I always thought wishing someone good luck was a little lame. I mean, there’s not really any such thing as luck, right? God is in control and we just trust Him and do what He says and wait for the results. …but then we started on this whole infertility roller coaster…

The first time I was getting off the phone with the pharmacy (about a year ago) and had just agreed to pay almost $500 out of our pocket for one round of the fertility meds that were going to give us a chance at a baby, the nice lady I was talking to ended the conversation with, “Good luck to you.” I didn’t think much about it at the time, but as we continued our journey and faced disappointment and discouragement and heartache, that “good luck” that I kept hearing from the infertility community became more precious. What they were really saying was that they wanted this to work, and knew it was not an easy time for us. That acknowledgement got me through some discouraging phone calls and doctor’s visits. Then we started on the IVF roller coaster, which should have come with all kinds of warning labels; seriously.

A couple of weeks ago, I sat in a lab in Kansas City waiting to have my blood drawn as another step in the IVF process. I knew that everyone going through this cycle of IVF with my doctor had to be at this particular lab between 8 and 10 AM to have blood drawn. Let’s face it, no one likes to get up early on a Saturday morning and drive an hour to get stabbed by a needle and have blood sucked from their vein.  After signing in, I sat in the waiting area and discretely looked around the room at the others who also sat expectantly, wondering who else was in the same boat I was. Three other females about my age walked in the door, one after another, wearing their hair in a ponytail and sporting casual clothing with little or no makeup, looking like they got out of bed and dressed in a hurry. I recognized the uniform because I was sporting it too, but more than that, I recognized the heart ache and semi-expectant look in the eyes of the other ladies; “This may be my last option for ever being able to bear a child, and I’ll do anything for that chance. Poke me, prod me; just let me be a mother.”

After waiting about twenty-five minutes, a nice young lady came to the sign-in window, looked at the sign-in sheet, and directed a general question to the waiting area, “How many of you are here for IVF?” (I’m sure that wasn’t a HIPAA violation.) We ponytails all raised our hands, and looked at each other knowingly. I was the first of those waiting to go back. When I came out, the next ponytail was headed back. We made eye contact; she looked at me sincerely and said, “Good luck.” I smiled to her and wished her good luck in return, but with that one look, so much more was communicated. It was understood that even though we only knew each other now by the names we had been called by the woman taking our blood, there was a kinship. We are part of an infertility club that no one else can understand, and that no one wants to be a part of. We didn’t ask to join the “good luck club”, but we are in it and we’re making the best of it.

Last week, I was sitting in the hospital waiting room at 6:30 in the morning, waiting to go back for my procedure, and desperately trying to distract myself by looking at Pinterest on my phone. Suddenly I felt a presence leaning over me; it was my friend and fellow club member from the lab. Once again, she told me sincerely “good luck” and then with that knowing look in her eye, walked on to prepare for her own procedure. I didn’t get to talk to her again that day, but it warmed my heart to know that I had a friend close by who was feeling similar things to what I was feeling at that moment.

Read and I have felt so loved and carried in prayer and encouragement by all of our friends and family who are praying for us and checking in regularly. A couple of individuals who have experienced their own time in the “good luck club” have reached out and encouraged me more than words can say. It is our hope and prayer that in all of this, no matter the outcome, God receives the glory and praise for what goes on. I still don’t believe in luck, and I still give God full credit for every good thing that happens in my life, but I am so grateful for the kind words and understanding that so many people, even strangers, have given us. I will take that “good luck” any day and give it right back with utmost sincerity because what we’re really saying is, “I know what you’re going through is so hard, and you are not alone.”

I sat rigidly in the chair in the fertility specialist’s office as I heard him say, “This is pretty much your only option left.” As those words sank in, and I heard him continue to talk about in vitro fertilization (IVF) and how this was our best bet for ever having more children, I wanted to scream, burst into tears, and run out of the office. This wasn’t supposed to be my life. When we first saw the fertility specialist, he reassured us he wasn’t concerned about us getting pregnant because we had already been pregnant and miscarried three times. Just a little tweaking and things should work just fine. We could have as many children as we wanted. But a year later, after having surgery for Stage IV Endometriosis and trying every other fertility treatment, we sat in his office hearing the devastating news that this was our last hope of having more biological children. I glared stubbornly at the box of tissues that sat conveniently within reach and refused to give in to tears. As a medical professional, I wanted to hear the medical side and understand why this was our only option. The doctor explained that my stage of Endometriosis was like Stage IV cancer: “There was only a 50% chance of you ever getting pregnant again when you walked in my door.” He went on to remind me of how sick I had been and how truly destructive my disease was. I didn’t need the reminder that this was something that I would always have to monitor through my child-bearing years because the same hormones that made me a woman and made it possible to bear children, fed the disease that would keep me from having more children naturally.

