Our Struggle with Infertility

My husband and I started trying for a baby over a year ago. We were excited, "ready", and looking forward to the next chapter. My optimistic self assumed it would be as simple as that. Time it out, make the love, create the life. So that's what we did. Month to month, timed it out, but month to month, we were finding no baby. At first, no big deal. These things take time, and I was sure that the next month would be it. Well, the months came and went, and soon we found ourselves six months later, still no baby. I knew it was silly to start worrying just yet, but for the many of you who I'm sure have been there, it's easier said than done. I decided to be overly cautious, and made an appointment with my doctor. Just as I expected, I was told "these things take time, keep trying, couples try up to a year and still get pregnant when the timing is right". While I couldn't be upset by the information, I remember leaving the appointment feeling very unheard and unsatisfied. I wanted more than that, I wanted answers, but most of all I just wanted to be pregnant. By this point I had reached out to a few friends who I know had gone through similar timelines, and they were some of my greatest sources of strength and support. We weren't technically "having trouble" just yet, but I could feel something just wasn't right. While all this is going on, another aspect of my life was undergoing a major change, and that was my faith. I've always been someone who loved Jesus, who had security in Him and in my Catholic faith. But the reality was, pretty much since I started college, it was very much on the back burner. Sure, I still proclaimed the Catholic faith and stuck to some of the teachings, but I was very much living life how I wanted and at my convenience. As everything was happening this past year with my husband and I trying to conceive, I found myself in a totally unrelated way returning to my Catholic roots. I wasn't exactly sure why, or what pushed me to it, but church on Sunday suddenly became a priority again, I became familiar with the rosary, and I went to confession for the first time in years. As the year went on, I was growing stronger in faith, but still even more aggravated with our "lack of success" making a baby. Of course I would say prayers to get pregnant, but it never went much more than simple "pleases" here and there. As the year went on, my frustration grew. Fall came around, and still nothing. People were asking, as people always do, "so when are you all going to have a baby?". I've gotten that question for years, and it never once bothered me, because it wasn't on the agenda at that time. But once we started trying, that question took on a new meaning. It became so disheartening, because everytime I would have to lie, saying "oh it's just not time yet", or "it's in God's hands whenever He says it's the right time". And I was never upset with people for asking. It's a natural thing for people to ask and be curious, and my husband and I were definitely at the point in life when people would expect us to start having kids. It wasn't those people I was upset with, it was me. Why wasn't I pregnant? Why wasn't this happening for me? I was hearing about people all around me getting pregnant and having babies. When would it be my turn? Another month came around, and I thought things might have finally "worked". I was having symptoms, or at least what I made myself believe were symptoms. I was getting headaches, cramping, I felt sick one day, my breasts hurt, and even though I told myself not to, I let myself get my hopes up. I didn't say anything to my husband, because I wasn't about to get his up too. I went to bed one night, knowing that tomorrow would be a day I could take a test, and it might show something. Again, my hopes up way too high. I woke up around 3am and had to go to the bathroom; and that's when it happened. And any girl who has been through this knows exactly what I mean. Another month came, and another month of disappointment. I started my period, and all the subtle hopes of "maybe this is the month!" flooded into tears. I went back to bed, and woke up later with that same gut feeling. My husband could tell something was off, and that's when I told him (well, more like blubbered it through my crying). All the symptoms and thinking I was pregnant and then getting my period. It was horrible. I just felt so helpless. I knew infertility was more common than people realize, but you still never think it's going to be you. And here it was, slowly becoming part of our story. And what started to frustrate me even more was knowing how many women out there kill their own babies in the womb, and I would give anything to love and nurture one in mine. How many children are out there that aren't given the kind of love and support that they need and deserve, while here I am, wanting nothing more than to provide that to the best of my abilities. I just felt confused, and robbed. As the reality of the word "infertility" started to sink in, I found that I was still growing in my faith. I never once blamed God for the struggles we were having. I grew up in an environment of faith, both with my mom at home and at my Catholic school, so I was well aware of the need to turn to God during these times, and not away from Him. Of course I was frustrated, and upset, and emotionally drained. Believing and having faith in God doesn't mean you stop having human emotion. I kept trying to look for the reason of this suffering, of this "test". I began to cling to Him, because even with the love and support of my husband and friends, it wasn't answering the deeper issue. My annual doctor appointment was coming up soon, and that meant we had hit the year mark. One year, still no baby. My doctor set my husband and I up with a series of tests to try to find out what the hold up might be. At that point, I was so desperate for answers, that I didn't really even care what the results were. I was so drained, so tired of the month to month to month loop that I had fallen into. Life