Well this blog is not going to be some emotional draining writing. Just a little update on what life is teaching me and challenging me with.
Recently, partially due to my writings and also a desire I have just always had, I wanted to get back in touch with my sister. When I was about 10 we got in contact with each other and stayed that way until I was about 21. Sadly no fault of either of us, for we still had to desire. She however moved around a lot and we just lost contact since she didn't have internet access. I then moved recently and knew that she now would not have my address and I did not want to lose contact forever and I did not want that. When I was 20 I had gotten contact from my biological aunt and even got to meet her when I went to Washington to visit family up there. It was a bit of a strange relationship. I wanted to get to know her, but not in the same way that she wanted to get to know me. I was not against the idea of us developing a close relationship, but knew that it would take time to get to know each other; however, she wanted that close relationship to happen at first meeting, and was a bit upset when she sense that I was not instantly open to her like I would be a real aunt. I learned that she had known about me my whole life, and had tried to be apart of my life even when got separated from my brother and sister. I did not know about her until I was 20, so I hadn't built up any feelings for her, and so I needed time, she didn't like that idea and so our contact with each other was ended. To me this was not much of a sadness, but I soon realized that she was the one connection I had to get in contact with Mary, my sister. Well now at age 25 I had to use her to get in touch with Mary, but I no longer had her address so I didn't know what to do. Suddenly I remember that she owned Sassy's Diner in my old hometown. That address was easy to find. So I wrote to my aunt praying that we could: 1). Begin again and with more reality this time, and 2). Get my sister's address.
Friday I received a letter from my aunt. It was a short letter, which is nice. We must start somewhere, and with it I had 3 other addresses: my sister, my grandmother, and my birth mother. Now a difficult decision stands in my future. I have written my sister and my grandmother because with my sister we share a past and a relationship, my grandmother is so old and unhealthy that it would be nice to at least got to know a little about her. The hard one is my biological mother. My aunt has shared with me a bit about her. She is a bit mentally handicapped, and also her long use of drugs and alcohol have messed her up a bit. She does desire to have contact with her kids, which is a good sign, but she still views us as the little babies she had. She had no concept of the passing of time. I am not sure what damage will happen if she finds out we are all grow up and that we were not raised by her. She never wanted us to go away in the first place. This is just a weird situation since we were forcefully taken away from her. I did ask my sister if she has contact my mother so hopefully soon I will receive a letter back from Mary explaining more to me so I can make a decision.
When I was younger I remember wanting to meet my biological parents and to find out more about my past, but as I grew older I learned more and more, and it makes me want to learn less. It wasn't like I had a parent who did the best thing for me and gave me away. I had a biological father who just ran away, a mother who continued to do drugs and drink while pregnant, and did many other horrible things to me and my siblings after we were born.
I am going to wait for now before making any big decisions. Prayer is all I can do now. God will make it clear to me what I am going to do, and how to go about all of this. I know that whatever the outcome is of all this, God is only going to grow me into something better, so for now I wait for His commands.
Dealing with Endometriosis, PCOS, Adenomyosis, low ovarian reserve, and a hostile uterus. Struggling to maintain a normal life while taking this journey. Putting my trust in God and hoping my writing can help others in similar positions.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Saved from Hell
Well I told you all that I would be sharing my past, so lets go back to the beginning. As you read (well based on my stats really most didn't) in the blog about my mothers death, I was adopted. I was 5 years old and yet endured more then the the average adult. Not that I like to be a downer, though lately with my emotions that does seem to be all that I am, but my memories of childhood before adoption are nothing but bad. I do not have a single good memory from my childhood. In my last foster home I do remember 2 people well kids at the time whom I know I loved as my own brother and sister, but I don't even know their full names. Ryan was the younger boy who I cared for like a little brother and tried to protect, along with Alice who was not mentally all there and just never understood what was happening to her. Weird how my longest foster home was the worst one, the one that the agency took the longest to remove me and the other 2 girls and 2 boys from.
