Babies. Fertility. Ovaries. Conception. Labor. Doula. Cyst. LH levels. Ovulation. I sometimes search for baby clothes on Amazon and add them to my cart for later.
That note. No, we're not actively trying to have a baby. But I find myself researching things like, "Is it safe to have natural birth with ovarian cysts?" But really, though. Is it? Can you...pop a cyst when you have a contraction? Will labor make me lose an ovary?
Train rides leave me too much time to wallow in my anxiety. Today, I sat next to a very smart 8-year-old boy who told his dad that the new Wilson stop, when completed, will allow transfers from the Red to the Purple. A few stops later, a young dad brought his 3-year-old daughter on board. He carried her on but she got her own seat, and I could see the multi-colored speckled soles of her tiny sneakers. She smiled and babbled and made funny faces at her daddy, and he made them back.
I wanted to cry. Out of joy for the sheer innocence and wonder these kids have. Out of pride for this little genius sitting next to me. Out of fear that I may never know what it's like to carry my own three-year-old anywhere.
Because that's productive.
There's some sort of timeline in order. I daily ask hubby if we can move the start date to today. I try to chart my cycle so I can learn about my fertile and infertile days, and catch myself dreaming about accidentally conceiving. Am I ready to be a mother? Is he ready to be a father? Will we be able to give our hypothetical child the love and discipline and nurturing and education they deserve? Much of my time not dreaming about a child is spent worrying that I will mess it up, and hurt them forever.
As I type this, my right ovary is throbbing. It's been complaining all day, and I do my best to ignore it.
But every time I feel the stabbing pain, or the throbbing ache, or the pulsating pain that radiates through my legs - I mourn. I imagine it's another kamikaze egg that imploded inside me. Another egg that couldn't bear to be my child and just quit while it was ahead. More proof I'm not fit to be a mother in so many ways.
This is how I Imagine my Ovaries.
Ah. This wasn't meant to be some self-pitying rant. Forgive me. It's just the evil self-doubt trying to wrestle away my peace.
In all honesty, I find it more difficult to confide in a loved one than to write this "open-for-the-whole-wide-world" blog. I can talk to my husband about anything - he is my partner, he is my safe space. And yet, this desire is difficult to voice. I imagine I am worried of pressuring him into parenthood when he isn't prepared. Or afraid that he'll tell me yet again that we are on a timeline and, "there's no reason to move that up."
Ouch. He's right in so many ways, but ouch. It hurts to hear that no matter how my heart aches, or my throat squeezes - it doesn't justify a change of plans. But why do we make plans anyway? God is the only One with a plan that actually works, that actually happens as it is designed. Am I ready to learn what that plan holds for us?
For all my verbosity, I can't find the words to explain this hurt. I can describe in detail the fear of infertility. I can delineate the advisable treatments for PCOS, and the means by which one can become pregnant. I can cite the cost of an average domestic or international adoption. I can rattle off the medical terms used to explain the state of my womb. I even know if our insurance covers a Reproductive Endocrinologist. But I don't know the name of this pain.
I do know the name of Mercy. I breathe in the warmth of Light. I cry out to the Shepherd that I am lost. And He gives me the words:
"But as for me, I will watch expectantly for the Lord;
I will wait for the God of my salvation.
My God will hear me.
Do no rejoice over me, O my enemy.
Thought I fall I will rise;
Thought I dwell in darkness, the Lord is a light for me."
Micah 7:7-8
Lord, I pray that no one who reads this ever has to feel the pain of their own body betraying their heart. If they do, Lord, I hope they will turn to You to heal. I beg of you to take this pain from me, if it is Your will. I have faith in Your providence; in your ability to perform miracles; in your promises made to me. You will never leave or forsake me. When I feel forsaken, give me the strength to tell my enemy that I will rise in the Light. Draw me nearer to you as you perfect me, no matter how painful it is to die to myself. Help me to live my death daily, to put Your will over my own, to honor Your purpose above my wants, to trust Your plan before drawing mine. Embolden me to live my life without fear, but with love and mercy and grace that is as wide and long and high and deep as the love of Christ.
Amen.
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