became just an endless cycle of tracking my period and taking tests, and I felt so stuck. I couldn't move forward. Even if we got answers that weren't optimal (which I was anticipating anyways), at least we would have an answer. At least then I could break this cycle. We completed the testing, and had an appointment to go over the results. I was so ready to finally know. I walk in the room (my husband was out of town and attended over the phone), sit down, and my doctor goes over everything. I know I said I would be okay with any news, and while I meant it, it was still somewhat of a shock to hear. Numbers don't care about your feelings. Science doesn't change just because you "really want that baby". Once she finished explaining the results, it became real. "I've never seen someone with numbers like these get pregnant naturally." And there it was. No "oh you just need some hormone support in this area" or "we found a low number here that we can fix". Just simply, dismal. My doctor is wonderful. She's compassionate, and I knew she was empathizing as much as she could as she read the results while still remaining objective. She told me that us getting pregnant naturally was not impossible, but when I asked her the odds, she said that 5% would be optimistic. Her next recommendation was for IVF, but that was not an option for us (it's against Catholic teachings, and for me, nothing is worth turning away from what I truly believe God wants for and from me). So that was that. I kept a straight face, we thanked her, my husband hung up, and I left. I walked out of the building and tried to grasp the reality of what had just happened (which clearly was not about to happen in that exact moment). I started to cry, but got it together, and got on the bus to go home. I got home, sat down, and just, sat. What now? I had finally gotten my answer. And trust me, I still was grateful for the answer, because at least now I could move on. I wasn't going to sit in limbo anymore. No more getting hopes up, no more dreading my "time of the month", no more waiting. Now, I had my answer, and we could move on. I do need to take one second to brag on my husband. The year was not easy for him either. And while I think most women may agree it's a very different experience for us, men are still an equal in this. My husband was out of town when we got the news (why he attended over the phone), so it was also hard for us to be apart. When I got home, he called me, and my goodness. For anyone who knows my husband, you'd know he is optimistic and smiling pretty much 98% of the time. Even when he's mad. It makes zero sense. He called me, and the first thing he said was "I love you. I don't care about the numbers. For me, all it is is new information that will help us move forward. We're going to have a baby, one way or another, and it's going to be great." I admire him so much. Even when "all hope was lost", there he was, standing strong, remaining his optimistic self, and showing support. Of course, his optimism was met with both my positive side as well as my realistic side. I wanted to be optimistic like him, I did, but after a year of all this, the realism sounded much more comforting and attainable. While the chances were slim to none, my doctor told us that it wasn't impossible, and we should keep trying, especially if IVF wasn't on the table. She also mentioned that adoption, if we were open to it, would be our best next option. Adoption was something that I had always considered, and something that I would never be opposed to. However, I wasn't quite ready to go "sign up" that day. I knew it'd take time, and we could come to a decision when we were both ready. At home, after allowing myself a short, small pity party, I decided that, while remaining realistic, I would put this all in God's hands. All life is a gift from Him, and however, or if ever, He wanted my husband and I to have a baby, it was no longer my job to decide. Over the past year I had learned a lot more about the rosary, and the incredible gifts it offers and miracles it has provided through Mary. At one point I came across a small pocket book that talked about some "fun facts" of the rosary, and one talked about a 54-day Novena that Mary had given to a pair of nuns praying for their sick sister during an apparition. Mary told them that if they said a rosary every day for 54 days, 27 in petition, 27 in thanksgiving, that their prayer would be answered, and it was. While sitting at home after the appointment, I gave it all to God. I got out my rosary, and I started the novena. Day 1 of 54. I knew the odds, but I didn't doubt His power. It wasn't a test for God. If it didn't "work", I wasn't going to throw in the faith towel and blame Him for not giving me what I wanted. But God gives us opportunities to bring ourselves closer to Him, especially when we need Him most. So I took it. Day after day, rosary after rosary. Another cycle went by, no baby. But this time, it was easy ("easy"). I was ready for the 'no', I anticipated and had accepted the 'no'. I'll admit, there was a relief in having the answers. No more anticipation. During this time, Thanksgiving came and went, and I told my parents the news. While incredibly supportive, it was still hard telling them that grandkids may not be in their future, at least not from me and my husband. I shared that we may look into adoption, but were still in the process of getting comfortable with the news at hand. I slowly started telling some close friends, and it became more of a reality. The love, support, prayer, encouragement, everything that our friends and family did for us during this time was so reviving. I can not thank them all enough for how incredibly blessed I feel to have them all in my life. My birthday and Christmas passed, and New Year's Eve was right around the corner. My cousin had come to stay with me, and we were getting ready for a fun day/night out. Well aware of the many struggles I'd gone through this past year, it was so nice to have my cousin out just to enjoy the holidays and be with me. My