The doctor carefully and patiently answered all of my questions and then gave us a packet that explained all about the IVF process and the cost. I could not imagine ever being able to afford such a process or find the time required to attend classes, doctor’s appointments, tests, and procedures. As we talked and prayed over several days, however, we felt God opening doors that seemed impossible and insurmountable. IVF is a two month process that begins with hormone pills and ends with two different medical procedures (about a week apart) that put me in bed for several days. In between are numerous doctor’s appointments, sonograms, lab tests, blood draws, and invasive medical procedures that I would blush to describe to the doctors and nurses in my immediate family. I joke that God has opened every door and shoved me through.

We are doing IVF because we feel strongly that this is what God wants us to do. We do not have a guarantee from the medical professionals that this will result in a baby, but we do have a guarantee from God that His grace is sufficient and His strength is made perfect in weakness (II Corinthians 12:9). In II Corinthians, the Apostle Paul talks about how he pled with God to remove his thorn in the flesh, but God didn’t. Paul never expounds on what his particular thorn is; but we know it is something that was a burden to him that he wanted lifted (and I’m sure he felt he could minister for the Lord better without it); but God disagreed. Perhaps when Paul was first aware of the thorn, he felt that God would remove it right away so that he could better serve the Lord, but God wanted to work in a different way and use Paul for God’s glory; the best way to do that was to leave Paul’s thorn in the flesh. I can’t tell you how many times people have said to Read and I, “Of course God will give you children. You’re going to make amazing parents. You’re too good of people not to.” I want to say, “Right?!? I’ve been thinking this very thing!! We’re on the same page! Now, if we can just get God on the page with us, we’ll be golden. I’m pretty sure if He can make a virgin ‘with child’, He can fix or connect whatever needs to be fixed or connected in me so we can have kids.” But my God doesn’t always work that way.

Several months ago, when I was at the end of my rope, and things seemed so bleak, I finally raised my voice to heaven and told God that I could not live the life He had given me; I was not strong enough; I did not have enough faith; and I had absolutely no idea how to survive it. There was almost an audible voice from the Lord that said, “Finally. I’ve just been waiting for you to let Me take over.” I’m embarrassed to admit that it took me three years of struggle to get to that point where I realized I couldn’t continue life while carrying any portion of the load; I had to let God have complete control and just take a back seat and coast. Now, don’t get me wrong, I thought I had given God complete control many years ago; but this was a whole new level of letting God take over that I didn’t realize existed. And once I realized it existed and dumped the mess of emotional turmoil, expectations and disappointment, and all of my hopes and dreams on God, my world became so much lighter and brighter.

Since the day we started courting, Read has prayed that God would use us for His glory. God is using my thorn in the flesh of Endometriosis and infertility for His glory and to help me see that He wants complete control of my life; I can’t handle any part of this life He has asked me to live. But with God all things are possible (Matthew 19:26). Oh, the joy that precious promise brings my heart!

Now, lest I be misconstrued as a saint due to my previous description, let me assure you I am still very human. Once we left the doctor’s office when I found out I couldn’t have children naturally, I cried buckets of tears, and I’ve probably cried over something every day since then. The hormones I am currently on make me very sick, very tired, and very crazy; I cry over the silliest things, overreact to everything, and have decided that the best thing for us to do next is to adopt a puppy. (This may seem like an obvious fix for some folks reading this, but our schedule is not conducive to house training any pet at this time, and my crazy hormones would drive a wedge between me and the canine the first time he made a mess or destroyed something in my tidy home.) Read, on the other hand, could easily gain saint-hood after putting up with my mood swings and craziness. He is an amazing encouragement and always willing to do anything to help or make me feel better. This man is truly a blessing.

For now, I’m taking this life moment-by-moment as God reveals how He wants me to walk. I can’t handle attending baby showers right now, but please don’t feel that you need to hide a pregnancy from us because others can easily reproduce and we can’t. If anyone can understand the blessing a baby is, it’s us; and we rejoice with others over every one of those blessings. That being said, sometimes I cannot handle sitting with a friend over coffee to listen to them talk non-stop about baby issues; if that is your life right now, it is probably all-consuming, and I support you in it. I just can’t relate and it hurts too bad to listen right now. Don’t give up on me, just please understand that my emotional tank teeters on empty most of the time and baby talk rubs salt in a gaping wound.

I want to thank everyone who has reached out to see if we’re okay; it means so much. We’re okay. Thank you to those who have and continue to pray for us on this journey. We truly covet your prayers and encouragement.