I called to talk to my Mom about chicken, but my Dad answered and I ended up crying. Not the way I had planned for that evening to go, but sometimes I need to cry.
A select few of my friends have this blog address... I only gave it out to the people who asked for it, so I think I'll be candid here.
Van and I are in the middle of fertility treatments.
For the longest time we were not ready for children. For the first three years of our marriage, I was in anesthesia school and then after I finished, we moved to TX. Van was traveling every other week and I was working full time in my new job... we didn't feel that we were ready to add a new baby to the schedule yet. We had spent so much of our marriage to that point tied down by my school and lack of finances, that we wanted a little "us" time to travel and enjoy life as a couple. So we perhaps put it off a little longer than we should've, but even still, looking back, I don't regret making the decisions we did. We just weren't ready.
We started "not preventing" (the way I referred to it for a long time because for the longest time I wasn't ready to use the word "trying") I guess about 2 years ago. The first time I can remember wondering if I might be pregnant was in February of 2011. Still at that time, I had mixed emotions. Every month I would wonder and be a little nervous... and then when I wasn't I felt somewhat or a relief mixed with disappointment. It was not until September of 2011 that we made our first official, calculated decision to "try".
In April, we decided to see a fertility specialist. Although we had not really been TRYING for a year (which they usually require before a specialist will see you), my sister had a history of infertility, and I didn't want to wait for an entire year to just be told that we had never had a chance on our own... so after doing labs and tests, we found out that in fact we both had a little bit of a problem... and that in fact we most likely would need fertility assistance.
Still, I was not quite ready to go that route so I waited until June to take a step towards having a baby. We did our first IUI (intra-uterine insemination), where they basically put sperm at the fundus of the uterus. The idea is that if the sperm need to run a marathon to reach the egg, this places them about a mile from the finish line. Big advantage, but still the statistics for pregnancy each month with an IUI are only about 6-8%. That does not seem like a great chance, until you consider the fact that pregnancy on your own after one year of trying drops to a statistic of about 1-2% (but is 20% every month for normal, no problem couples).
When the IUI was unsuccessful in June, I didn't really stress... I had once again found positive reasons for not ending up pregnant so early in the year - I could ski in the winter. And so we did another IUI in July. After it was unsuccessful, I was annoyed at having spent money, energy, time, and emotions on such a thing and decided to take some time off. We were going to be doing some traveling and moving in August and September, so I figured it would be a good time for the break. In October, we decided to do another round.
After the pregnancy test from the October attempt was negative, I had my first cry. The first realization that this may not happen for us. The first time I allowed myself to feel the fear that most couples having infertility are plagued with.
Even though this was the first time I had dealt with fertility problems myself, I had walked the very painful journey with my sister a few years earlier. I had answered my phone many times to a sobbing Erica, and sat down in the middle of whatever it was I was doing to make sure that she didn't feel that I was distracted as I listened to her lament over her fears and her hurts. I had learned to not ask people questions like, "When are you going to have a baby?" because I had seen how it had hurt her, as she so desperately wanted a baby. I had learned to assume everyone without children was secretly trying until proven otherwise, and thus I feel I had gained a new understanding and appreciation of the grieving hearts of women who hope to become mothers.
I've been dealing with a lot of, "WHY me, God?" and "This is not fair, God." kind of stuff. Looking back over past setbacks (i.e. anesthesia school, Van's job change from Contech to Tensar...), I can see clearly how God must have seen a bigger picture. And although I could not see it at the time, I can now with hindsight see how he was working it out for my good. I can see how we were blessed despite what at the time seemed to be let downs. (i.e. We ended up in Maine, and as I posted before it was a "Thank God for unanswered prayers" kind of experience... and with the Tensar thing, Van ended up going back to Contech after six months, but with a large raise and an extra week of vacation... something he would not have gotten for years if that had not happened.) But, honestly, I have a hard time imagining how this experience is going to benefit me. My heart has grieved with my sister and friends undergoing fertility... and because of Erica, Amanda, and Kimmy I have ached for the children they were not having and I have prayed countless hours for them... and I have been overjoyed when they each after years of negative tests each got a positive. So why must I too walk this road?
After the upset in October, I decided one more round in November... knowing that this would be our last IUI attempt. After 3 or 4 IUIs, the statistics of success are even less than the already low 6-8%, and your next option is IVF - which quite honestly has terrified me. This past Saturday, I got another negative on the pregnancy test. Four failed IUIs.
And so the tears have come. The not understanding. The feeling of unfairness. The fear. Infertility is a lonely road because in some way the burden is only yours. You can talk to others, but only you have the financial burden and the real emotional burden at the end of the day.
So last night I called to talk to my Mom about chicken, but when my Dad answered we ended up on this subject that has been consuming most of my thoughts.