novena was still going strong, and by now I had switched over to the 'thank you' portion (even if you don't get what you ask for, you complete the novena in it's entirety, even if just to thank Mary for hearing you and offering the petition to Jesus). It was New Year's Eve, and coincidentally also the day I would start my period. Again, I had accepted the news, and no longer looked at the day any differently than any other. However, I hadn't started my period yet, so just as I had done every month for the past year, I followed the pattern and took the test. No expectations. No holding out hope. Just routine. I took the test, let it sit, came back, and there it was. Not just one line. Not just another negative. Not another test to be thrown in the trash. But there it was. TWO lines. TWO. LINES. I kept my cool. I knew that the odds were more than likely a false positive. I grabbed another test, and repeated the process. Took the test, let it sit, came back. And there it was again. Two lines. Ok. So first reaction: 'uh, what? Deep breath, deep breath'. The second lines were faint, but they were there. They were definitely there. I turned to my cousin calmly, handed her the tests, and as I attempted to say "do you see it?", I proceed to break down on the bathroom floor in a total meltdown, sobbing uncontrollably and just letting it all out. Initially very confused, my cousin quickly figured it out, and confirmed that I wasn't crazy. My husband heard the hysterics from the living room, and there went the "50 cute ways to tell your partner you're pregnant". I couldn't believe it. I actually could not believe it. This wasn't supposed to happen. We had a less than 5% chance. We had been trying over a year. Our doctor had never seen it happen. It wasn't supposed to happen. I tried to keep my head on straight, but of course all I could think about the rest of the day was that faint pink line. My cousin and I left my apartment and went out for a city walk, and as we passed my church, I briefly went inside and just cried. I went right up to the statue of Mary, grabbed her hand, and repeated "thank you" over and over again. From the moment I saw that faint pink line, I knew. This life, this little baby, this poppyseed sized dot, was a gift from God. Mary heard me, Mary prayed for me, Mary pleaded for me, and through Mary, Jesus answered me. For the most part, as Christians we "walk by faith and not by sight", but that day, Jesus had given me the most obvious, blatant, concrete proof that He hears us, He knows us, and He loves us. It was a week or two later, after several additional tests and an optimistically darkening double pink line, that I decided to look back at the dates of the novena, and when I switched from petition (asking for the baby) to Thanksgiving (saying 'thank you'). I started to do the math of when my husband and I would have conceived, and if God didn't make it clear enough, I discovered that the exact day I switched from petition to thanksgiving with my rosaries, was the exact same day that we conceived. God left no mystery whatsoever in this novena. To the day, down to the very prayer, God answered me. How much more proof is needed? I know that not everyone gets their prayers answered, at least not in the way they want or expect. I understand the frustration of wanting, needing something so bad, and the heartbreak of not getting it. But had I turned away from Jesus, my heartache and frustration would not have gone away. They'd still be here, alive and strong. And even if God had not answered this prayer so exactly, turning away from Him would not have helped me. That year was one of, if not the, hardest years of my life. And I remember wondering early in the year what changed so that I suddenly felt drawn back to God and my Catholic faith again. And I know the cliche "God works in mysterious ways", but how true it is. God knew what this year would bring. He knew the struggle we would go through. He knew I would need Him now more than ever. And without me even knowing how or why, He pulled me to Him. He was preparing me to lean on Him entirely when I needed Him most. It's absolutely incredible how amazingly fantastic He is. His timing is perfect. And as frustrating as it can be to be on His time, often unknown time, and not our own, I would not have it a single other way. That year was the hardest of my life, and it was by far the most impactful and rewarding year of my life. Jesus gives us a cross, and not because He wants to watch us hurt or be in pain, but because He loves us, and is giving us an opportunity to grow closer to Him. My faith is stronger now than ever, and even if God had not answered my prayer in the way I wanted, I know it would not waiver my faith in Him. Often times God doesn't give us what we want, but rather what we need, and in ways we don't anticipate. His power and love is so beyond our understanding and comprehension, and I can never thank Him enough for this most precious gift, and every other blessing in my life. I know this novel is long, but I felt the need to share my story. I know many other couples that have struggled with infertility, and honestly I feel like I came out easier than many others. However, our struggle was very much real, and gives me such a strong new understanding and empathy for other couples who have experienced the frustrations of something that is meant to be a wonderful, happy, positive experience. I know that not all couples get the much anticipated "happy ending", or perhaps their ending turns out much differently than what they expected. For us, we will forever cherish this gift, and quite possibly move forward with adoption as well one day (God opened our hearts to adoption even more through this struggle, and I feel like this is a path He may be telling us to go down one day). My husband and I now have a beautiful, perfect, blessed little baby boy. He is our most precious gift, and well worth every single prayer and tear along the way. God is so good.

From this point on, it's all in His hands. Have faith, pray, and let it go.