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National Infertility Awareness Week

Updated: Jan 3, 2021

My husband and I met our senior year of college. I fell in love with him spending warm spring nights sitting on a porch swing. Two years into dating I was completing my Master’s degree and we decided to take a vacation to celebrate my graduation—on this vacation he proposed to me in the Cape Henry lighthouse, we were married in a beautiful wedding the following fall. We bought our first home a year later. Everything truly seemed like a fairy tale. After three years of marriage we decided we wanted to start a family, we had no idea the fairy tale was about to end and be shrouded in tears and heart break.

After a year of trying to get pregnant with no success we decided to find out if something was wrong. My doctor was confident absolutely nothing was wrong, I had no indicators, she said these things just take time with some couples, but she would run a few tests just to make sure.

We had no idea the results of those tests would make us feel like the world was collapsing. My results showed a host of hormone imbalances and my doctor suspected PCOS (polycystic ovarian syndrome). My doctor stated she was not a fertility specialist and she said I needed one, this was not the news we expected or wanted to hear.

We were in disbelief, my husband and I just sort of walked with this information for a few months, in a way hoping we would still somehow become parents on our own and ialso not wanting to really face the hardship we knew would come if we started down the path of infertility treatments. We finally came to terms with the path we were required to take to become parents, so we found a specialist. From my first appointment we began the schedule of tests. My results revealed my hormone levels were off—same as before—I was officially diagnosed with poly-cystic ovarian syndrome, and insulin resistance.

I began rounds of clomid, metfomrin, prometrium, hcg shots, 21 day blood draws and ultrasounds.

Each month when failure came the darkness would engulf us. I took everything harder than my husband, since the body that was failing us was mine. After a few months I was a shell of the joyful person I had been. I stopped wanting to see my friends who had babies. I had skipped two baby shower invites because—as selfish as it sounds—I just did not think I could celebrate when I was so broken with grief. This season in our life was hard. I truly thought the darkness would never end.

I spent time crying out prayer, not just begging for a child but also begging if becoming a mom was not God’s plan then I needed the desire and sadness to be taken away. I begged God to please lift the darkness I was feeling.

In August 2012 my doctor said this should be our last try. She said it would serve us best to move on to a different path to become parents (basically if it hasn’t worked by now, it probably will not). August was going to be our last attempt.

In that last month I was invited to spend the day with a friend and her six month old daughter, I pushed my darkness aside and went for the day. We had a fun day, I enjoyed her daughter’s giggles and loved watching my friend be a mommy. When I got home that night I walked into my bedroom to change clothes and I lost it. I dropped to my knees in the dark and cried out to God like never before, to please take the pain away if motherhood was not in His plan for my life, to please show me His plan and help me to the other side of this grief.

I would find out about a month from this night I was pregnant.

September 2012 I tested as I did every month and the test said pregnant, I was in shock. I called my husband and he brought home more tests, all positive. I called my doctor the next day, the nurse said my doctor was off for family business, but I could come in for a blood test. I jumped in the car and drove in for a blood test.

The next day the waiting was excrutiating. I called the office five times that morning leaving messages at reception for the doctor. Finally a nurse called me back, she said my test results were back, but she could not deliver them to me, that it was policy for the doctor to sign off on results before they could be given to patients, but my doctor was still out of the office.

My stomach sank, I just kept thinking if I was pregnant the nurse would forgo policy and tell me the good news—the staff knows how long we have waited for this, the staff nurses have held my hand for months during shots and blood draws, they have teared up and hugged me while I sobbed in their offices after each failure. The clinical staff felt more like friends than medical staff, so I thought in my head, if I were really pregnant they would tell me.

In the afternoon I was out shopping, frantically trying to distract myself from not knowing if I was actually pregnant. I will never forget standing in a store hearing my phone ring, it was an unfamiliar number (which I never answer, but for some reason did this time) it was my doctor calling from her home to say the blood test confirmed I was pregnant. She said her nurse called to let her know I had been calling all day. I just remember standing in dishware aisle of the store crying, saying thank you, thank you, over and over.

My daughter is now almost eight and she is a joyous little girl. Her giggles fill our home with so much love. She likes to make up jokes, she is an advanced reader, she is outgoing and sassy, she is a light in our life. A few years later our light would shine brighter with another daughter, she is now two and the two of them keep us on our toes, sometimes make us crazy, but always fill our home with an abundance of love.

When I thought the pain would never end—the darkness was lifted, God turned on the lights and oh how bright they are.

Join me National Infertility awareness week April 18-24 and share your story.

For more stories on faith, marriage, and motherhood check out Faithfully Failing on Facebook.

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