Courageous

I remember way back when I was just embarking on my first IUI thinking how much courage IVF must take. I was having mild panic attacks over the medications required for IUIs; I couldn't fathom doing IVF. In fact, I remember finding Amanda's blog right around the time she was embarking on IVF. I remember reading about the injections and thinking to myself that she was so incredibly brave. I also remember begging God to bring me a child before that point... my rationale was that He should know and understand that I am certainly not courageous, more like scared of my own shadow.

I've lived a bit since then though, and I have come to see things a little differently. I thought IVF was the most courageous decision because of the pain from the needles and medication, because of the risks for OHSS, etc. There's no doubt about it... that takes courage. I know because I'm staring down the barrel looking at IVF with big, wide eyes, so to speak. But the ultimate courage, the real bravery, I've come to believe is doing anything about my circumstance.

You see, it would be easiest to do nothing, to continue this life that we've been living for the last year, and simply let it be, to say this is the life we have and agree to be content. Sure, there's a very high chance I'd regret it later, but I still believe doing nothing is the easiest choice. We have a good life. It is by no means perfect, and I'm not fully satisfied, but most days I would score a good, solid 6-7. Some days totally blow, but even then I recognize that my "lowest" is really like a 4-5... there is a whole lot lower to go. And it is so scary to recognize that I could be signing myself up for my absolute darkest day. It would be easiest to avoid that kind of pain.

I once thought IVF, the procedure, the needles, the actual process was the bravest choice an infertile woman could make. Now I'm not so sure. IVF is certainly scary, but what's absolutely terrifying is the risk of pain, of heart wrenching, soul shredding, life changing pain. And that doesn't necessarily come from IVF, it comes from reaching, from stretching, from hoping for more.

When I think about the bravest women I know, I think of Aubrey. I can go ahead and admit without a shred of doubt that I would have given up on IVF long ago if my story looked like Aubrey's. She can correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe she just completed her sixth embryo transfer out in Colorado. Aubrey is the first one to tell you that the pain from a failed transfer is debilitating, and yet, she has  recognized the potential for pain, faced her fears, and chosen to move forward again, and again, and again. Crazy, crazy brave.

And like I said, it's not always IVF that requires bravery; adoption is incredibly daunting and the potential for heartache is huge! Every time I talked to Erika after she and Matt were chosen, I thought to myself, "she is so brave". There were no needles involved, no medications, but the risk for pain, for heartache, for absolute despair was definitely there. It took incredible amounts of courage to pursue adoption.

When I think about Holly and the depths of her sorrow after losing her perfectly healthy son, Jude, due to an infection that she could do nothing to prevent, I think I know what the absolute darkest days must look like. Holly is there; she is deep in the valley of the shadow of death. My lowest days don't seem so low right now. Another failed cycle doesn't seem that bad. It is definitely easiest to avoid that type of pain at all costs.

IVF looms in front of me like Mount Everest. It is both growing closer and more insurmountable at the same time. It is almost my turn. My turn to be courageous, to take a mighty risk, to see the chance for incredible, life altering pain, and choose to push through anyway. I could stay here, right where I am, recognizing that doing nothing has the greatest potential for long term regret, but the least potential for immediate pain, OR I can move forward. I can risk the pain of a botched IVF, of a failed transfer, of a (God, please no) miscarriage or failed pregnancy. The needles are definitely scary, but the real fear I still have to overcome is the potential for pain, the kind of pain that changes you, that etches your heart, and scars your mind. I am not courageous, but I'll get there.