Hope in Infertility

“Christian…how often do you let your eyes go up from the stuff, the suffering of this world to the light that’s shining out there? What are the sadnesses in your life? What are the pains in your life? Do you ever think that God might be allowing those sadnesses and pains in your life precisely so that you will long even more to be with Him?” Greg Gilbert, Pastor of Third Avenue Baptist Church

I’ve always wanted to be a mom. There was a time when I denied it and said that I didn’t want to have kids, but truthfully, I was just scared. I was listening to society and believed that being a stay-at-home mom wasn’t a “real” job and that kids ruined your plans. 

Of course it’s normal to be scared. Children are a huge responsibility and it’s impossible to be a perfect parent. Being a parent means that you have more expenses–and man, diapers really add up!

I was ready to be a mom before Erick was ready to be a dad. Because we got married at 20 and were both full-time students and both worked part-time jobs, we decided that we would wait to try to get pregnant until after I graduated. During college, there were several months where we didn’t know if we’d be able to afford to eat, or if Erick would have gas money to get to work. Though I’m thankful for that season, I’m also glad it’s over. But that’s a story for a different time.

I graduated college in May of 2019; later that August, we celebrated our second wedding anniversary. Not that there’s ever a perfect timeline for children, but I felt that we had been married adequately enough time to have a baby. The Lord did not.

At first, it didn’t really bother me that I wasn’t getting pregnant. Each time I had a delayed period and a negative test, I was sad, but content. I knew that it was unlikely to get pregnant right away. However, as we approached a year of trying, I started to wonder what was wrong with me.

We moved to a different state in May of 2020. Because I worked remotely, I was able to keep my job. Even though we lived in a new place, my day-to-day life hadn’t really changed that much. We already had really good friends in Louisville and because we were in the middle of the pandemic, none of us really had anything else to do except hang out.

My first cycle after moving to Louisville was early. It began at the end of May and carried over into the beginning of June.

I didn’t have another cycle until September after medical interventions.

I proceeded to gain 30 pounds in a matter of three months. Clothes that I bought in May didn’t fit me anymore in July. Naturally, I thought I was pregnant. I even looked pregnant. I didn’t understand why I was still having negative tests.

Finally in August, I called and made an appointment with an OBGYN. I guess the receptionist scheduled the appointment incorrectly, or I said the wrong thing or something, because while I was there, the ultrasound technician and the doctor thought I was being seen for a pregnancy confirmation.

After I explained that I wasn’t having positive tests, but that something was wrong they both looked at each other and exchanged a look of frustration. I’ll never forget that look. They stepped outside to discuss their options. I guess the OB wasn’t taking regular gynecology appointments.

They decided to proceed with the ultrasound and discovered that I had follicle cysts in my right ovary. She said it “looked like swiss cheese”, which was an extremely comforting thing to hear especially after she told me that she didn’t think there was anything wrong. Not!

They also did a pap smear. I had one done in April by the gynecologist that I was seeing while I still lived in Florida… and still having regular cycles. That one came back normal. The one in August came back with abnormalities and they routinely had that sent off for STD testing–which, of course, I knew would be negative.

They told me to come back in a year since it was negative.

They didn’t have an available appointment until December 2021.

They didn’t care about me and I still didn’t have answers.

I was breaking.

It began to affect my marriage. I was so disgusted with how I looked, that I hid myself from Erick. I was so depressed that my body couldn’t do what it was supposed to do. I was ashamed that I couldn’t do what women were supposed to do, so I began to withdraw from him. I wouldn’t share my thoughts or feelings. (Definitely don’t recommend this. He’s thes best for walking with me during this depressive stage.) 

They gave me progesterone to start my cycle back up, which is why I had a cycle in September. Then I skipped October, had the most excruciating cycle in November–I’m convinced that I had a cyst burst. Skipped January, had one in February, and then skipped March. Starting April 2021, I started having cycles each month, but they were about 45 days apart. Although they were happening, they were still not normal.

