Our main concern going into the conversation about IVF centered around excess embryos, which is what led us to the decision to do mini-IVF. This post will include our mini-ivf experience, as well as our next steps, details of the retrieval process, medications, side effects, cost details, and what we would have done differently given what we know now.
i look around and see pain, “where’s god in this mess?” the world is filled with grief, cancer, death, and loneliness. // we’re weary, disheartened, it’s too much to bear. we’re laden with sorrow, it doesn’t seem fair.
did your ears still ring with shouts of “hosanna!” as they scoffed and mocked you, taunting the “King of the Jews”? did the crumbs of the bread you’d broken just hours earlier fall from where they had gathered as they struck you and ripped out your beard?
I wanted to provide a place where I could compile the nitty-gritty of our experiences with fertility treatments in case they might prove helpful to someone else who is walking this path or considering medical intervention for their infertility. I'm sharing all the details—procedures, prices, timelines, side-effects, treatment plans—in an effort to maybe be a resource in some way to others who are on this road.
they say weeping may tarry for the night but joy comes with the morning; then why is my pillow still wet as dawn breaks?
i fall to my knees, i cry, “Lord, please take this bitter cup from me, i don’t want to drink it any more. give me something pleasing, some wine to refresh my soul, some water for my parched lips.”
Keep me close. Hold me fast. These prayers have become my exhales; as natural as breathing. With each passing moment, with each mountain and valley, I become more acutely aware that there is nothing in me that can sustain my own faith.
Maybe today is a hard day for you. Maybe today reminds you of a loss of a child, a loss that felt like your very heart being ripped from your chest. Maybe today intensifies the longing you feel for a child and the grief that follows you because of this unfulfilled desire. Maybe today reminds you of the broken relationship you have with your children and your desire for redemption. Maybe today reminds you of the strained relationship you have with your own mother.
Even when I am bowed down by the weight of this world's brokenness (and my own), even when I see no way to fix my current situation or the world's fragile and hopeless state, I can look to my God, who sees all, who controls all, and who cares deeply about it all. Even when it seems like there is no hope for goodness in this world, even then he is actively working towards the redemption and restoration of it all.
Infertility is the singular most difficult and lonely things I have yet to walk through. And that's one of the reasons why I've chosen to write about it. Because I know there are women (and men) in similar seasons of grief and waiting. And because I hope that the Lord somehow uses my words to meet you in this difficult place. So here is a jumbled assortment of some honest thoughts I've had [a stream-of-conscience-type-assortment], as well as some things I have sought to hold onto as I've tried to walk through this journey of infertility well. I pray my words would help you to feel known and remind you that even in the midst of your pain, there is hope.
This rhythm of hope and grief, hope and grief, hope and grief... it is growing a callous of trust in my heart. The skin is getting thicker. My spiritual muscles toughen as again I am invited to hope, again I am invited to lament, again I am invited to trust God more this month than I did last month.
"Don't jinx it," I say to myself, "Don't get your hopes up. Don't think about it too much. Don't plan on it happening because then it won't happen." I find that when it comes to hope, my hopes range wildly between incredibly naively high to buried so low that they're practically non-existent. I have such a hard time finding an appropriate balance of hoping.
Vulnerability is terrifying. There's nothing like exposing the desires and fears of your heart (especially on social media) to make you feel like you're standing naked on a stage in a room full of people. That's how I felt when I shared a few week's ago about our journey of infertility. But I chose to invite you in, and this is why.
I share this journey tentatively, my heart a tangle of nerves as I present what still feels raw and unprocessed and unfinished. Most days my faith feels shaky and I'm not quite sure I fully believe the things I know to be true about God. But I share this journey in hopes that those of you who are in a similar place of waiting will know that you are not alone.
Everything lately feels exceptionally heavy. The injustice and hatred I see sickens me, and my words do not feel adequate to address the brokenness of this moment. And I know my words here will be incomplete in addressing the depth of all that is happening, but for now, this is my best attempt at speaking hope into the darkness.