Today

Throughout our infertility I have remained very guarded of my emotions, when we would experience a loss or setback I’d rarely cry.  I’d just focus on what was next. We couldn’t change our crappy fate with tears.  We walked through the darkness of our failures thinking we would have to find the light eventually.  I didn’t think it had the power to break me….until the day it did.

            My nurse called late, I could tell by her tone it was bad news…again.  She told me my blood test revealed that this pregnancy, my third, also did not look like it would be viable and to prepare for the worst.  She paused, waiting for me to cry and ask questions.  I didn’t, I wasn’t new to this type of news.  Instead I got angry. 

            I got angry when my husband asked if there was still hope.  I got angry when my mother told me to let myself grieve.  I got angry at it all.  Can God not hear all of the people praying for us?  Can he not hear my prayers?  Maybe he can but he doesn’t care, maybe he is punishing us for something we have done.  Worst of all, maybe he isn’t real, maybe my lifelong faith has been an elaborate lie to myself.  Broken.

            Boy did HE make me eat my words.  Two weeks later my husband and I saw our baby’s heart beat for the very first time.  Two weeks later our baby defied all odds and lived.  On Christmas we were able to tell our families that they would grow by one.  Today I get to tell you that this summer my husband will be a father.  After 5 IVFs, 2 losses, and a long journey later I get to tell you- I will be a mother after all.

Glory to God.  

Mother's Day Reflection...

I read somewhere that Mother's Day is to Infertiles what Valentine's Day is to single people who just want to be in a relationship, a day to survive, to somehow make it through.  That certainly felt true last year.  I thought it was so weird how strangers would say "Happy Mother's Day" like it applied to everyone.  I realize most of you might not have given this a second thought, but to someone doped up on fertility meds, it was all I could notice.  It's like pregnant people, sometimes I think they follow me around on purpose just to be jerks.  Last year was impossible.  I got through it because I was fortunate enough to spend it with my own amazing mother (and I stayed far away from facebook!).  I could focus on how lucky I was to have her as a mother instead of focusing (or at least not constantly focusing) on how unfortunate I was to not be a mother myself.


That was last year.  This year is different.  My husband  and I have put fertility treatments on the back burner.  It was time.  We were out of money, out of patience and frankly just tired of it.  It has been wonderful, like we can start living again.  (I know right now you are tempted to tell me that because we have stopped trying maybe we will get our miracle!! Stop yourself.)


4 IVFs meant a year of planning our lives around appointments and injections.  Last summer I went to two concerts where I had to do injections in the car while tailgating.  Awkward.
This summer we have plans, lots and lots of non fertile plans and I plan on enjoying it.  My best friend went crazy about a year ago and became an avid runner, she forced me to sign up for a race with her.  Running (even though I still kinda hate it) has been so therapeutic for me.  I have a physical goal for myself that I ACTUALLY have control over.  I know people might feel sorry for me but I can say at this moment I am that happiest I have been in a long time.  I think I can speak for my husband and say he feels the same way.  I'm not saying it doesn't sting when I see a pregnancy announcement on facebook, but I'm also not automatically defriending people because of it.  Progress.  I can even tell people I am happy for them and almost mean it.


We will probably try again eventually.  We might even know our next move.  But it's not happening right now and that's ok.  We are more than ok.


I do hope you take a second to consider and pray for the women who are still in a dark place this Mother's Day, still struggling and hurting.  It's a silent pain that is really hard to share. 

The infertile part of our lives...

I always imagined how I would announce my pregnancy, even after starting my first of four IVFs, I had visions of how it would go.  Tears, laughter, relief, I would tell my expanding  stomach how hard we worked for it.  I would tell my baby how I put countless needles into my muscles and more hormones into my body than anyone could ever imagine.  He or she would hear about our miscarriages and the difficult times.  Our baby would know how insurance covered 0% of our treatment and how we spent it’s entire college fund trying to bring it into existence.  Our baby would know our frustrations, sadness, and heartache, but most of all it would know our love.

   At the beginning of this journey I wrote a letter to my children telling them how much I loved them and that I would do whatever it took to get them-my children might never read that letter.  Now these visions I've had are replaced with the unknown.  I might never make that announcement.   I might never talk to my child.  The hardest and most gut wrenching thing is-my husband might not either.  My husband might never teach his son to be as good of a man as he is.  He might never hold the daughter that has his eyes. 

Infertility is more than “needing a surrogate,” more than taking vitamins or lying on my back.  Sure we could “JUST ADOPT” but the money is already spent.  “Just relaxing” or “getting drunk” won’t heal our medical issues.  Imagine telling someone with bad eyes that if they just relax they won’t need those glasses after all.  If we just stop trying it’s not going to miraculously get us pregnant, I’m sure you’ve heard “those” stories but I promise it’s more complicated than that.

We can’t say we didn't give it our all, everything in us.  We absolutely did.  Four ivfs, two miscarriages, all of our money, and one dream shattered later and we are still here, still fighting the fight.  In a way it kind of makes us special.  Most people can get pregnant on their own, if they can’t they can adopt or do a fertility treatment and it will work out for them.   In the end they get to hold their baby in their arms.  We aren’t any of those people.  We are something else.  We are an unfortunate kind of special.  Our friends and our family are wonderful and try so hard to empathize.  Thankfully no one can, I wouldn’t want them to be able to.  A few people have walked along this road with us but have gotten off along the way, while we pushed forward, farther than anyone should walk.  We are still walking, still trying to find our way.

Am I mad at God?  I never really was.  I always lived thinking “you can’t have the testimony without the test.”  Now I am re-evaluating what that means.  We have certainly been given the test, so what is our testimony?  I don’t know yet.   But I do think my testimony is coming, I think someday it will make sense and God’s plan will reveal itself.  But right now?  I don’t know.  What I do know?  I know I love my husband more now than I think I could have without our infertility.  We have faced the worst and held on to each other tighter.  I don’t take that for granted.  I know it can break people, break marriages.  God and my husband have kept me alive during this, not just alive but happy.  Yes somehow I will be happy anyway.  We are hurt, and we are sad but we are not broken.  We are just infertile.