Some of the facts I share do not come from memories, but from facts I slowly learned as I grew up. I was born to a drugged up mother and alcoholic father along with my sister, Mary, and brother, James. I have no idea where I was really born. There are two possible cities. Well my biological parents were in no way able to care for children. They had a 3 kids all under 3 and always getting stoned and drunk. Multiple times child protective agencies came out to check on us, always with a phone call ahead of time, which meant the house was straightened up and the children drugged for naps and all would look wonderful for the time being. Since we were always napping, no way did we ever get examined, so all our bruises were not seen. Our bloodshot eyes from being drugged where not visible, and our feet which became ash trays for our parents were snug under our blankets. Not until a surprise visit did the truth come out that these people were not fit to be parents. The three of us were left together and moved into a temp foster home. My mother fought for us. She believed she could care for us and she cleaned up her drug act, and her drinking. The courts wanted to believe she could care for her own children, but had doubts based on her past and her mental state (being partially mentally handicapped), and so instead of giving her all her children back they granted her one, me. As time went on they learned that she was not able to care for even one child, and so I was removed, with the plans to put me into the same home as my brother and sister, only to learn that it was full, and there is when we split. Being separated might not have been such a big deal had our case worker been the same person through out our journey through foster care. I guess being a case worker can be a stressful job, because our first one had a mental breakdown, and the second one killed himself, and so by the third worker my siblings and I were officially split up with no records keeping us together and so began my journey through hell.
My first foster home I don't have memories of, but my adopted mother somehow had the ability to pursue my past and negotiate facts from the case worker and filled m in a few things about my life. This house was not bad when it comes to bad places, they were mean and somewhat abusive, but their abuse was mostly just a few face slaps and rough arm/body drags and then tons of verbal. The next house had two other children. Where again we were abused and used as free slaves. We were many times denied meals as punishment for lacking the energy to finish our jobs. There were a few other homes all with similar outcomes, but like I said since I was so young I have little to no memories of these events. At about 3.5 years I moved into my last ever foster home (remember I was adopted at 5).
This place was my hell. It took me years to overcome the experiences I had here, and still to this day I have my share of struggles. In this place not only was I beaten along with all the other children here, but I watched a man be murdered, and was molested and beaten for not responding correctly. How is a child suppose to respond to that kind of stuff? To this day I can close my eyes and still see the images of theses events. As vivid as the day they happened. For some reason the adults in this house were able to hide the truth about what they were doing from the case workers that bimonthly checked on us, but eventually they messed up and the truth became know. Us children in about a blink of an eye it seems were rushed out of the house with only the cloths we had on and whatever he quickly grabbed, for me it was a teddy bear that I still have to this day.
At this point I was finally put up as a ward of the State and moved into a government provided housing with other children who were also wards of the state. This meaning that because of abuse and lack of nutrition and a whole bunch of other garbage (needing to deal legally with my old foster parents). Well once I became a ward of the state I guess that also meant my biological parents would never get me back for sure, and that I was now old and very few people adopted the older children. Yet my mother was looking for a girl to adopt between the age of 3.5 and 5, well here I was at 5, what better sign did my mother need? She met me once and instantly I became her girl and was then adopted by loving parents. It was a struggle mind you, as I had endured a lot of pain and mistrust in my life. It took me a long time to finally refer to my parents as mom and dad, and even when I finally did the feelings were not fully there.
My mother took me to church my first Sunday with them, and her and my brother sat with me in my room after church and explained Christ to me, as being a Father who would never change and never leave me, what more could I ask for. I wanted that and so that was the day I expected Christ. I can remember it very vividly, and just as clearly I can remember the day I realized I was really and truly a daughter and a sister in this family. I was 8, almost 9 and had just had a good friend move away and I was very sad. I came home and had the normal snack with my mother, but since I didn't really trust that my mother was my mother I was not sharing much, but of course she knew I was sad, she was, after all, my mother. She sought me out later in my room and showed me that she cared for me and in that moment I knew. God had finally brought me to my true mother. My journey of pain and abandonment was done. God had saved me with a wonderful family, the family I was born to be part of, my true family.
