Ever Onward

May has somehow begun to represent infertility to me. May obviously comes on the heels of National Infertility Awareness Week each year. May also supplies my least favorite holiday... you guessed it, Mother's Day. And to add salt to the wound, May always ushers in an anniversary for us. This May marks three years of trying to conceive.

It's funny really, at one full year of trying to conceive, I was beside myself. The anxiety was at an all time high; I was desperate for a positive pregnancy test. I remember crying in the bathroom every single solitary time I saw just one pink line. Last year, I was coming to terms with just how difficult conceiving would be for us... how long and deep and wide this trench really is. This year, I think I've finally, finally accepted our infertility. Don't get me wrong, it still pisses me off. When I think about the 8 bazillion babies that are conceived without trying, without even wanting... I just want to scream. When I think about women confronted with the decision to abort or give their child up for adoption, I just want to die... why would the Lord even allow the pregnancy to a woman who doesn't want/can't take care of a child when Sam and I (and so many others) are so desperate for a child? It just doesn't make sense. But if I don't try to understand the BIG "why" questions, I've come to terms with infertility. I'm infertile... like woah, infertile. Unless the Lord sees fit to bless us with an absolute miracle akin to the virgin birth, we will require further medial procedures and countless more dollars if we want a biological child or the experience of a pregnancy. It is what it is.

That first year, I couldn't imagine spending another year trying to conceive. The thought was more than my mind could comprehend. It was simply impossible. Last year, I recognized that a third anniversary was certainly possible, but I was hoping that something would turn out. I knew that we had a laparoscopy and potential IVF coming, so surely something would give within a year. This year however, I fully expect for their to be a fourth anniversary. I recognize that we could potentially escape this pit by then, but I don't really expect to. Like I said, I've finally come to terms with our infertility.

It's a humbling place to be, to admit that you have zero control over your ability to procreate. I could have intercourse every day for the next 365 days, but that doesn't guarantee anything. We could spend 30, 40, 50 thousand dollars (if we had it) in the next year on the latest and greatest treatments with the best doctors in the world, but it doesn't guarantee anything. We could very well be sitting in this exact same spot next year no matter what actions or steps we take. Humbling indeed.

I'm curious at what point do these "anniversaries" stop? Do you stop counting at 4? 5? 6? How about 10 years of trying to conceive? Do you stop counting then? Surely when the clock strikes midnight and you officially turn into a pumpkin, with zero ability to conceive, you stop counting the years. Will May always hold special significance of my failure to conceive? Will this month always represent this season of life and everything we missed out on?

Ever onward, I guess.The years tick by, but I'm in good company, and for that, I'm eternally thankful.