesn’t let it stop her, she steps up to the plate and shows them what a woman can do. Some would say auntie is a nasty woman, auntie says “I’m just doing life my way.” You my dear will chose your own path. You will be your own nasty woman and you can do anything that you put your mind to. 

Every little girl in this country is a light. A light that will shine so bright that it will shatter the highest ceiling. I have faith that one day a little girl will grow up and be president. That time is not now but it will come. We may be whooped but this fight is far from over. We may be down but we still have fight in us and we Sophia will not give up or in until there is equality for all Americans. You Sophia are my silver lining in this very dark cloud, you are the light Auntie needed and I will make sure you shine bright for all of your days. Because little one your generation is our hope for a better day. 

Love Auntie 

Survivorhood is messy. You have your amazing days right along with your down right awful days. Sometimes I wish I had a guide book or that someone would have told me “it won’t be perfect, but you will do alright.” No two survivors are alike and each story is dffierent from the next, no one but you can write it.

The nuvaring will always be a part of my story. In one disastrous moment I found my purpose, I shined, and I never looked back. As much as I want to hate the nuvaring, I can’t because without it I wouldn’t be the woman I am today. I never would have gotten involved with advocacy or given a speech in D.C. or posed for a billboard and walked in a fashion show. That one terrible little ring brought me so many opportunities to educate women about why their health should always come first. That ring turned into a beautiful red dress that has allowed me to make a difference in the lives of women all across this county and for that I am thankful. 

As I put on my red dress I feel a twinge of guilt in my heart. A twinge for the four people who died so I could be the one out of five who survived. For other stroke survivors who are struggling and will never get back to their pre-stroke selves. My heart knows early intervention would have changed their story but not everyone has access to care. For all of the women who died from injuries caused by the nuvaring, their missed tomorrows are what we are fighting for. Every woman deserves a chance at tomorrow. I will not give up this fight until there are none. 

It’s been seven years and my heart cannot get over the fact that all of this could have been prevented. Yes, my massive pulmonary embolism with infarction and stroke did not have to happen. If only my doctor had taken the time to really listen to what I was saying, she could have ordered a d-dimer test and my clot would have been found long before it reached my heart and lungs. I ignored my gut that day, the doctor didn’t seem worried so I brushed it off and one week later to the day I  found myself fighting for every breath I took. On October 22, 2009 five days shy of my 27th birthday my life changed forever and I’ve never looked back. 

I take the good right along with the bad. Everything in life happens for a reason and in the end it will all work out. My hope for year #7 is motherhood. My heart she maybe weak but she aches for a child of her own. I have two children in heaven and just want to take a baby home. To have a chance to prove to the world that yes stroke survivors can be mothers too. My body she’s confused but I am finally working with a reproductive endocrinologist who believes in me and my dream. I have faith that Jay and I will catch our rainbow and that borrowed year #7 is the year I add “mother” to my resume. 

A Thank You

It takes a village to raise a survivor. I did not get to this point on my own and I have many to thank. I am forever in debt to the fast acting ER team, doctors, nurses at woodwinds health campus in Woodbury, for they gave me the start to my second story. My INR nurses who listened to me complain and stuck me with a pin religiously for six months, we never did get my numbers right. My parents filled my strength tank when I had nothing left to put in. Sherri who just happens to be the best friend a girl could ever ask for, I cannot do life without her, she is my voice of reason. The American Heart Association’s You’re the cure and Go Red for women their advocacy and research saved me. My survivor sisters, my nuvaring survivor sisters, you are who I am fighting for and I will not stop until there are none. This pharagrpah is starting to ramble, i have to many people to thank, there are not enough words in the English language to describe how thankful I am for all of you. All of you (you know who you are) have made a difference in this survivors life. I thank you from the bottom of my surviving heart and I will shine on!