And so I laid out what I thought was a pretty good argument for how God must not care. I argued that when something good happens we give Him credit, and when something bad happens we say, "He had a bigger plan." I argued that He must not care because my earthly parents would not deny me this request -- to have children, but He who claims to be my Father, who has all power, has not provided.
How quickly I forget how faithful He is. (God, forgive me.)
But I was having a human moment. A weak moment. And I felt like a little child who just cannot understand why her parents say no to the new toy or a piece of candy. To the child, why would there ever be a reason to say no? What cruel parents...
So my wise dad began... He told me that recently when the lottery was so big, he wondered if he was given such a sum of money what would he do with it. He thought about how he would want to pay off my house, pay off my student loans, and give me a million or two. And he said that as he thought of this, he also believed that such an amount of money could ruin my life at age 29... taking away a reason to get up and get going in the morning, taking away the sense of accomplishment I get for working with Van to provide and create our life. But even knowing that, how hard it would be for him to deny me... especially if I asked him, begged him, pleaded with him. He said that he found himself thinking about the love of God, as a Father, and how He must hurt even when he must deny our wishes at times... how He must want to give to us, but as an all-knowing, fair, perfect Father, how He does not always choose to give to us our wishes.
Interesting thought. Okay - so I can see that that may be the case sometimes... a job, a move, a spot in a desired class or school... but how can having a baby with or without fertility treatment be beneficial? I've already explained that I am a sympathetic person to fertility issues. What is the reason for this experience.
Of course, no one knows.
But - Dad reminded me of Hannah, whose prayer I have remembered during this time (1 Samuel 1:8-17)... She prayed for a child in a day in time when there were no such fertility options. She prayed so fervently that Eli, the priest, thought that she was drunk. And when God did give her a child, He gave her Samuel, who grew up to be one of the most influential prophets in the Old Testament. Dad suggested that maybe God was grooming Hannah... using her hurt and pain to draw her closer to Him... so that she could be the kind of woman and mother that would be needed to raise such a special young child.
And then he reminded me of the story where Jacob wrestled with God all night (Genesis 32), not quitting until he had received his blessing. And so he received it... but he walked with a limp for the rest of his life. Why was the limp necessary? Why did the blessing bring pain? One can only guess. Maybe it was a reminder of how much the blessing had meant to Jacob. Maybe it was the limp that changed Esau's heart... when he saw Jacob walking towards him, limping, he perhaps was filled with compassion and instead of warring with him, he fell on his neck and hugged him.
I think I understand well the heart of Dietrich Bonhoeffer when he wrote this poem entitled "Who Am I?" (written a month before he was executed by the Nazi's for his participation in a plot against the life of Adolph Hitler)
Who am I?
They often tell me
I stepped from my cell’s
confinement
calmly, cheerfully, firmly,
like a squire from his country
house
Who am I? They often tell me
I used to speak to my warders
freely and friendly and clearly,
as though it were mine to
command.
Who am I? They also tell me
I bore the days of misfortune
equably, smilingly, proudly,
like one accustomed to win.
Am I then really that which
other men tell of?
Or am I only what I myself
know of myself?
Restless and longing and sick,
like a bird in a cage,
struggling for breath, as
though hands were
compressing my throat,
yearning for colors, for
flowers, for the voices of
birds,
thirsting for words of kindness,
for neighborliness,
tossing in expectation of great
events,
powerlessly trembling for
friends at an infinite
distance,
weary and empty at praying, at
thinking, at making,
faint, and ready to say farewell
to it all.
Who am I? This or the Other?
Am I one person to-day and
to-morrow another?
Am I both at once? A hypocrite
before others,
and before myself a
contemptible woebegone
weakling?
Or is something within me still
like a beaten army
fleeing in disorder from victory
already achieved?
Who am I? They mock me,
these lonely questions of
mine.
Whoever I am, Thou knowest,
O God, I am thine!
Sometimes I feel (and have been told) that I have had a stellar attitude despite fertility issues. I have had several people tell me how shocked they are to find out that I have been taking rounds of clomid because I have maintained my moods well. Sometimes I feel strong because I am able to remember that God, who has always guided me and lead me, will continue to do so. And then sometimes I feel like a hypocrite. Scared, uncertain, angry, accusing... lashing out at those who love me best. Like Dietrich Bonhoeffer, I do not know which person is real... Who am I? Am I strong and faithful? Am I weak and hopeless? All I know is that like Bonhoeffer, I am His...
And like the lyrics of a favorite song by Ray Boltz and Lawrence Chewning say, I also declare and choose to believe that, "I have been young, but I am older now; And there has been beauty that these eyes have seen, but it was in the night, through the storms of my life - that's where God proved His love for me. The anchor holds, though the ship is battered. The anchor holds, though the sails are torn. I have fallen on my knees, as I faced the raging seas. The anchor holds in spite of the storm."
