The End of Us

Ten years of counting days, ovulation predictor kits, changing diets, vitamins, tea, relaxing, scheduling sex, peeing on sticks, surgery, recovery and trying all over again...pregnancy tests that always disappoint, hope, defeat, devastation, shame, anger, doubts and battles with our faith.


Ten years.


And we have finally reached the end. It is all we can do. There is nothing more.


Long ago, it seems like a lifetime ago and in so many ways it was, the good man and I sat down to draw our line. We made a decision as to how far we would go, no further. No matter how hurt or desperate or angry or certain we were. We drew our line and we decided together we would not cross it. As the years went by we kept going. Before we reached it, the line offered home. The banner at the end of the race, the beacon, the flame in the sky. Keep going. One more month. One more step. One more. We can rest when we get there. Once we get there it has to work out.


Our line was Clomid, or any other ovulatory medication -- something that helps and increases ovulation. We didn't want to pursue IUI or IVF. We hold no judgement of those that do. We cheer them on enthusiastically. It just wasn't what we wanted. We knew adoption would always be a part of our story and it didn't make sense, for us personally, to spend the funds on fertility treatments when we needed then for placement fees. It was just our choice, our story.


A few weeks ago I walked into the clinic confident I would walk out with a prescription for Clomid, which meant we would most certainly get pregnant within the next few months. I was absolutely sure. After looking over scan after scan, picture after picture, my doctor confirmed that it is too dangerous. Conception of multiples, which would likely end in some sort of disaster, was far too risky.


That was it.
We were done.


We were done before we could even reach the line. It's like running a marathon, you're dead tired, all of you aches, you just want to get to the end. You've worked so hard, done everything you can. You see the finish line right there but someone pulls you out of the race. You're done.


I feel robbed. I just wanted the chance, just a chance to see...maybe see miracles.


I walked numb to the car, drove home, bought coffee to help me wallow. Ten years and we were done.


I don't know what else to tell you, except God is good. I'm not saying it out of joy, or happiness, or cheerfulness, or some sort of fake smile we Christians some times slap on. No, God is good simply because He is. And I choose to continue to believe it even when my heart is being ripped to sheds, even when I whisper it through tears and sobs. Because His story is better, His plan is better. I don't understand. And I probably never will. Understanding how God works is never promised. But we trust He is weaving together something beautiful out of all this mess.


Of course, I know we're not really completely done. We just are at the end of what we can do, what my doctor can do. God is bigger than all that. God creates life out of nothing, daily. So if He wanted, He would.


And who knows, maybe He will.