Not only did this all lead me to my true earthly family, but lead me to my Heavenly Father as well, and so for now I will be loved through all eternity. My journey was rough, it continues to be a climb, but the end will be worth it. God knows what He was doing and He created me in my biological mother's womb for this life.
"Psamls 139:
13 For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
14 I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well."-NIV
Some of the facts I share do not come from memories, but from facts I slowly learned as I grew up. I was born to a drugged up mother and alcoholic father along with my sister, Mary, and brother, James. I have no idea where I was really born. There are two possible cities. Well my biological parents were in no way able to care for children. They had a 3 kids all under 3 and always getting stoned and drunk. Multiple times child protective agencies came out to check on us, always with a phone call ahead of time, which meant the house was straightened up and the children drugged for naps and all would look wonderful for the time being. Since we were always napping, no way did we ever get examined, so all our bruises were not seen. Our bloodshot eyes from being drugged where not visible, and our feet which became ash trays for our parents were snug under our blankets. Not until a surprise visit did the truth come out that these people were not fit to be parents. The three of us were left together and moved into a temp foster home. My mother fought for us. She believed she could care for us and she cleaned up her drug act, and her drinking. The courts wanted to believe she could care for her own children, but had doubts based on her past and her mental state (being partially mentally handicapped), and so instead of giving her all her children back they granted her one, me. As time went on they learned that she was not able to care for even one child, and so I was removed, with the plans to put me into the same home as my brother and sister, only to learn that it was full, and there is when we split. Being separated might not have been such a big deal had our case worker been the same person through out our journey through foster care. I guess being a case worker can be a stressful job, because our first one had a mental breakdown, and the second one killed himself, and so by the third worker my siblings and I were officially split up with no records keeping us together and so began my journey through hell.
My first foster home I don't have memories of, but my adopted mother somehow had the ability to pursue my past and negotiate facts from the case worker and filled m in a few things about my life. This house was not bad when it comes to bad places, they were mean and somewhat abusive, but their abuse was mostly just a few face slaps and rough arm/body drags and then tons of verbal. The next house had two other children. Where again we were abused and used as free slaves. We were many times denied meals as punishment for lacking the energy to finish our jobs. There were a few other homes all with similar outcomes, but like I said since I was so young I have little to no memories of these events. At about 3.5 years I moved into my last ever foster home (remember I was adopted at 5).
This place was my hell. It took me years to overcome the experiences I had here, and still to this day I have my share of struggles. In this place not only was I beaten along with all the other children here, but I watched a man be murdered, and was molested and beaten for not responding correctly. How is a child suppose to respond to that kind of stuff? To this day I can close my eyes and still see the images of theses events. As vivid as the day they happened. For some reason the adults in this house were able to hide the truth about what they were doing from the case workers that bimonthly checked on us, but eventually they messed up and the truth became know. Us children in about a blink of an eye it seems were rushed out of the house with only the cloths we had on and whatever he quickly grabbed, for me it was a teddy bear that I still have to this day.
At this point I was finally put up as a ward of the State and moved into a government provided housing with other children who were also wards of the state. This meaning that because of abuse and lack of nutrition and a whole bunch of other garbage (needing to deal legally with my old foster parents). Well once I became a ward of the state I guess that also meant my biological parents would never get me back for sure, and that I was now old and very few people adopted the older children. Yet my mother was looking for a girl to adopt between the age of 3.5 and 5, well here I was at 5, what better sign did my mother need? She met me once and instantly I became her girl and was then adopted by loving parents. It was a struggle mind you, as I had endured a lot of pain and mistrust in my life. It took me a long time to finally refer to my parents as mom and dad, and even when I finally did the feelings were not fully there.
My mother took me to church my first Sunday with them, and her and my brother sat with me in my room after church and explained Christ to me, as being a Father who would never change and never leave me, what more could I ask for. I wanted that and so that was the day I expected Christ. I can remember it very vividly, and just as clearly I can remember the day I realized I was really and truly a daughter and a sister in this family. I was 8, almost 9 and had just had a good friend move away and I was very sad. I came home and had the normal snack with my mother, but since I didn't really trust that my mother was my mother I was not sharing much, but of course she knew I was sad, she was, after all, my mother. She sought me out later in my room and showed me that she cared for me and in that moment I knew. God had finally brought me to my true mother. My journey of pain and abandonment was done. God had saved me with a wonderful family, the family I was born to be part of, my true family.
