During my consultation I had to share all that had happened at the previous doctor appointments. It was really my first time sharing this intimate news with anybody. It was not easy. I had a lump in my throat and I fought to hold back my tears, I felt I couldn’t even utter the words. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing myself say to the doctor. It was now becoming more of a reality to me. Once again, the series of appointments began yet again. My husband and I were referred from one specialist to another. I was hoping, praying, pleading.
Finally, there was only one test left to complete the examination. I was very positive and had to keep myself upbeat because I knew what would happened if I didn’t. I did not want to be one of those people who walked around with a chip on my shoulder. I surrendered the results to God. I gave God my desires. I took them back – this was my dream, I can’t imagine not having children to share my love. I gave my desires back to God. I took them back.
This was an ongoing battle until February 3, 2011 when Kevin and I walked into the doctor’s office with a heart full of emotions. I was hoping for good news, praying God would grant my request. My husband and I had both surrendered our desires to Him. I nervously walked into the consultation room with a broken heart and willing to serve the Lord no matter the outcome. The doctor walked into the room. My palms were sweating. “God, please!” I uttered silently. He flipped through charts aimlessly like he didn’t really know what was going on. I wanted to reach across and grab his throat and say, “Just tell us! We have been waiting for so long….” He obviously hadn’t had much experience delivering the kind of news he was about to share with us. It wouldn’t have been described as the most thoughtful or sensitive, but at least it wasn’t during a phone call. At the moment we were told a second time it was humanly impossible for us to have children. Our world became very dark. I had never felt two emotions so strongly before in my life. I was trusting in the Lord, but it appeared that He just had taken away all of my hope. He had left me flat on my face in the sand. I was weeping. I had been so strong and at that moment I lost every ounce of strength – I was sobbing. As my husband and I walked out of that office bent over with our hands over our faces it seemed as if the world had changed. Kevin and I had been so hopeful, anticipating good news, but now all hope to us seemed gone. We sat in the car stunned at what we had just heard. I can’t describe to you the hurt and brokenness I felt, and please don’t try to say you understand unless you have been there. I felt physically sick, I was weak. I couldn’t speak. I didn’t want to see anyone. I didn’t have any desire to do anything. It all seemed so pointless. My husband and I drove to the mall after the appointment just because we didn’t want to go home. I felt it was almost dishonoring or disrespectful to go to the mall after hearing that news, but we didn’t know what to do. I walked around aimlessly wondering what I was doing there. Everywhere I looked there were babies, expectant mothers, and parenting stuff. It just added salt to my wound. We drove home completely silent, there was nothing to say.
One of the most difficult things about infertility is grieving the death of the ability to have a child naturally. When people try to say they understand, it just irritates me and makes the situation worse. My parents visited that night and just held me and prayed. There was nothing to say. It was so hard. “God! Oh, God….I need you!” was my cry into the early hours of the night.”
My brother, Andrew, sent me a text telling me that Jesus was praying for me. That was an enormous thought of comfort. Jesus, the Son of God, was praying for me! I felt a peace knowing that Jesus was holding me that night. The next morning I woke with the largest swollen eyes ever- and life continued. I thought a lot about heaven. It was a comfort to know that this world is not my home, I’m just passing through. I felt empty…I felt my heart had stopped beating. It’s interesting the way God works. My husband had been preparing a message about hope for that Sunday. I hugged him and prayed with him before he stood behind a pulpit to minister to others and give them the message of hope when we felt our own hope had been stripped away.
No one knew how we were hurting that Sunday. We had to keep going...we had responsibilities after all. I felt ashamed about the fact we couldn’t have children, I felt as if I was wearing a scarlet letter – would others look down on us? It takes so much strength and grit just to get through a day when you are faced with cruel reminders that you are different, because you cannot have children. I didn’t feel like I fit in anywhere. I was a misfit. Even before we began our pastorate one dear lady said, “Honey, you haven’t even faced any heart ache, how are you going to minister to others?” How do you respond to such a statement?
Day after day I leaned on my Saviour. Many days I could just feel God carrying me. Looking back, I now can see I had to fall to the lowest point before I could feel God’s deepest grace. I would attempt to pick myself up from the pit of disappointment, but I failed every time when I trusted myself. I spent time talking with God, reading His Word. I found myself withdrawing from people, but I needed time to heal so I could understand my new identity in Christ. It was tough carrying on with life like everything was fine, when I was facing an enormous personal loss. It did not take long for the beautiful part to come into the journey, but before there could be victory I had to be surrendered. God broke me. I was empty – and God in His amazing love and mercy filled me with His joy and peace!
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Love you, Anna! I am so thankful you are writing this to help others understand what you are going through. I know it will help Bill and I as we minister to others. You are always a blessing to me and an inspiration to stay close to the Lord.
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