Barren and Thankful

     Today my husband and I had probably our last visit with the RE (fertility doc).  While we've been waiting to be chosen by a birthmother, we have talked about one last attempt at a fertility treatment.  We'd heard about embryonic adoption and went in for a consult.  Embryonic adoption or donor embryos come from other couples who have already gone through IVF and have embryos left over which they are not planning to use.  Most couples prefer to throw their leftover embryos away but a select few donate them.  They go through genetic screening (at cost to them) and donate the embryos with the hope of helping other infertile couples.  The embryos are implanted into a female recipient and if the procedure works she can carry a child, though not biologically her own or her husband's.  The cost for transferring donor embryos is half the cost of IVF due to the fact that the gathering of the eggs and the inserting of the sperm into the eggs has already been done.  Since my husband and I both have significant fertility problems, we felt this might be a good option for us; little did we know that there are already 9 couples on the waiting list and the clinic only gets 2-3 embryo donations per year.  This means that in 3-5 years we might possibly get a call saying they have an embryo(s) for us.  We put ourselves on the waiting list but we really don't know where we'll be in that amount of time.  And statistically speaking, it gets harder to get pregnant with every year that passes now that I'm at an 'advanced maternal age'.
     We don't have the 15k it would take for IVF and were told today that because my ovarian reserve is so low that we might not even qualify for it in the first place.  The other suggestion made was to use the donor (frozen) egg program which would give you 4 tries with 7 eggs each try (which means maybe 2 eggs that would survive and fertilize and be transferred into the uterus) and a money back guarantee at the end if you don't get pregnant.  Too bad we don't have the 25 thousand dollars to do it in the first place.
     Bottom line: without a miracle Laura won't be pregnant.  Ever.  And yes, I'm talking about myself in the 3rd person.

     Part of me is relieved to not have to wonder anymore.  Mostly I'm sad.  Yes, I know that some of you will say (and you will be in good company with my husband) that a miracle can still happen.  And you'd be right.  But the realist in me says that for every person who gets that miracle, there's 10 others who don't.
     I came home and cried.  And a funny thing occurred to me: I'm not angry anymore.
     There's a fair amount of anger that comes with the grieving process of infertility and though the anger has lessened over time, I was still prepared to feel it as I watch the door of child bearing close.  But it's not there.  Don't get me wrong, I'm sure I'll still have some angry days, but I think, for the most part, it's gone.  Without realizing it, it seems I've moved on a bit.  I also feel an underlying gratitude that's coursing through me.  Infertility has taught me so much.  It's been a hard journey, but a valuable one.  It's not a path I would have chosen for myself so maybe it's a good thing I'm not the one who has control of the overall plan for my life.

     What have I learned?  I've learned that my life is not only about the here and now, but the eternal perspective.  Heavenly Father loves me more than I can understand and He has crafted out a plan for my life.  This plan will give me the greatest chance I can have for happiness.  Its purpose is to shape me into the person I'm meant to be.  Shaping requires pruning, and pruning hurts.  Pain is never pleasant but I've learned a few things about it.  Pain does not last forever.  It can make you strong or become strength itself and can also become a part of you that you would never care to be without. Article: Whole Enough.  Most importantly, there is a kind of beauty that can only occur in those moments of great pain and great humility.  Blog: Sing, O Barren Woman.
     I am barren and may not bear fruit for quite a while; maybe not at all in this life, at least not in the reproductive sense.  But I believe that when I do bloom, now or later, in this life or the next, I'll be exactly the person Heavenly Father always knew I would be.
     I'm thankful for my infertility.  I'm thankful for the opportunity for learning and the choice it gives me of finding out more about myself and more about my God in a way I could not have anticipated.