Not only did this all lead me to my true earthly family, but lead me to my Heavenly Father as well, and so for now I will be loved through all eternity. My journey was rough, it continues to be a climb, but the end will be worth it. God knows what He was doing and He created me in my biological mother's womb for this life.
"Psamls 139:
13 For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
14 I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well."-NIV
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Just One of Those Nights
Well here is at 12:45 AM listening to Glee music attempting to shut down for a solid nights sleep, but no such luck. I am so tired of being unable to sleep, especially after getting only a few hours in the last 48 hours. I have tried every trick in the book to sleep, but for some reason I have this strange body that does not respond to many things (as proven with all the different treatments for my endometriosis that have turned to failure). Why does it seem at night these things all have to come to surface. The pain that has been semi livable all day suddenly become so intense it turns my stomach, makes me dizzy. This, of course, does help my thoughts and emotions to stay in check so that I may sleep. When I do sleep it not from passing out due to pain, not real sleep. How does this help? I am still trying to figure that out. Night time should probably not be the time that I write since that is when I find it the hardest to focus on what I should. GOD.
I have a wonderful life. My husband is way too good for me. I have no idea how I became so blessed with this man. As some can imagine the endometriosis that I suffer from is not only my debilitating pain, but his also to suffer through, and yet all he has ever treatment me with is love, kindness, gentleness, and patience. I truly love this man and I daily thank God for this huge blessing in my life. We just moved where we are now close to family, and wonderful family at that. My dream from the day I was adopted has been to have a huge and close family. God once again proved himself and gave me that dream. My husband has a wonderful job and he comes so happy. What more does God need to provide me with? I tell you the truth is nothing. He has already provided all my needs and so many more blessings. I desire children though. Daily I go through struggling with this desire. I know that no matter what I will love God and I will trust him, but, honestly, it is hard. The hard part is I end the day with this thought strongly in my mind and in my heart and then night happens.
The pain begins and the sadness hits. My sleepless nights become longer and longer, which do not help to control my thoughts and emotions. This is why I have begun writing, in hopes not only to open myself up, but as a form of therapy to help me sort through my feelings that tend to hit unbelievable hard at times. There is also that small hope that maybe some one out in the cyber world is also struggling and maybe, just maybe, I can provide a little bit of encouragement for them. This last week I feel like maybe I just writing to myself and it feels like nobody is reading, but I can live with that. I take a look around this site and see that most of the blogs on here are mostly just product reviews, craft ideas, parenting tips, ect., but that is alright with me. My prayer is that God will use my hands on this keyboard to bring me healing and comfort to a few.
I end this post with the sadness that I feel, for even after highlighting my blessing at this time I am still overcome with pain and sadness that I still have no children. The hardest thing for me lately has been watching friends, family, and even strangers become pregnant and carry through a normal term and give birth to beautiful health babies. I am happy for this, for I see this as one of the biggest blessing we can receive as humans, aside from finding a wonderful and loving spouse for life. I have had to really trust as I see many mothers to be holding glasses full of alcohol or a cigarette and wonder why they are allowed the privilege (though most of those see as a curse) of being with child. I know, I know, trust God. He can do anything He sees fit. I know He can allow this blessing to befall to me, but the thing I struggle with is, Will HE allow me? Will He allow my husband to father a child?
Well I suppose this is enough rambling from me for now. Most of you, if not all of you have already stopped reading this. Until my next ranting, or many sharing of my past. Bye for now.
I have a wonderful life. My husband is way too good for me. I have no idea how I became so blessed with this man. As some can imagine the endometriosis that I suffer from is not only my debilitating pain, but his also to suffer through, and yet all he has ever treatment me with is love, kindness, gentleness, and patience. I truly love this man and I daily thank God for this huge blessing in my life. We just moved where we are now close to family, and wonderful family at that. My dream from the day I was adopted has been to have a huge and close family. God once again proved himself and gave me that dream. My husband has a wonderful job and he comes so happy. What more does God need to provide me with? I tell you the truth is nothing. He has already provided all my needs and so many more blessings. I desire children though. Daily I go through struggling with this desire. I know that no matter what I will love God and I will trust him, but, honestly, it is hard. The hard part is I end the day with this thought strongly in my mind and in my heart and then night happens.
