1 year prior to that, I had started to write a book.
“No One’s Mother.”
I remember typing the first words. Tears streaming down my face.
We had moved to Fayetteville, Arkansas from Dallas. I was studying for my licensing exam so that I could practice psychology independently. My husband had found a great job that he loved. We were looking for a new home.
All of that looked extremely promising.
I was 38. Had tried for 3 years to get pregnant. Had had I don’t know how many inseminations. Lots. A couple of laparoscopic surgeries. One miscarriage.
Most people had been sensitive and kind. One had asked me, “Do you think you are being punished for what you did in your 20’s?”.
That stung a bit.
I had managed to attend some baby showers. I was truly happy for those people. After all, they were receiving the very blessing my husband and I were wanting.
One I had to leave.
I had tried to not let “having a baby” become the entire focus of my life.
But I had had it. I was tired of pills. Shots. Mood swings. Exhausted with each day being valued primarily because of its place on the fertility calendar. Fed up with trying to tune in to tiny signs that I might be pregnant.
I was going to write about being no one’s mother.
I had to accept it.
My endocrinologist had suggested in vitro fertilization, but the chances were extremely slim in my case. She didn’t recommend it. I would have to undergo a rigorous hormonal treatment that would not be pleasant.
What I learned as I wrote that day and the days that followed was that I could accept not having a child. It made me terribly sad. I remember that sadness. It felt extremely heavy at the time. But I could accept it.
I wrestled with that slim chance.
Couldn’t get it out of my mind.
20 years ago today that slim chance is my 20 year old son.
I know now that it was in the acceptance of my sadness, of my total lack of control, that I found enough strength to try one more time.
It might have turned out differently. Many times it does.
We were just lucky.
I wish I could read that 1st chapter. I didn’t keep it.
But I have never forgotten about it. Those days of writing. The path that I might have walked.
I don’t think I ever will.
This post was written on July 2, 2014. My son’s 20th birthday. A blessed day in my life. If you or someone you know is experiencing infertility, please know you have my sincere thoughts and prayers for your own journey through what is a difficult experience.
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