October 15, 2015 · Personal
It seems like a dead end. This word seems so final. Like a period at the end of a sentence, when it should be a comma. A pause. A hurdle. Even a redirection.
I was super emotional the first time I went to see my new fertility doctors. We entered into the doctor’s lounge for our meet and greet. The round table they sat me at had a fresh box of tissues on the top. They knew I was coming.
Why so emotional you may ask? We are one step closer. At the time, all I could think about was, “We are one step closer to someone telling us we can’t have kids.” The dead end is just up ahead. Just a matter of time before we slam right into it.
I’m not sure when I officially transitioned into the world of infertility. In my opinion, it was when we began seeing fertility doctors for extensive workups and such. Others may put you in this category if you go longer than 3 months without getting pregnant the old fashioned way.
Ridiculous? Yes. I may be over exaggerating a tad.
But, when someone actually PUTS you in this category without your consent? Without you even realizing you are officially now IN this category? When you hear the phrase, “I have another friend who also struggled with infertility,” for the first time? It takes your breath away. It’s a term you are never quite prepared for no matter how long you’ve been on this baby journey.
Whenever we got here doesn’t matter. We are here. We are living it. What I noticed right away is that once we entered into the infertility world, opened that big heavy door and walked through it?
The world got silent.
Nobody talks anymore.
Nobody wants to share.
SO MANY people are walking this journey but it’s so isolating, downright scary and even painful at times that it’s hard for us to talk about.
I long to be part of a community that TALKS about infertility. Child loss. Not just in the days or weeks after you lose a child or start seeing new doctors. In the YEARS that come. Long after the rest of the world is on to the next topic and you’re still stuck in the pain that follows you everywhere.
What I’m seeing is that this journey is long, people. We need support and it’s time we start creating it.
We need people to link arms with us. Form a network of cheerleaders. But, this is where it gets tricky.
One by one in this, women are going to transition again. Women are going to get pregnant and not need to see those fertility doctors anymore. Women are going to adopt and spoil and CHERISH a little life that was sacrificed for them. Women are not going to dread taking family pictures of two anymore. Those photos will have an extra little person in there. Finally.
I think this is what holds us back from creating those communities.
The fear of being the only one left.
My sister-in-love, Suzi, prayed with me last winter when I was walking through the grief of losing our third baby. With tears in her eyes, and a quivering in her voice, she prayed that God would reveal where I am. On this marathon journey, am I on mile 3? Is there so much more ahead of me still? Or, are my legs cramping and is the dehydration setting in because I am on mile 25? Can I practically smell the finish line?
Wherever I am, as much as I feel like I haven’t moved, I’m closer to the end. I’m not where I used to be. I’m making progress. Bit by bit.
I AM one step closer. I am not one step closer to someone saying, “You can’t have kids.” I am not one step closer to the dead end. I am simply one step closer to the crossroad. One path leads to biological children. The other to adoption. Who’s to say we can’t have both?! Only time will tell.
Take a picture. Today. If you are struggling with infertility or child loss…do it. There’s no greater day than October 15th. Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day. A day for ALL Mommies. Not just the ones who have been pregnant at one time. ALL Mommies with a Mommy heart.
Take a picture.
Create something tangible. Freeze this day and this moment. You may be on Mile 25 and not even know it. You will want to look back on it and remember where you’ve been…because it won’t always be this way. It won’t always feel lonely and cold. You won’t always be stuck.
My husband, John, and I took this picture on my birthday in March. This was literally what we were doing one cloudy afternoon and something in me said, “Take a picture.” So I did. I set up my camera, pushed the self-timer and climbed on into the photo.
It won’t always be just the two of us. Some day, Johnny won’t be able to play peacefully on his guitar. There will be little hands plucking at the strings. Chubby little legs wedged between a wet diaper standing at his feet wanting to have a part in whatever Daddy is doing. A child. Our child.
After all. We ARE one step closer to receiving that precious prize at the end of this marathon…