Day 29

Men, we’re about to address a topic you may not want to hear about. You have my permission to close your eyes and click on back to something you may find more interesting. It’s okay.

Is it just the girls now? Okay, here’s the reality– at some point every woman has a Day 29. Maybe you have a shorter cycle and your “Day 29” is actually a Day 25 or maybe you have longer cycles and it’s actually a Day 32, but you know what I’m talking about. I’m talking about the day you officially know you’re “late”.

For the infertile woman, this is the worst day of the month. Each Day 1 is a little grieving moment and then you’re back on track. Maybe this month will be different. 14 days to go and then you can try it all again. Or if you’ve let go of the hope of pregnancy altogether that grief moment is really short and then you move on. The first year or two was agony on Day 1, but by the 100th month of that cycle repeating, it’s hard to get worked up to the same level of sadness.

Except when there’s a Day 29.

Every woman has the odd long cycle. There will be times where a Day 29 will show up in your life, but for the infertile woman it brings with it an incredible amount of hope. By the end of the day you have figured out a potential birthdate (and thought about all the possible implications of that birthdate), contemplated a name for a boy or girl, and in your mind started to move the furniture around to figure out where to put the crib. It’s a day of incredible hope—against all the odds, against all the doctor’s advice, against your better judgement.

And this hope feels so risky. I hate the hope. I hate the excitement and how I won’t drink my regular cup of caffeinated coffee and can’t focus on my normal tasks. I hate how I long for this phantom baby with my whole heart and yet I’m terrified of what a pregnancy would mean for my body or my life. I’ve known the loss of two precious babies very early in pregnancy and this loss makes the hope seem even more ridiculous.

My mind is a ferris wheel cycling up and down with each new thought. What if this is a sister for my daughter? Up!  But what if this is another miscarriage? Down. Maybe this time I could have the natural childbirth I wanted? Up! But what about those shots I had to have—so expensive and painful. Down.

And all the while in the back of my mind I know there’s no reason to even dwell on the possibilities because the reality is that this is just a long cycle. Between each up and down I am reminding myself that I’m an idiot to even be excited or be worried. But I can’t help myself.

I am imagining symptoms. Is this cycle different than last month? Am I feeling a little nauseous? More tired than usual? Surely something has to mean something. There has got to be some clarity because this tension is crazy making.

Of course I could buy a pregnancy test every time a Day 29 came around. It would be a quick “yes” or “no” answer. But I know sometimes my heart can’t take it. To have the hope dashed all at once is difficult. And to feel like I brought it on myself is worse. And don’t even get me started on paying a couple bucks to buy something that tells me how wrong I was to hope.

I’d love to bring this back around to something meaningful. Some practical application for everybody. But infertility isn’t always like that. This is just a peek into the heart that becomes very closely acquainted with disappointment. Hope comes at a high cost to the woman who longs to see a positive sign on that pregnancy test.

I think that’s what’s the most surprising- it isn’t the official end to the hope that’s so hard and frustrating. It’s the hope itself. It is hard to live with a heart that refuses to believe what the doctors have told you. You get angry at yourself for wanting what you can’t have. And when you finally know that dream is over (at least for the month) you get angry at yourself for the moments you actually hoped it wouldn’t happen because you didn’t feel prepared or you worried for you or that potential child’s physical safety.

Infertility doesn’t let go. It doesn’t take days off. It builds you up just to drop you down. But it’s okay. You get used to the sudden drops and hard falls. And as I look at my little family built through three adoptions and a pregnancy that defied all the odds, I can see God’s timing in it all. And I’m thankful.

I’ll take this difficult road because it’s the one that’s kept me close to God’s heart. It’s taught me that I’m not in control and that’s a good thing. It’s made our marriage stronger because we’ve lived through the hurts together. It’s given me the gift of two children I will one day meet in heaven.

I have learned that God is faithful. Even on Day 29.