I was struggling to lose the weight that I gained so rapidly. I was walking 2-3 miles three different times a week, I was working out about 5 times a week, I was eating healthy, I was focusing on meals curated for women with PCOS because I suspected that I had it. 

The job that I was working at required me to be awake during the middle of the night, so I wasn’t getting more than 5 hours of sleep for two years. I was exhausted, not just physically, but both emotionally and mentally as well. I still hated my body, and my marriage was suffering because of it.

I didn’t have the strength to open my Bible. Many days I didn’t even have the strength to pick my head off of the pillow. I became a robot. I worked and then I laid in bed.

I was miserable and so ashamed.

I was a part of a new church and hadn’t yet built relationships. I didn’t talk about my problem with infertility because I was so embarrassed about being convinced that I was pregnant until I saw my empty womb on the ultrasound. I withdrew from everyone I knew.

I finally became convinced that I couldn’t get pregnant. Through many, many nights of crying out to God, I told him that I knew I couldn’t get pregnant on my own and that He was in control, not that He wasn’t already. I stopped trying to plan for a baby. I unfollowed mom accounts on social media. I started looking for jobs outside the home. I know I needed to rework my thought process.

I picked up my Bible and read about Sarah and Abraham. God promised Abraham that his descendants would be as many as the stars in the sky (Genesis 15). Sarah waited 25 years after God promised them Isaac (Genesis 12; Genesis 21). That was almost my entire life span. 

I read about Rebekah and Isaac. They waited 20 years to have children (Genesis 25:21). I read about Hannah in 1 Samuel 1-2. I read about the mother of Samson in Judges 13. I wasn’t alone. God gave husbands and wives the command to “be fruitful and multiply” before the Fall (Genesis 1:28). Although I longed for this, I understood that it was God who would ultimately put a child in my womb.

After the Fall, God cursed Eve and told her that “she would have pain in childbearing” (Genesis 3:16). I used to think that verse meant that labor and delivery would be painful. But now I know it means so much more. There’s pain in desperately yearning for a child, and not getting pregnant. There’s pain in miscarriage, because death wasn’t apart of God’s original plan. There’s pain in pregnancy because of the constant changes in a woman's body. There’s pain in unforeseen diagnoses during ultrasounds. And of course, there’s undeniably pain in labor and delivery.

Because pain and suffering weren’t a part of God’s original design, I found comfort in remembering God’s covenant with Abraham. Having Isaac so late in life wasn’t how Sarah envisioned her life; she even laughed when God told her that she would conceive a son (Genesis 18:12-15). And although I’m not proud of it, I wasn’t the only one who doubted God.

I changed workout routines in June 2021. I started teaching in July of 2021. I was sleeping like a normal person. My cycles became more and more regular. When my period was late in October, I was frustrated. I had been here many times before, and I always hoped for a positive test. However, in the back of my mind I knew something was different. 

I’ll never forget it. As I was getting dressed for work that morning, I remember looking at myself in the mirror and thinking, “that shirt’s not going to fit you for very much longer” and being surprised at the thought. That evening I had my first very positive test. 

I couldn’t believe it. The Lord gave us a baby at exactly the time I was content with not having one. I loved my teaching job and I had planned on being at that school for many years. The Lord had other plans.

While I know this isn’t everyone’s story, I hope you can still find encouragement in the fact that we have a God who always keeps His promises. I will never forget the way my heart ached when I learned of another friend getting pregnant and I hope I can always empathize with women who are struggling with infertility. Trust that  if you’re a believer, you are resting the hands of the creator and sustainer of life. 

I don’t know what the Lord has in store for your life. I don’t know if he’ll give you a child naturally; I wish I could give you all the answers. But what I do know is that–if you’re a believer–He will never leave you nor forsake you (Deuteronomy 31:6). And really, there’s no better place to be.

“He gives and He takes away, blessed be the name of the Lord” (Job 1:21