The hardest thing about going through the fertility process was it showcased all the ways I’d come up short. The bills confronted me with the reality I hadn’t built any savings. The disagreements with Deborah reminded me I still lacked the compassion any feeling person should be able to muster. My inability to conceive of what was actually happening, and what our doctors were saying, called back my agonizing high school days of biology (where I was mercifully granted a “D” by a teacher who couldn’t face the idea of teaching me another semester).
After our first failed transfer, I took a little break for a few days in my family vacation home. I opened up a little, but not enough, as I found myself having continuous breakdowns throughout the next week. It’s so hard to “take a break” isn’t it? For us going through any part of infertility, it’s impossible and the term, “relax” just doesn’t exist in our vocabulary.
It has been thirteen years since I first stepped on this infertility road that I knew nothing about. It turns out I am not the only one walking on it and I am so grateful for others that have reached out and steadied me with each new bump or held my hand with every sharp turn. We were married 13 years ago and wanted nothing more than to start a family right away. Three months later, I was pregnant! Little did I know that it would be years before I would hold a baby of my own in my arms.
There were many dark days during my infertility struggle. I watched friend after friend get pregnant. Every month with yet another negative test spiraled me deeper into despair. Strangers would ask me if/when I was going to give Blair a sibling. I was desperate to get pregnant and to grow our family. And while I have always had faith in the Lord I can’t say my hope was fully in him during these years. I was mad. I felt alone. I felt forgotten by my Lord.