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.
