Post #1 of my infertility series:
The April walk around the reservoir was a perfect place to share the news with my family. A phone call would’ve been quicker, but there are some things that need to be said face to face. Or should I say, more fun if shared in person.
After a few laps around the water, my husband and I plopped down in the grass with my sister and brother-in-law who were visiting. When the moment was right, I blurted, “I’m late!”
During these odd manifestations, I looked at life with fresh eyes. I looked at myself differently and held my head high, like I was now part of a special club. Wow, I finally did something right. My wardrobe would need to adjust. Curtis and I thought, “Could it be?” The rhythm of my walk changed. My aura filled with peace. Nothing wrong mattered as I caressed my stomach believing there was life in it, the mother bear in me already putting on her armor.
So when my family visited Saturday and we talked and walked the reservoir, enthusiastic about new beginnings, we were surrounded by the hope of spring. Surely, after many years, it worked this time!
The next day, Sunday morning revealed the deception.
I wasn’t pregnant.
I cried.
After the crestfallen Sunday, I had a follow-up doctor’s appointment to review my basal chart.
After five-months of tracking my body temperature, in two-seconds the doctor said, “Oh, you’re not ovulating.”
I cried, “But my cycles were regular.” He explained I can be regular at the same time my prolactin elevates.
I cried at the whole mess as if I had failed.
I failed because I knew it was too premature to tell my family.
I failed at being a mother and a good wife.
I failed. I let logic and order go by the wayside in an effort to show joy and believe I was worthy of this privilege of carrying life.
I failed.
Besides the emotional angst of the disappointment, I now felt vulnerable and exposed because the possibility of this new life had meant possibility of breathing new life into a family culture we were all trying to change, determined to break the sinful chains of our past, of our fathers.
And I felt vulnerable because I had shared a glimmer of my heart rejoicing.
We will have none of that mocked the old ghosts from my past.
It’s only through the pain that I begin to learn about my body, my emotions, my desires, my strengths and my weaknesses.
And it’s through this pain that I learn to advocate for myself and find my voice.
And it’s through this pain that I fight the bitterness of that voice that says you silly girl, don’t you know you didn’t have kids because you’d of been abusive like your dad.
And I fight that voice that tells me I failed, because if I believe that voice then I don’t believe the voice of God.
It’s through the pain that I learn acceptance of the loss.
Some days I still cry, I can’t help that, but it’s no longer because I’m a failure, bad wife or would’ve been a bad mother.
I cry because when I least expect it, a loss has a way of reminding me it’s still there.
And I cry because a loss is a loss that grieves in its own time and in its own way.
Today I rejoice over my victory, even if through tears, because this strengthened me when I could’ve remained crumbled. And it strengthened our marriage when it wanted to unravel us.
And in spite of myself, I learn that God loves me and has another plan for me, one that doesn’t include stretch marks or diapers.
our aching groans.
Post #1 Infertility: The Hope of Spring
Post #2 Infertility: No Stress Here
Post #3 Infertility: The Empty Mother’s Day Womb
This must have been such a hard road to travel. Thanks for sharing your story. There are so many who need to hear it. To know they are not alone.
You are the strongest woman I know, Tammy Sue and one with a huge heart for God and life! Sharon
Thanks for sharing Tammy…this hits close to home past and present in my family.
Jeanne, it was a hard road and it was only the beginning of the road. I do hope knowing one isn't alone offers comfort. Thank you.
Sharon, I haven't felt strong especially when I see what mothers like you do! But I'll take it, thank you my friend.
Cherrie, I'm sorry for your pain and whatever you are going through. I pray God gives you his strength, wisdom and peace through this aching journey.
Beautiful. Truth-filled. Powerful. Thank you. (shared through email – B.E.)
Thanks Tammy ! Cherrie is aka Cheryl from Illing
Tammy Sue, you are one of the strongest women I know. I am so glad you have known blessing and God's love for you these years. What a beautiful, redemptive story you have.
Thanks Tammy Sue, my loss isn't yours but I felt caring, concern, and healing from your words. Also I remember your voice from the Writers Conference and it's also was healing and caring. God bless you. I am so glad for your healing and the good that came from this experience to your marriage! God love is so prevalent in your words and Bible verses comforting. I am happy to hear that what was stolen by the enemy has been renewed and multiplied by our God to a position better than original. I'm not even totally sure where my tears come from but have been flowing especially since reading your blog. God and His people can not and will not be overcome!
Hi Tammy Sue, That was so moving. I cry for your pain but I celebrate you because I know you have and will be a mentor to so many. Love & Peace