“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven; A time to be born, a time to die… a time to laugh, a time to weep” – Lyrics by the Byrds.
I am writing my story with the utmost sensitivity – because I have something important to share with you -while I simultaneously tell the story of how infertility has a grip on my life in a much deeper way than I ever comprehended.
Before I begin I want You to know that I see you! I see you crying alone as your family has all drifted to sleep. I see you suffer a pain that only you understand. I see your hopes and wishes cast amongst the stars. I see you kneeling in prayer. I see you sitting in scared silence at the fertility clinic, I see you feeling alone and abandoned, and I hear you longing. I acknowledge your every emotion, we will always be sisters of this fretful tribe.
I never want my experiences to hurt you or discourage you because I understand neither of us have control over how these things play out. Each of our stories are painful and important, and one will never be more meaningful than the other. That’s why I want to share with you as sensitively as possible that…
We are finally expecting our Rainbow baby! And while I honor my own excitement, I also acknowledge you – and your aching heart. I pray instead of hurt and broken you can feel a restored hope in the gifts that are waiting for you. And – while we are filled with gratitude – we still haven’t completely embraced this ourselves.
The abuse of infertility and the long-term damage it has left on our lives has made it difficult to trust this pregnancy. Even after I spent meal times avoiding the kitchen, and many moments hugging the toilet, our heads remind us to deny our baby’s presence in order to protect our hearts.
Even when we were the only two that knew our secret we still never made mention of the pregnancy for nearly two and a half months. It was a lonely and painful time for both of us. We were so consumed with the fear of disappointment that we couldn’t possibly acknowledge its realness. I didn’t sleep, and instead of celebrating I cried almost daily while preparing myself for another loss. I googled symptoms, side effects, and pregnancy statistics to create stories in my head about the demise of my pregnancy. I know you understand these frustrations.
Although a very happy outcome, it has been far from the emotionally freeing journey I thought this would be.
The morning of my ultrasound (a very long and torturous six weeks after I found out I was pregnant) we sat quietly in the waiting room playing out the scenario we were convinced was about to happen (No heartbeat – No sign of life – leaving in tears… Again) Instead we were shocked and surprised to see a healthy heartbeat, and everything measuring right on target, but we still didn’t know how to displace our expectation of disappointment and allow ourselves to feel the excitement we deserved; so we still kept it to ourselves.
And in the back of my mind there was always you! With your own unique tales of infertility, and I never wanted my miracle to be hurtful for you.
Now here we are – safely in our 2nd trimester – cautiously optimistic and holding onto the hope that our chance at miscarriage is now less than 5%, but also with a debilitating fear that I am that 5%.
I am in a different stage of this journey, but I am still here with you, and I still hear you! I still pray for you, alongside my own prayers for a healthy pregnancy, and I send you the peaceful heart we all need in this process, no matter where in this journey we have gotten so far. I wish you all the blessings your heart desires.
For those of you who haven’t experienced infertility or loss I hope that by sharing our truth you can understand our hesitation to sound the sirens and spread our news so boldly. I simply ask that you give us time to let this sink in, to embark on this long journey of healing from all our brokenness, and fill our lives with your wishes and prayers as we live each day of the next seven months in anxious waiting for our rainbow to appear.