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.
