Well, actually, I have to tell you the truth. I really felt like I was starting to get in the swing of things, but then I had to go start writing about our infertility journey. After I got the first post out there, I think I got a little nervous about telling the rest of the story. I am not entirely sure why. It is not like all of you can come through the computer and shake your heads at me for being so open. And if you are shaking your head, this blog is probably not for you. This blog (well this part of it) is for the people that I still know are struggling with infertility. The people that don't wake up to a smiley baby or a have a child's drawing up on the fridge. This is for my friends who can't tell people yet that they can't have a baby. That is a lonely place and I just want you to know you are not alone. And even though I have a baby now, this story is as fresh as if it were happening to me all over again. In fact, the broken pieces from the pain still seems to pop up in the most unexpected places. Just know.....I get it.
So here goes.
So the story left off when my friend had just found out she was pregnant. Justin and I had been trying for a year and hadn't thought much of it. But once my friend got pregnant, I thought it was time we look into it. We decided to start with Justin. He had an appointment with his primary care doctor already scheduled so we casually mentioned it and a test was ordered. We were told we would have results by Friday.
My same pregnant friend and I planned a girl's day for that Friday. We were going to go to lunch and then go hang out at the Hilton Bayfront where Justin was cooking in the pool restaurant. This was going to be our day:
Instead, it felt like this:
Well maybe I am being dramatic but my friend and I still refer to it as "Black Friday."
Before our day began, we were going to stop by her prenatal appointment. It would be a short appointment and then we would go on with our day. I told her I would use the time to wait in the car to call the doctor. He hadn't called and I was starting to get a little curious. And so I called.
He basically explained that my husband's numbers were not good. In fact, they were terrible. He threw a few figures at me and said words I didn't understand at the time, but all I remember hearing him say was, "It just doesn't look like it is going to happen for you guys- at least naturally." What?
I wanted to explain to him that he must have gotten things wrong. I wanted to tell him that I had been volunteering in my church nursery for years and had even brought Justin along a few times. I wanted to say that I had always been great with kids- ever since I was young. I wanted to tell him how important having children was to Justin- was to us. But I just said thank you and goodbye.
With that kind of news, you don't go to lunch and the pool. I called Justin and he was really quiet on the phone and said he was probably going to leave work. My friend and I just drove home in shock. I started trying to be positive and tell her that they have so many things they can do now. I was sure we could fix it if I did enough research. I just didn't know what to feel. We got to my house and Justin was home. I walked in with all my positive thoughts and "can-do" attitude. And that is when I saw him.
My husband is a strong guy. He likes football and beer and nights with the guys. He is sensitive and I have seen him cry- usually when it has something to do with being proud to be an American. But today was different. The man I saw was crushed. I will never ever forget what he looked like. He just looked up at me and the tears streamed down his face silently. All my positive ideas went out the window. This sucked. This was not fun. I just wanted to run away from my thoughts and my pain, but I felt my legs walk toward him. I just held him and we both cried.
In my next post, I will get into the details of all the tests and surgery that came next. I will tell you about our controversy between fertility treatments and adoption. But I will stop for tonight.
Remembering this day is a broken piece. I will always carry it with me. That is how it is with loss. When we lose something, we can never get it back, or at least without the memory of losing it. And I think that changes us a little bit. We all walk around with broken pieces. Some of us have been able to make them look pretty and even functional again. But others seems to carry theirs around awkwardly with no place to set them down. Sometimes we think our broken piece is worse than others. But they all have sharp edges and they all cut. And at one time, all of them were not broken pieces. They were part of something bigger and something beautiful. But loss touches us all and it certainly did touch us that Black Friday over four years ago.
(I promise the story gets better!) Thank God that He doesn't leave our broken pieces alone.
Thanks for reading. I promise that once I am done telling this story, I will get back to my current life as a working mom. But I think I need to get this story out- no matter how long it takes me!
