Sometime during early 2000 or late 1999, I became part of a praise team for the women's ministry at my church. Once a month we women would meet as a large group for worship and to hear a speaker, then break into smaller groups for prayer and discussion. For some (divinely inspired, I'm sure) reason I was placed into a breakout group with what I considered to be some real "powerhouse" Christian ladies. I surely didn't consider myself to be on the same spiritual maturity level as they were and was a little bit awed about being in their group, and therefore didn't say much. This will be important later, so bear with me.
After a couple of months with no success, my new doctor decided to try a new plan: stay on the same fertility drug, come in for ultrasound on a certain cycle day, take a shot in the rear at a specified time on a certain day, and do what should come naturally on a schedule that she set up. Then I was to come back in a week and a half later for bloodwork to determine if I was pregnant. Not that I would wait for that - I still had an arsenal of HPTs at home! I was fine with the plan, but who was going to give me that shot? Not my husband, who is pretty squeamish about LOTS of things. I finally asked a friend of mine who used to be a nurse if she would mind giving me the shot, and I told her that I would work around her or whatever, just so I could get it done.
Round 1 (ding, ding, ding): My friend was recovering from surgery at home (not the surgery, the recovery, silly) when the time came for the shot, but she gamely roused herself up off the bed to shoot me in the behind. Everything went right that month but no pregnancy. That was OK. I was still feeling hopeful.
Round 2: Her daughter was in a concert at my church (God has a sense of humor, for sure) and I met her there. We went into a preschool classroom, closed the bathroom door and she gave me my shot. Again, everything went right but no pregnancy.
Round 3: She was helping with vacation Bible school at a local elementary school. I met her there and the only place we could find with any degree of privacy was the school office. I wonder what the principal would do if he knew what went on in there! I almost didn't get the shot at all that month because at my ultrasound I was told that there were cysts on my ovaries and "it's not going to happen this month" (yes, I remember these things word for word). The doctor decided it couldn't hurt to try anyway, just in case they missed something on the ultrasound. I wish I could describe how defeated I felt leaving the office that day but words just can't capture it properly. Dejected? Hopeless? Pitiful?
This was also the month when two people very dear to me called me within a week of each other to report that they were pregnant. Both of them told me of their reluctance to call me and make me feel even worse than I already felt, since they knew I had been trying (and trying and trying...). I said all the right things on the phone each time, then I hung up and had a good cry. It makes me sad to think that I might have stolen some of their joy and that they were concerned about how their good news would make me feel.
Two days after that shot was our monthly women's ministry meeting, and I almost didn't go. I don't remember who the speaker was, what we sang, or anything else. I remember meeting with my breakout group and thinking, "Let's get this over with so I can get home and feel sorry for myself some more." I sat there quietly while the other ladies talked and finally one lady asked if there were any prayer requests. I was hoping that no one would say anything and we could just get out of there, when all of a sudden my mouth opened and I started pouring out all the junk that was going on with me. And I do mean ALL. I cried. No, I wept. Even as I was spilling it all out there, part of me was embarrassed. I like to think I have an independent spirit and I can handle just about anything life throws at me, and like I said, I didn't even share how desperate I was with the people closest to me. And now that I remember that night, I'm actually embarrassed that I was embarrassed! It was like a dam had broken, which I guess it had, in a way. Anyway, those sweet "prayer warrior" ladies cried with me, laid hands on me and prayed over me. I don't even remember what they prayed for. Maybe it was peace, because from that night forward, I can honestly say I started to feel more at peace with the whole fertility situation. Not perfectly at peace, but if I had to pinpoint the time when my attitude started to change, that night was it. I accepted that I had done all I could in the pursuit of a baby, and that it was out of my control.
Just days after that, we finally completed all the paperwork (and there was a ton of it!) to start our adoption homestudy and we mailed it to our chosen agency to get things rolling. I still felt like I had to DO something, and I felt like by mailing in that paperwork, I was moving on from my pregnancy obsession. Exactly one week later (God SO has a sense of humor!), I noticed some strange things going on with my body. I almost didn't dare believe it. I mean, the doctor herself told me that this month was most likely a bust. But I pulled out one of my millions of HPTs and..... it was very faintly positive! I don't know how I kept from telling Jon right away, but I did. I went to the doctor's office, had my blood drawn and by lunchtime the nurse had called me to confirm what I already knew. I was pregnant! This time around nothing went wrong, and I spent nine months cherishing every minute (OK, almost every minute. Those last 2 weeks are hard!) of my pregnancy, knowing that according to our "plan" this would be my last one. In February 2001, daughter #2 was born, and she was beautiful!
And thus began the period of time we shall refer to as "The Adam Sleep Deprivation Experiment". To say that she was a difficult baby would be putting it mildly. She ate poorly, and worse than that, she slept poorly, if she slept at all! I cannot count how many hours I spent in the glider rocker in her nursery, half asleep myself and worrying that I would fall completely asleep and drop her! I learned to function (barely) with a minimum amount of sleep, and it was only with God's help that we all survived those years somewhat intact. And yet it was such a sweet time. I know, I know - I'm not making much sense. I was tired and delirious but I loved (and still love) holding my baby girl.
I'd love to be able to say that I learned my lesson and that I don't feel like I need to be in control anymore, but that's not entirely the truth. I definitely have my "control freak" moments, for sure. But I learned a few things from this experience. First of all, God isn't interested in my "plan" - He has a plan of His own and it's far better than anything I could imagine. He sees my future and knows infinitely more than I do about what's best for me, while I sometimes can't see past the end of my own nose. His timing is perfect (with Him a day is like a thousand years and a thousand years is like a day). And doctors don't know everything. I think it's particularly delicious that He chose to say "yes" in the month that the doctor told me "no". How better to show His power? I learned that it's OK to be vulnerable, to weep in front of my Sisters, and to accept their kind offer to pray over me. I learned that PRAYER WORKS, but it's not necessarily like waving a wand over your problems and making them disappear.
And they all lived happily ever after. Well, not exactly. There's more to the story.....
No comments:
Post a Comment