Still Waiting

Yes, still waiting. If it's driving you crazy, how do you think I feel? :) Today I went to the doctor for more blood work. I see them almost every other day at present.

I thought that in today's blog I might answer a question that a friend recently asked me. "So, are you hopeful or are you just waiting for the bottom to fall out (as it seems to do periodically)?" Followed by, "How will you feel if it doesn't work?" Because we've known one another since childhood, she can ask tough questions like this.

My response was quick although I was only a couple of days into the process, still on bed rest in fact. "It would feel like a miscarriage," I answered. It would feel like loss. It would feel ten times worse than the day I drove to our new Houston home from Galveston in the pouring rain, sobbing because the blood work came back negative. It would feel like the quiet moments of whispering baby names back and forth with Tim had been stolen from me. It would feel like part of me fled with the loss. And then, after time passed, it wouldn't hurt as much, and I'm sure we'd try again.

I have another dear friend who lost her son around 35 weeks before doing IVF and delivering her beautiful, healthy baby girl a couple of years later. The strength of her words despite the tears that form anytime he is mentioned teach me that each sadness can be used to build an inner fortitude that stands solid despite the next discouragement. I've heard this referred to as the ministry of disappointment.

I do not write this (rather dismal) entry because I expect disappointment. On the contrary, I am extremely optimistic at this point. Instead, I write this to provide an inside glimpse to anyone who may not have experienced loss of a baby-hope. It might benefit us to all be more sensitive in our comments or to learn when to just be silent and grieve a while until the time for smiles returns. For though weeping remains for a night, rejoicing comes with the morning. Come, rejoicing, come.