Imagine You Are Infertile
Imagine living month after month after month on an emotional roller coaster… hope, expectation, anticipation and crushed dreams yet again.
Imagine finally seeing a little plus sign after so many negatives. Imagine the dreams and plans you make. Imagine beginning to put together a nursery and picking out names. Then…
Imagine leaving the maternity ward of the hospital with empty arms and an empty womb.
Imagine riding the roller coaster of “trying” again while also riding the tidal wave of grief.
Imagine each month taunting you and making you feel like a failure.
Imagine another purple plus followed by another loss.
Imagine enduring invasive, embarrassing, painful and intrusive procedures all in an effort to figure out what’s wrong.
Imagine months turning into years.
Imagine planning your trips to the store carefully so there’s no chance you have to walk by the baby section.
Imagine seeing rounded happy bellies every where you turn and feeling a physical ache inside.
Imagine receiving a phone call just before Christmas telling you and your husband that you will never bear children.
Imagine having to celebrate the holidays that year.
Imagine finally packing up your maternity clothes to donate, knowing you’ll never need them, sobbing all the while.
Imagine having friends announce their first, second and third pregnancies all while you still wait… wondering if you’ll ever be a mother.
Imagine missing someone you’ve never even met.
Imagine your best friend surprising you with her pregnancy announcement, then going to your car and weeping… and feeling guilty because you did.
Imagine listening to mothers complain about their duties while you sit with empty arms and a broken heart.
Imagine being asked constantly, “Why don’t you have kids yet?” or, “When are you two going to have children?” and forwarding the question straight to heaven. Yes, why, God?
Imagine being told to just stop thinking about it and it will happen — as if that’s even possible or as if it’s all in your head.
Imagine crying on the way home from every single baby shower and trying to reconcile the pain you feel along with the joy you feel for your friends.
Imagine always feeling a little left out, a little on the outside looking in, a little not part of the club.
Imagine losing hope, giving up and almost losing faith.
Imagine God piecing your broken heart back together in a way that never quite beats the same way again.
Imagine the bravery, the courage, the strength and the trust that it takes to throw out your plans — to give up your dreams — to turn a new way and write a new story.
Imagine being told at 30 years old that you’ll need a hysterectomy… and grieving the final blow to the tiny flame of hope you’d been holding on to for the last decade.
Imagine always feeling just a little bit broken… and that never really going away.
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