I seem to have this nasty habit of falling off the radar. Life just gets so busy and we’re in the middle of a lot of uncertainty, and I get worried that I’ll be too negative and no one will want to read anymore, so I end up piling up in my chair and playing on Facebook instead.
But in all the uncertainty, there’s at least one thing that’s become clear over the last several months: barring a complete and utter miracle, we will not have a biological child. The endometriosis and PCOS have just made my insides too hostile of a place to be able to create and sustain life. How shitty does that sound? My own body is too hostile to foster life.
All of the weight loss, surgery, shots, drugs, more shots, all for naught. All of the awkward scheduling, waking at 5 a.m. to take my temp, and peeing on sticks and managing to keep from getting any on my hand. All of the “taking it easy” for two weeks after the ovulation trigger shot, all of the progesterone cream, all of the pain, the six months of Lupron hell. All of it for naught. All of the prayers, tears, anticipation. All for naught.
I named the first egg after the Lupron was over. Called it “Peanut.” That’s what my grandpa called me when I was a baby. I begged God to let “Peanut” get to where s/he needed to go and to spring to life. I was certain that it would happen, that God would come through, because it always seemed that He had before…sometimes, literally, JUST in time, but in time nonetheless. I never named another one.
There’s no “in time” this time. No more treatments. We’re not doing IVF; we don’t like it on a theological level (no judgment to you if you did it or are considering it, though). We do still feel that we’re called to be parents, but we know that it will not happen biologically.
Sometimes, dreams die all at once…a tragic accident takes a loved one…you’re abruptly laid off from your job…a freak act of nature destroys your home.
Sometimes, though, they die slowly, over time, little by little, each month, each single pink line, marking the passage of time and highlighting a hostile body.
There will be a new dream, yes; I know that. But sometimes you need a little time to grieve the one that’s dying today.
Inner Monologue of a Madwoman 
I’m so sorry things have taken this turn for you. 😞 You are so right when you say that this is a dream that has died slowly; I’ll never forget the day when I had to get more little plastic cups (I would pee in the cup and dip the ovulation stick)…and realized that meant I had done 100 ovulation tests- with only 2 of them ever positive. And a full year of BBTs…with only one spike. We later found the cause for this (brain tumor), but even though my hormones should now be perfect and I should be fertile, we’re waiting a bit longer to start trying again. Because I’m scared. We’ve known my endometriosis hasn’t affected my fertility, and the brain tumor was taken care of. If I can’t get pregnant now, that means something ELSE is causing the problem and I’m not sure I can deal with what that means.
You do need time to grieve that part of your life that is over. It’s HARD. Especially when it seems that the Lord has blessed everyone else, right? Possibly more than once, depending on how long you’ve been trying. But it’s not over until the Lord says it is. If there’s anything I’ve learned from the past three years of my own endometriosis/infertility/brain tumor mess, it’s that His timing IS perfect. I say this as someone with no children, who has never even for a moment known the joy of being pregnant. But He’s waiting to bless you with something so extraordinary you can’t even imagine it now. I will put you on my prayer list, that you may find peace and rest in the Lord’s arms. He knows your grief. Don’t hold anything back from Him. 💗
I’m so sorry that I just now saw this (a whole year later). Thank you so much for these words, and I do hope and pray that you were able to get your BFP:)
I’m sorry, Melanie. That seems such an inadequate thing to say. It just doesn’t seem fair that the answer would be no. A million Christian-ese cliches run through my mind to say to you and Joey, but I’m sure you have heard more of your share of those, and…most of them don’t really help. So, I’ll just say I am praying for you.