If you are just joining me today, I encourage you to read posts one and two about
*****
We went through the wringer with testing after the second loss. Blood disorders, genetic disorders, you name it, we tested it. I sat in the chair at the blood drawing station for what felt like the millionth time in less than a year and watched as the phlebotomist took vial after vial after vial. Some of the tests ordered were so obscure she had to call the main office just to ask what type of tube to use.
"Are you feeling okay?" she asked me when she was done with the 13th and final tube.
"I'll be fine," I said. "I'll just get a Sprite or something on the way home."
"Well, I can't let you leave if you aren't okay!" she snapped roughly.
So I told her I was fine so she would let me leave.
But I wasn't fine.
I wasn't fine at all.
The tests came back negative. Which is positive, if you think about it. Popeye and I are perfect together, genetically speaking. No reason for concern about having more children, no reason to think that we couldn't carry a baby to full term.
So I was out about a million gallons of blood and still we had no more answers than we had the year before.
For those who don't know, and it may be everyone, it has taken me eight years to truly learn the depth behind our struggle for a baby.
I have antinuclear antibodies.
I have endometriosis.
I have thyroid antibodies.
I have a biocornuate (heart-shaped) uterus.
I have poly cystic ovarian syndrome.
I have low progesterone.
I have hostile mucous.
With every new diagnosis, my doctor is right there with the research and a plan to combat the problem.
Heparin and aspirin regimen to fight the antinuclear antibodies.
Laparascopy to remove the endometriosis.
Levothyroxine to help boost my underactive thyroid.
Metformin to help regulate my cycles.
Clomid when I'm unable to ovulate on my own.
Progesterone supplements to help raise my levels.
An IUI to bypass the mucous.
A steroid to strengthen my uterine walls.
And with every new diagnosis, I am right there with my handy ability to Google and find alternative routes to aide in increasing my fertility.
Lemon juice to raise my pH levels.
Guaifenesin to thin out my mucous.
Water. So much water.
Gluten free.
Soy free.
Dairy free.
Sugar free.
Caffeine free.
Organic. Organic. Organic.
Acupuncture.
Stinky tea.
And herbs. Lots and lots of herbs.
But nothing has worked. Both the doctor's methods and mine have resulted in two precious pregnancies. But neither has resulted in producing a healthy full-term baby that I can call my own.
After my miscarriages I felt a lot of confusion about why these things kept on happening to me. Why had God chosen me to be infertile? Why had He chosen me to lose two much-desired pregnancies? I started questioning why I wasn't seeing miracles in my life when I was seeing them so blatantly in other people's lives. I started questioning God's love for me and His plan for my life. He had given me the heart of a mother, now where was my baby? Where was my miracle?!
One Sunday in church, not long after our second loss, one of our pastors spoke these words that echoed deep into my very soul:
The highest calling of Christ on this earth was to forgive us.
Miracles are secondary.
In the same accord, spending eternity in heaven should be our priority,
not walking or seeing.
Wow. As the weight of his words resonated in my heart I felt convicted down to my core about where my journey had taken me. Yes, I prayed to God daily, even hourly. Yes, I was constantly pouring over His word and having faith in His promises. Yes, I trusted Him fully and desired to see His plan unfold in my life. But. But. My prayer and scripture and thought life had all been focused on one central purpose: I wanted a baby. And while wanting a baby in itself is not an inherently bad thing, no, not one bit, the fact that I had begun to idolize my desire for a baby was something I was pained and greatly grieved by.
Hadn't God already give me His greatest promise of all? Hadn't He already given the most beautiful thing He could ever offer, His Son, hung and crucified on a cross so I could be saved? I felt convicted. I felt sick. And I felt like I had turned into a person I really did not enjoy being.
I was weak. I was tired. I felt like I could not continue to fight for this life I wanted so badly. I wanted God to take it from me... take my infertility. Take my wounds. Take my baggage. I could not continue carrying the weight of it all. It just felt like too much to bear. And in that weak and pained state, I was reminded of Paul's prayer to the Lord, and the Lord's promise back to him.
Three times I pleaded with the Lord about this, that it should leave me.
But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness."
2 Corinthians 12:8-9
I decided I would trust God. Trust God through this pain. Trust God through this trial. Trust God even though I didn't see the good or the joy that could come out of the situation. I decided to trust God even though I had no idea if He really would answer the deepest cries of my heart.
It's one thing to believe God can do something.
It's quite another to put yourself in a position of reliant trust.
God does not demand that you and I have blind faith, but abandoned faith...
a faith that trusts him fully.
...no difficulty, pain, or trial happens to us by chance.
There are no accidents, no mistakes, no miscalculations.
All is under His sovereign control, and nothing is permitted but what He has decreed.
And what He has decreed is intended for our good and for His glory.
from Calm My Anxious Heart by Linda Dillow, chapter 9
I decided I wanted to trust God with full and reckless abandon. Even though I didn't know what He had planned for me. Even though my heart still ached with questions I wanted answered. I decided to trust Him. I decided to trust Him.
{please join me tomorrow for part four.}
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