Today is Thursday and I'm writing this on the second Thursday in a row that I have completely forgotten to document (3/14/13 and 3/21/13). I am serious when I say that I completely forgot. It was not until late in the afternoon both days that I realized that I did not take one photograph or write anything down all day (and again!). I cannot be sure, but I think part of my forgetting to document the "every day" normal things that have been happening on these Thursdays is partially due to the fact that well, some pretty big and emotional things have been happening that I'm not exactly sure how to document or if I even want to document them for that matter.
For two straight weeks my early Thursday mornings have been a blur of doctor appointments; some uncomfortable, some emotional, while others have been more "routine." I don't plan on writing much about the specific details of these appointments or where we are in this whole infertility process here on the blog and I'm sure you can understand why. I'm honestly still working on trying to figure it all out for myself. But I will share with you a few things I have learned so far...
Infertility is really personal and painful. I'm convinced that despite their best efforts and deep compassion, people who have never dealt with this type of loss or struggle themselves, will never fully understand what it is like. There is grief, hope, pain, vulnerability, darkness, isolation, fear, and wondering. There is this worry in your heart that all of these feelings, and this state of being will be with you forever...that you will never leave this dark, shadowy valley. That there is no end in sight. That this is how your story will end...forever sad, forever feeling a giant loss and tremendous ache.
It is easy to spin off into the "what if" world of various scenarios and plunge into the deep abyss of emotion that goes with them...but that is never a good thing. So I have been working on trying to be peaceful about where we are. Accepting. Giving myself grace to feel what I'm feeling, but letting Jesus carry the weight of it all...trusting that He is with us and is writing a good story here...and that the reason it's not good yet is because its not over yet! This inspires me to keep going...to keep climbing this mountain. I cannot say that every day I'm peaceful about where we are, but I'm working on it!
In this process, your body does not feel like your own. It is poked, prodded, injected, charted, studied, medicated, measured, discussed, scheduled, timed...and everything about this process feels invasive. I look around the waiting room in my doctor's office and just want to strike up a conversation with the women there because I know they speak my new "language." I want to tell them that I am sorry they are there and that I am whispering prayers for their future babies and for their broken hopeful hearts. But no one makes eye contact. No one speaks and no one connects with one another. It is a deeply personal, sad and isolating condition.
On more than one occasion, I have returned home from an early morning appointment in tears, brimming over with emotions I cannot control just wanting to crawl back into bed and cry for a few hours wondering, "How did we get here?" and "Why?" But my reality is that my day at home is only just beginning when I walk back through the door. Lily is freshly awake after a 12 hour sleep and BUSTING with energy. My sweet little gal does not understand my heartache or my longing to be still and think or be alone and write or just feel sad for a little while. She wants to go-go-go and wants my full attention. Those have been my toughest days....feeling like I do not have the time or the permission to process these experiences for myself in the way that I need to the most in the moment that they are occurring.
For me, those days have felt impossible, but somehow, from somewhere deep within I have managed to keep moving forward...and maybe that is actually for the best. With Lily requiring my best and and my all each day, I really have not been "allowed" to wallow or get too stuck in my own thoughts of doubt, fear, self-pity, worry or angst. My feet have been on the floor, my arms open to Lily and we have just played through my tears. She is a wonderful companion and does not seem to mind. She does not know it, but she has been a life-giver for me and it is impossible to express the countless times I have whispered "Thank you, Jesus" for all of the ways he has blessed me through her beautiful life. I'm a lucky, lucky woman and Lily, along with her Daddy, are a constant reminder to me of His goodness- even when I feel most forgotten and unlovable. Thank you, Jesus.
So instead of prolonging this project one more week to document a "normal" Thursday, I decided to just write a little about what has been going on that was too difficult to document with photos and little commentary. I am working hard on embracing how these hard days are part of our journey toward meeting our next littlest family member and are a part of our "normal" right now. I celebrate how that little one will have a story that is unique and all their own. I continue to work on remembering it all so I can tell them over and over how much they are deeply wanted and truly loved before they even got here....especially on some tough Thursdays in March.
