I had intentions to write this post from my serious side, but then, as I started typing, my lip started to quiver and my hand started to involuntarily wave frantically at my eyeballs—because Lord help me if one tear falls I’ll be scuba diving in an ocean of tears.
And folks, I’ve cried a lot of tears during our three and a half year infertility journey, and at this point I deserve to laugh a little, and anyone who is reading this and is also in the throes of infertility you deserve to laugh too.
But please know that my humor is not meant to diminish the pain of infertility. Because sweet reader, I know the pain.
I know what it feels like to pray relentlessly and feel like your prayers have landed on deaf ears.
I know what it feels like to become physically ill with envy when you see another pregnancy announcement , or how impossible it feels to fight back the tears when your friend whispers “I’m pregnant!”
I know what it feels like to lose yourself. To become someone you didn’t know even existed, a person who is so blind by your pain that you’ve lost the ability to genuinely love others.
I know what it feels like to believe with every ounce of your soul that you are pregnant, then find yourself on the bathroom floor screaming at God because the test shows only one line, again.
I know what it feels like to blame yourself, to carry the guilt from your past into your present, to succumb to Satan’s lie that you don’t deserve another child.
I know what it feels like to lay in bed, with tears streaming down your face as you argue with God begging him to answer one simple question. Why? Why, if only He has the ability to take this pain away, why isn’t he?
I also know what it feels like to sit in a doctors office after 1,155 days of praying, and another failed fertility treatment and hear your doctor tell you that you can no longer do fertility treatments because if you were to get pregnant your condition would be unfavorable for a pregnancy to thrive—and to realize in that moment you are no longer in control, that the only thing you can do is surrender.
And I’m here to tell you,
that the moment I gave all control to God, infertility’s grip lost its hold on me.
I can see God’s hand at work in me, in my husband, in the doctors diagnosis, and in my barren womb.
And though my womb remains barren, my heart is full. And one day my arms will be too.
Over the years, we’ve done a lot of praying, we’ve cried even more tears, but now we get to laugh, and that’s a pretty awesome feeling.
So here, dear friends, are the behind the scenes confessions of one, almost crazy, woman’s journey through infertility.
I have a drawer full of baby items I’ve been collecting over the years, and one time I tried the items on my puppy.
Chlomid (an infertility medication) should carry a warning label that says : MAY CAUSE UNCONTROLLABLE WEEPING ACCOMPANIED BY ANGER THAT COULD CAUSE LASHING OUT AT LOVED ONES, AND POTENTIALLY RUIN A VACATION.
Once, when I had to give myself a trigger shot at 3am, my husband said “want me to do that? It can’t be much different than giving a cow a shot.” And I almost said “bend over, let’s see.”
We learned really quickly that fertility treatment should be left to professionals. The Stork Conception Aid was much cheaper alright, but when your husband is standing over you with directions, yelling hit the button and your yelling which button because you can’t exactly see down there, the only thing that remotely has a chance of getting pregnant is the bed.
I gave the silent treatment to my husband after the aforementioned evening. Because, he should have told me WHICH button.
One time I walked through the baby section at Meijer and touched ALL the clothes, maybe even sniffed them. Which is why everyone should always wash your child’s clothes before letting them wear them.
I drank decaf coffee for one month because I was convinced my coffee consumption was why I wasn’t getting pregnant. This may have been the month I wanted to slap anyone who looked in my direction.
I made a baby registry under a pseudo name. Anyone want to come to Bessie and Bills baby-Q? I may have planned a baby shower a couple years ago too.
One time I googled “is a tingling sensation in your left thumb a sign of pregnancy.” In case you are wondering, it isn’t.
I’ve almost asked a complete stranger if I could hold their baby. Almost people. I’m not that crazy.
I forced my husband to take a selfie in a parking garage at the hospital during our second round of fertility treatment and said “we can tell our baby, this was the day you were made!” He looks thrilled in the picture.
One month I was convinced I was pregnant, and so was my hub. We even talked to my belly. And then it talked back—fertility meds often times cause gas. It’s so romantic.
Speaking of romantic, when your husband says “want me to hold your legs up so you can do a handstand after”... you’re like awww, babe, that’s so sweet of you.
We met at Twin Peaks before our first fertility treatment. Something seems so wrong about that.
One time we got in an argument because my husband wants a hot tub and since I was told hot tubs kill your swimmers I was convinced he didn’t want a baby. Chlomid. See confession # 2.
Sometimes we hold our puppy like a baby. Ok, sometimes we pretend our puppy is a baby. Okay, yes, our puppy is a baby—just covered in fur.
Real life folks.
Infertility isn’t something I ever imagined I would be walking through, but one day we will be able to tell our sweet miracle that “mommy and daddy wanted you so badly we did some pretty funny and almost crazy things.”
And it was all worth it.
To those who are on this journey with us, we love you all so much. Your prayers, and encouragement mean the world to us. To those on their own journey of infertility, do not give up hope, God is at work behind the scenes, of this I am certain.