The pain begins and the sadness hits. My sleepless nights become longer and longer, which do not help to control my thoughts and emotions. This is why I have begun writing, in hopes not only to open myself up, but as a form of therapy to help me sort through my feelings that tend to hit unbelievable hard at times. There is also that small hope that maybe some one out in the cyber world is also struggling and maybe, just maybe, I can provide a little bit of encouragement for them. This last week I feel like maybe I just writing to myself and it feels like nobody is reading, but I can live with that. I take a look around this site and see that most of the blogs on here are mostly just product reviews, craft ideas, parenting tips, ect., but that is alright with me. My prayer is that God will use my hands on this keyboard to bring me healing and comfort to a few.
I end this post with the sadness that I feel, for even after highlighting my blessing at this time I am still overcome with pain and sadness that I still have no children. The hardest thing for me lately has been watching friends, family, and even strangers become pregnant and carry through a normal term and give birth to beautiful health babies. I am happy for this, for I see this as one of the biggest blessing we can receive as humans, aside from finding a wonderful and loving spouse for life. I have had to really trust as I see many mothers to be holding glasses full of alcohol or a cigarette and wonder why they are allowed the privilege (though most of those see as a curse) of being with child. I know, I know, trust God. He can do anything He sees fit. I know He can allow this blessing to befall to me, but the thing I struggle with is, Will HE allow me? Will He allow my husband to father a child?
Well I suppose this is enough rambling from me for now. Most of you, if not all of you have already stopped reading this. Until my next ranting, or many sharing of my past. Bye for now.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Strength from the Past
My past has had many hardships as I was an adopted child who lived in bad conditions, however none of those compare to the day I lost my mother. Many do not understand this fact since she was not my birth, or in their eyes real, mother. That is the fact they get wrong. I may not be flesh of her flesh but I was made and raised from her heart, and she was my real mother.
In 4th grade I remember coming home and for the first time my mother was gone with no explanation. I could just not understand how that could be. I spent the afternoon attempting homework, but wondering and worrying about what had happened. Then walk in my mother and my father, together with a look of disbelief. Without even knowing what was going on, my heart sunk. Somehow at the age of 9 I knew that things would never be the same.
The family was gathered, at least all that was still living at home, my parents, two of three of my older brothers, and myself and the news of my mother's brain tumor was broken. The final blow of it all, she was going to die, it was just a matter of time. I cannot remember much of anything else that went on, but I remember my thoughts. How can this be, my best friend, my hero, my only true mother. I had been adopted at the age of 5 and now I was 9, how could that be enough time? What was I going to do? She was my everything. The first person in my life who ever showed me love, not just love, but God's love. The past from before I was adopted will come later, but from that past I had turned into a rotten child. The first thing I did when welcomed into this home was throw all the books from the bookshelf, that my mother and father selflessly set up just for me, and threw them all onto the ground. I couldn't even take a two minute time out without rebelling. I stole snacks and lied about it, I was horrible. This mighty women of God though took me in, showed me love, patience and kindness and changed me and helped me to become a child of God, but she was going to suffer and die. I still needed her guidance, how could this be?
My mom through the miracle of God was given the joy of life until I was 12 and in the 6th grade. The worst time for me to lose my mother, for I had not yet begun all the female stuff and now had to endure without her. I could go into great detail about the time that my mother bravely and joyfully suffered through her tumor, but that is not where this is going. What I can say she suffered a lot and never once did she get angry at God (sure she question and asked why and got mad) for doing this too her, she knew that He had a plan and His will needed to be done and that me, her three sons, daughter-in-law, husband, and many friends would be cared and loved and comforted by God. The details of her illness are many and painful and sad, yet happy and sweet. I remember most my mom's smile, my mothers kindness and patience for others still even in her greatest time of need. Even though my time with my mother was far to short, I would not have traded the things she taught me in that time, nor the time we spent and conversation we had for anything in this world.