Infertility is really personal and painful. I'm convinced that despite their best efforts and deep compassion, people who have never dealt with this type of loss or struggle themselves, will never fully understand what it is like. There is grief, hope, pain, vulnerability, darkness, isolation, fear, and wondering. There is this worry in your heart that all of these feelings, and this state of being will be with you forever...that you will never leave this dark, shadowy valley. That there is no end in sight. That this is how your story will end...forever sad, forever feeling a giant loss and tremendous ache.
It is easy to spin off into the "what if" world of various scenarios and plunge into the deep abyss of emotion that goes with them...but that is never a good thing. So I have been working on trying to be peaceful about where we are. Accepting. Giving myself grace to feel what I'm feeling, but letting Jesus carry the weight of it all...trusting that He is with us and is writing a good story here...and that the reason it's not good yet is because its not over yet! This inspires me to keep going...to keep climbing this mountain. I cannot say that every day I'm peaceful about where we are, but I'm working on it!
In this process, your body does not feel like your own. It is poked, prodded, injected, charted, studied, medicated, measured, discussed, scheduled, timed...and everything about this process feels invasive. I look around the waiting room in my doctor's office and just want to strike up a conversation with the women there because I know they speak my new "language." I want to tell them that I am sorry they are there and that I am whispering prayers for their future babies and for their broken hopeful hearts. But no one makes eye contact. No one speaks and no one connects with one another. It is a deeply personal, sad and isolating condition.
On more than one occasion, I have returned home from an early morning appointment in tears, brimming over with emotions I cannot control just wanting to crawl back into bed and cry for a few hours wondering, "How did we get here?" and "Why?" But my reality is that my day at home is only just beginning when I walk back through the door. Lily is freshly awake after a 12 hour sleep and BUSTING with energy. My sweet little gal does not understand my heartache or my longing to be still and think or be alone and write or just feel sad for a little while. She wants to go-go-go and wants my full attention. Those have been my toughest days....feeling like I do not have the time or the permission to process these experiences for myself in the way that I need to the most in the moment that they are occurring.
For me, those days have felt impossible, but somehow, from somewhere deep within I have managed to keep moving forward...and maybe that is actually for the best. With Lily requiring my best and and my all each day, I really have not been "allowed" to wallow or get too stuck in my own thoughts of doubt, fear, self-pity, worry or angst. My feet have been on the floor, my arms open to Lily and we have just played through my tears. She is a wonderful companion and does not seem to mind. She does not know it, but she has been a life-giver for me and it is impossible to express the countless times I have whispered "Thank you, Jesus" for all of the ways he has blessed me through her beautiful life. I'm a lucky, lucky woman and Lily, along with her Daddy, are a constant reminder to me of His goodness- even when I feel most forgotten and unlovable. Thank you, Jesus.
So instead of prolonging this project one more week to document a "normal" Thursday, I decided to just write a little about what has been going on that was too difficult to document with photos and little commentary. I am working hard on embracing how these hard days are part of our journey toward meeting our next littlest family member and are a part of our "normal" right now. I celebrate how that little one will have a story that is unique and all their own. I continue to work on remembering it all so I can tell them over and over how much they are deeply wanted and truly loved before they even got here....especially on some tough Thursdays in March.
Sarah - thank you and bless you for having the courage to write about your journey so candidly. Traveling down the road of infertility was one of the darkest, loneliest roads I/we have ever been down. Praying for comfort, healing, understanding and grace for you and Joe.
ReplyDeleteI've awarded you the Liebster Award! Check it out:
ReplyDeletehttp://www.austinandterri.blogspot.com/2013/04/leibster-award.html
Sarah - I am Austin's aunt; I too struggled with infertility and understand and sympathize with where you and Joe are right now, the procedures you're having, the decisions you're having to make, looking to the future. You and Joes will be in my prayers and I will be thinking about you. I enjoy reading your blog and your Lily is adorable!!
ReplyDeleteBest Wishes for the future, Lynn Smith