I have been thinking a lot lately about how I want to navigate the world of infertility with you. How much should I talk about it? Should I talk about it at all? Are we ready to tell our families? Are we ready to share with our whole community group, let alone the world? I can’t not talk about it because so many people already choose to struggle alone. I don’t want to be one who bottles emotions, making every time I hear about another pregnant friend or a see that a new baby has just been born or plan a good friend's baby shower an internal misery. Those are all beautiful and wonderful things. But yes, sometimes they make me a little sad. I want you to know that, and I hope that it is okay.
Now seems as good of a time as any to share this struggle. People may look at me differently; they may feel uncomfortable around me. They may feel sad for me or embarrassed by how much I am willing to admit. But what is struggling through something if we don’t have a community to share it with? What is walking alongside others in faith if we never say a word about the deepest and saddest parts of our hearts? I won’t say I’m not apprehensive about sharing. It’s scary for my family’s life to be plastered on the walls of the internet, but this is the choice I have made, and that is why I’m telling you now.
This morning was hard. Sometimes I just wake up sad. Usually I don’t understand why a day begins in such a slumber, but today, I do. Last night, I had a dream. A dream that I was pregnant. I had the cutest little baby bump underneath my white J.Crew comfy tee. I was happy. The weather was warm, the sun was shining, and my heart was full. I think I actually woke up smiling before I began to slowly realize that what I had just envisioned wasn’t real, and that forced a striking blow to my reality. I am not pregnant, nor am I able to even try to get pregnant. It feels as though I’ve already lost something, as though I’m already missing out on something important in the life of a woman who wants a child. This dream was ripped away from me before I could even open my eyes.
This morning I cried. I haven’t cried that hard in some time. It doesn’t help that my Reproductive Endocrinologist (RE) has already started me on some hormone treatments that have made me an emotional wreck on my worst days. It led to such a sweet moment with my husband, though. We sat on the couch and through my sobbing prayed to our Father. I told Him that I was angry, hurt, sad, and – the last thing I want to admit – jealous. I prayed that He would take my anger and jealousy. That my heart would not be hardened to those having children all around me. That my sadness and hurting could couple with hope and trust that He will provide. That, no matter how long He wants me to wait, he would give strength and wisdom in this time of waiting. That through all of this, my faith would only grow and my understanding of his love would never waver. I felt so loved by my husband in that moment as he prayed and spoke to our Father alongside me. The words he spoke for peace and joy brought a sense of calm over me in that moment.
Pregnancy has so much waiting time built into it. The getting pregnant, the being pregnant, and the months and sometimes years of trying that come before that. I feel like I’ve already waited so long because I’ve known this was coming since I was a little girl. I started seeing my RE officially right after getting married in December of 2014. All along I was told that I could start infertility treatments as soon as my husband and I were ready and I was cleared by a high risk pregnancy counselor and my array of specialists. After a year's worth of waiting for doctors to clear me for pregnancy and explain all the risks associated, we were anxious to start with treatments in February. I went to the doctor at the beginning of February ready to come home with hormone injections and hoping to be part of the March IVF cycle. I left that appointment in tears, once more hearing that I would have to wait. I would have to wait because the doctors had never shared with us that my uterus is far too small to support a pregnancy. Information they had known for a year. I was angry. Angry that because after the last year of waiting, they didn’t even know if they could help me, angry because I had to take more medication for another three to five months, angry because once again the hope of having biological children was washed away.
Today, I am sad. Today I need prayer for my faith to remain strong, my heart to be softened, and my eyes to remain open the possibilities through Christ. Today I need the support of a friend, love from my husband, and Grace from my Father. Today I need help, and I will no longer be ashamed of that.
and therefore he exalts himself to show mercy to you. For the is a God of justice; blessed are all those who wait for him."
|And just as we wait at the start of winter |
for the first signs of spring, I will keep waiting...
|Spring in Lincoln Park - Capitol Hill, Washington, DC|