My mother, my true mother, though I am not flesh of her flesh, in her fight with cancer gave me the endurance to handle the many hurdles that came at me in my future. I would have loved to have had my mother actually there to talk to, but I would not have the example or the knowledge that I now have.
One chilly evening at the age of 12 I sat in a hospital room surround by family and friend and watch and listened to my mother pass away. The sadness I had was great, but knowing she was with the Lord and living her biggest desire helped to heal my pain. I don't remember everybody who was there or who gave me hugs, but I remember hugging each and every brother and the messages that carried. We may have gone our own ways now, but nothing will ever make me forget that time and that love and the strength we gained from being together. Then there was the hug from my father, that said to me, we are gonna be scarred, but our wounds would heal and we would be strong again.
Through all this I learned that even though I hate that my mother had to suffer and be taken away from me, without this experience I would not be who I am, I would not know the kind of faith that I know today. God can do anything and comfort anybody. Things may happen, but it will be for His good. This lesson I learned from my mother and only through her death did I truly learn this lesson and actually take to heart what she taught me. I love my mother always and miss her always, but I thank her daily for her lessons of strength, faith, and love. Without her I would be worlds away from my Lord.
"For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11 NIV
In 4th grade I remember coming home and for the first time my mother was gone with no explanation. I could just not understand how that could be. I spent the afternoon attempting homework, but wondering and worrying about what had happened. Then walk in my mother and my father, together with a look of disbelief. Without even knowing what was going on, my heart sunk. Somehow at the age of 9 I knew that things would never be the same.
The family was gathered, at least all that was still living at home, my parents, two of three of my older brothers, and myself and the news of my mother's brain tumor was broken. The final blow of it all, she was going to die, it was just a matter of time. I cannot remember much of anything else that went on, but I remember my thoughts. How can this be, my best friend, my hero, my only true mother. I had been adopted at the age of 5 and now I was 9, how could that be enough time? What was I going to do? She was my everything. The first person in my life who ever showed me love, not just love, but God's love. The past from before I was adopted will come later, but from that past I had turned into a rotten child. The first thing I did when welcomed into this home was throw all the books from the bookshelf, that my mother and father selflessly set up just for me, and threw them all onto the ground. I couldn't even take a two minute time out without rebelling. I stole snacks and lied about it, I was horrible. This mighty women of God though took me in, showed me love, patience and kindness and changed me and helped me to become a child of God, but she was going to suffer and die. I still needed her guidance, how could this be?
My mom through the miracle of God was given the joy of life until I was 12 and in the 6th grade. The worst time for me to lose my mother, for I had not yet begun all the female stuff and now had to endure without her. I could go into great detail about the time that my mother bravely and joyfully suffered through her tumor, but that is not where this is going. What I can say she suffered a lot and never once did she get angry at God (sure she question and asked why and got mad) for doing this too her, she knew that He had a plan and His will needed to be done and that me, her three sons, daughter-in-law, husband, and many friends would be cared and loved and comforted by God. The details of her illness are many and painful and sad, yet happy and sweet. I remember most my mom's smile, my mothers kindness and patience for others still even in her greatest time of need. Even though my time with my mother was far to short, I would not have traded the things she taught me in that time, nor the time we spent and conversation we had for anything in this world.
My mother, my true mother, though I am not flesh of her flesh, in her fight with cancer gave me the endurance to handle the many hurdles that came at me in my future. I would have loved to have had my mother actually there to talk to, but I would not have the example or the knowledge that I now have.
One chilly evening at the age of 12 I sat in a hospital room surround by family and friend and watch and listened to my mother pass away. The sadness I had was great, but knowing she was with the Lord and living her biggest desire helped to heal my pain. I don't remember everybody who was there or who gave me hugs, but I remember hugging each and every brother and the messages that carried. We may have gone our own ways now, but nothing will ever make me forget that time and that love and the strength we gained from being together. Then there was the hug from my father, that said to me, we are gonna be scarred, but our wounds would heal and we would be strong again.
