Story Time

"Have you ever heard of anything so cruel in your whole life?" she said to him through her sobs.  Her face was wet, her eyes were swollen and what was once a tissue was a mangled mess clenched up in her shaking hands.

"Yes", he whispered.  "Burying our daughter was the cruelest thing in the world."

"No, she said.  "Burying our daughter and then not being able to make her a big sister seems even more cruel, if you ask me."  And then the tears started to fall again.

There is the grief of losing a child and there is the agony of infertility.  Never in my life did I think I would experience both. 

My glass is half empty lately.  Month after month with no baby on the way...how can this be? 

I never really did the "why me" thing when Allie died.  I know others around us asked and wondered, but we really didn't.  She was here and then she wasn't and there is no way to predict the future nor prevent certain things from happening in it.  But lately I find myself wondering why.  What did I do to deserve this anguish?

Why am I not pregnant again?  Gary and I are good people and we have so much love and passion and fun to share with a child. 

Why are there no midnight feedings?  Why do I throw out the Babies R Us Coupons before even looking at the brochures anymore?  Why is the 10,000 Baby Names book collecting dust in the basement next to an unused crib and changing table?

Inevitably, the tears come.  Pity parties are exhausting.

Yesterday, during a routine exam, the nurse asked me for a list of all prior surgeries.  Wisdom teeth, a broken leg...and oh yeah, my c-section.

"When was that?" she asked in a kind voice.
"April 22, 2011", I replied.
"My how time flies, huh?" she said. 

My guess is she did not look at my chart to know that no - time does not fly for us as we are not home raising our baby.  We are here, testing and trying and praying and hoping that somehow I can get pregnant again.

"I want to grow old with you" he says to me, not for the first time.  I want to be the woman he loves, the woman he fell in love with.  "You are" he says. 

It's time to lift my head above the waves that are trying to drown me and brush off the sand that is trying to bury me and put myself first.  My health, my heart, my soul.  Haven't I made myself suffer enough?

"My story is not over yet" she types.  She already feels better as writing does that for her. 
"We know it's not" you say in your heads and you read this blog.  "Not by a long shot."