This
week is National Infertility Awareness Week.
For those who may have missed my post in which I first shared a little
piece of our story, you can check out Part 2 of my series titled “A Life
Unexpected" by clicking the following link: ALU(P2).
I am the one in eight. ········
When we first started trying to get pregnant,
I often found myself lost in daydreams.
I spent hours looking up and pairing first and middle names, imagining
what our child might look like, crocheting baby afghans (one for a boy and one
for a girl), and brainstorming ideas for nursery color schemes and pregnancy
announcements. As I imagined what it
would be like to see a positive pregnancy test, to witness my husband's
reaction to the news, to experience the process of growing a human being inside
my body, and everything else that goes along with bringing a life into this
world, I could feel a foreshadow of the emotion that would come with it
all. Have you ever thought of something sour
(like a Warhead or a lemon) and felt the sensation of the taste overtake your
tongue without actually eating anything?
It was sort of like that. I
entertained my hopeful fantasies without restraint for the first few months,
though they were dampened briefly by mild disappointment at each new start of a
cycle.
Then,
the disappointment began to grow, and the more I allowed myself to dream, the
harder the blow came when I realized we had to wait yet another month. Gradually, I finished my afghans, I stopped
looking at Pinterest ideas, and I put my baby name list away. Still, there were some months when I got my
hopes up because of unusual signs and allowed the dreaming to flicker
again. Once, I randomly got sick in the
middle of the night. Another month, I
had horrible acid reflux for the first time ever. There are so many possible
early pregnancy symptoms (most of which resemble PMS) that I could almost
always find at least one that was true for me in any given month. Still, I kept finding myself staring through
blurry eyes at a little strip with only one line.
Blood Draw #4 |
Finally,
we decided it was time to see a doctor.
My husband’s test came back normal.
My first tests included blood work to check for thyroid disease and
diabetes. I was diagnosed with
hypothyroidism and was started on medication.
Again, I felt a new wave of hope.
At least we had some sort of possible answer. Six long months passed with rapidly waning
optimism, and another blood test revealed that my thyroid was still out of
whack. The doctor increased my dosage,
and another two months have passed.
Ironically, I have an appointment with my doctor this week to ask a few
questions and to talk about what the next steps might be. All in all, we have been waiting for about twenty-seven
months now.
During
the wait, I have found myself jerked around by excitement, hope, anticipation,
doubt, discouragement, disappointment, anger, fear, jealousy, confusion,
frustration, and numbness. I've
stonewalled, rested in, reasoned with, and pleaded with God. I've been crushed by certain questions and
comments, but I've also been encouraged by loved ones in various ways, both
those who understand what we’re going through and those who don't. Each day is different. I try to focus on enjoying the life God has
given me right now. I must choose to be
thankful that I have the time and freedom to help take care of children who are
not my own. I must choose to enjoy the
extra time I have to invest in and enjoy my marriage. I must choose to trust God and to follow His
will for me today. Still, the longing
never entirely leaves my heart. The dream
may be polluted with uncertainty and sorrow, but it is not dead.
Thank you to all those who are
walking this road with us. Thank you for
listening ears, for your generous spirits, and for your genuinely good
intentions. Thanks to those who have been
understanding even when you don’t fully understand. Thanks to those at all different mile markers
of this same road who have provided so much support and encouragement. Thanks to those who have allowed me the
privilege of being a part of your children’s lives. I don’t know what the remainder of our
family-building journey looks like, but I am grateful to have such a supportive
community of family and friends and for a God who will not abandon me to
hopelessness and despair.
To close, I wrote a villanelle to
more succinctly express what I just shared in recognition of National
Infertility Awareness Week:
Reverie of Light
Desire
of my heart, tainted reverie of light
For
you, I continue to wait
I
must ward off the night
I
picture your eyes, your hair, your height
I
hear echoes of laughter, see what beauty you’d create
Desire
of my heart, tainted reverie of light
How
I ache to hold you tight
My
spirit yearns with an ardor so great
I
must ward off the night
I’ve
pondered your name, if it will be just right
To
capture your temper and each quirky trait
Desire
of my heart, tainted reverie of light
Your
afghans I made lie hidden from sight
Offering
no warmth to my fragile state
I
must ward off the night
Oh
how my mind must not succumb to this plight
Taunted
by apparitions of an uncertain fate
Desire
of my heart, tainted reverie of light
Please
Lord, ward off the night