Through all this I learned that even though I hate that my mother had to suffer and be taken away from me, without this experience I would not be who I am, I would not know the kind of faith that I know today. God can do anything and comfort anybody. Things may happen, but it will be for His good. This lesson I learned from my mother and only through her death did I truly learn this lesson and actually take to heart what she taught me. I love my mother always and miss her always, but I thank her daily for her lessons of strength, faith, and love. Without her I would be worlds away from my Lord.
"For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11 NIV
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
A Start
Well not really sure what has lead me to this. I enjoy writing, but I don't feel I am that good at it. I have had my share of struggles and I hope that through writing I can share what I have learned with others and also continue to help myself grow. I have learned through the years and through all my pain that even in the worst of times God is always watching and guiding. With Him at your side the pain can not just be a wound but can be a healing and a lesson.
I am sure that in time I will catch you all up on my past, but right now this is my present and at the moment one of my biggest challenges. I have been fighting with endometriosis since 2005 at the age of 20. This case can be anywhere from mild to severe. There is no cure, just an attempt to control. My case is not only a severe case, but for some reason has been unable to control. I have had many specialist who just continue to pass me off to the next specialist. I currently have a good doctor is not giving up on me, but is still struggling to gain control. It used to be that I was too young to really have much done since I was unmarried and not near having children. Now that I am happily married the desire to have children has become strong. My husband and I have never actually been able to try knowing that I was unable to and that all my treatments made it impossible. Yet still even with all those treatments and test (which I never would wish onto anybody) I am still in my horrible position, in pain, hormonally messed up, childless and still uncertain of how I will have my own. I have had many things go wrong in my life, yet God has always provided me a hope and a comfort. I have had my moments of doubt in those times, but God has always proven faithful and I have had many lessons of trust and faith. This current situation has tested all those lessons my past has taught me. I have been in so much pain and cannot understand how this is okay. I could handle the pain if I knew in the end I would have a child, the pain would then be worth it, but I do not have have that security. I am not sure what I will do if I cannot get pregnant. I know that I have to trust God, I just hope that I can continue to do so.
I guess that is my hope with this blog, if I can continue to write and be open with myself then maybe I can sort through my feeling and thoughts and keep things clear and be able to clearly see where God has stepped in and taken control. My hope and my plan with this blog is to keep up with my current situation and to document God's control and love, but to also share my past in a hope that others can learn and maybe even grow from my lessons learned the hard way.
I am sure that in time I will catch you all up on my past, but right now this is my present and at the moment one of my biggest challenges. I have been fighting with endometriosis since 2005 at the age of 20. This case can be anywhere from mild to severe. There is no cure, just an attempt to control. My case is not only a severe case, but for some reason has been unable to control. I have had many specialist who just continue to pass me off to the next specialist. I currently have a good doctor is not giving up on me, but is still struggling to gain control. It used to be that I was too young to really have much done since I was unmarried and not near having children. Now that I am happily married the desire to have children has become strong. My husband and I have never actually been able to try knowing that I was unable to and that all my treatments made it impossible. Yet still even with all those treatments and test (which I never would wish onto anybody) I am still in my horrible position, in pain, hormonally messed up, childless and still uncertain of how I will have my own. I have had many things go wrong in my life, yet God has always provided me a hope and a comfort. I have had my moments of doubt in those times, but God has always proven faithful and I have had many lessons of trust and faith. This current situation has tested all those lessons my past has taught me. I have been in so much pain and cannot understand how this is okay. I could handle the pain if I knew in the end I would have a child, the pain would then be worth it, but I do not have have that security. I am not sure what I will do if I cannot get pregnant. I know that I have to trust God, I just hope that I can continue to do so.
I guess that is my hope with this blog, if I can continue to write and be open with myself then maybe I can sort through my feeling and thoughts and keep things clear and be able to clearly see where God has stepped in and taken control. My hope and my plan with this blog is to keep up with my current situation and to document God's control and love, but to also share my past in a hope that others can learn and maybe even grow from my lessons learned the hard way.
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