Chapter 44- In Good Company

I apologize in advance....this is a long one! I always cry, but today I sobbed. I promise this one isn't just for people struggling with infertility. Stick it out to the end....

Hey there! I am rapidly preparing for a 4th birthday party!!!! Is that not just crazy? It's nearly been that long since our Dani Marie came into the world, and I started writing this blog. I feel like we have grown to be family. I started this blog as a tool to share her story, and it has been a great blessing. I always wonder when I write a blog if it will even make sense to anyone else. I can't thank you all enough for your encouragement and the time you have invested in reading our stories.

Do you ever have those times when you feel like having a big fat pity party for yourself? They are few and far between for me lately, but I think it's only human that they still come around every now and then. There are times in my busy life that I go months without thinking of our infertility struggle. Thankfully, Dani Marie has filled our heart's void and made our family complete. She has healed so many of our hurts, but there are still some wounds that may never fully heal. And others that have healed but left behind scars.

The past week has been full of painful memories. There are certain dates, times, and conversations that can't help but draw the painful loss and disappointments of our infertility battle to mind. The following memories are private and raw, and I haven't reflected on them in years, but yesterday they came flooding back to me.

In the summer of 2009 we began seeing a new doctor. He was highly recommended and a "guru" in the fertility field. He was able to help us overcome a few of the barriers to becoming parents. We were able to finally with the help of fertility medicines, ultrasound monitoring, and medical assistance make progress. We had an egg! This was the best news! This was music to our ears, and we finally had something to hope for. We could not contain our excitement. I had not yet learned to guard premature celebration and was still green to even the idea that once you actually get pregnant you aren't out of the woods. Unfortunately over the next three years that followed I become far more familiar with loss, hurt, and false hope. I learned to become more callused and far less eager to make long term plans. But at that time....at that moment.... I felt pure excitement. Our doctor was confident in his ability to use IUI and other techniques and even assured us we would be among his many success rates.  I'll skip some of the medical explanation and emotional details of the following few weeks' events, and fast forward to our ultrasound that confirmed we had only just hit the tip of the infertility iceberg. I remember him searching the machine. I had been bleeding, but I was still confident that this was all to be expected after assisted reproductive procedures. I still was so hopeful. He looked, looked some more, cleared his throat and turned the machine off. I remember him coldly turning to me and explaining he found nothing. "Sometimes these things happen. It's early so that's the good thing. It's better to know now." I didn't understand? What happened? I was confused. He was so sure just weeks ago that everything was okay. I believed him, and I trusted him. I don't know whether that doctor is a Christian or not. All I know is in that room, it felt cold. His explanation was not one that valued all life... early life, or maybe even life at all. And in that moment what seemed to him as a setback, to me was the first of many of my deepest heart wounds. I remember my voice cracked as I said, "Why?" "How?" He mumbled something about problems with implantation, blighted ovums, a hostile environment, and other terms that I didn't understand. I remember he just left the room and instructed me to get dressed. I laid there for what seemed like hours, but I'm sure was only minutes. Was I hostile? The hostile environment....he was talking about my body? I didn't understand...He had been so sure. We finally had an egg, and the ovulation medicine had worked....I had planned. I had not mentioned anything to other family, but Daniel and I had planned. We had excitedly picked names and even strolled through the baby section looking at nursery accessories. Would it have been a girl? Was it a boy? I remember wondering these things...I dressed and Daniel and I sat in silence on the ride home. I looked out the window and cried. And while I have not thought of that day in years, this week it came flooding back to me. I guess because there were so many other moments of hurt and grief in the years that followed.

Yesterday, I soaked in a bubble bath and I reflected on a recent conversation. The conversation was innocent, but it reminded me that infertility is lonely. It's something that even your closest friends and family really can't fully understand. It can make you feel so alone. I know motherhood. Thankfully, I know it well. Pregnancy, excitement of an expected bundle of joy, hearing heartbeats, those are still foreign to me. I work with lots of wonderful women. When we have showers at work or a co-worker delivers, I'm reminded that every single married woman I work with has given birth to a child. Every single one. Forty of the most wonderful, talented, women and me. It's so hard to explain, but it makes me feel broken and lonely. People try to be supportive and understand, but even my mom and sister don't quite understand exactly how this feels. I sat in the tub and I had my pity party. I remembered that first moment I felt loss. I wondered why of all the women I know and love, I had to feel so isolated. I have never heard God speak audibly. I think it would scare me to death, but I have had three times in my life when I felt God overwhelm me with his unspoken voice. It's like I completely feel in my heart and soul exactly what He is wanting me to hear. This was one of those times. I had just had the thought, "Why of all these women is it me?" Then I felt him say to my soul, "My mom". At first I didn't understand, but He immediately called the images of Mary to my mind. I could see her almost like a movie playing out. I could see her scared and afraid as a young teen pregnant without ever knowing a man. I could see her with not a soul to confide in who had ever been in that exact situation. I could see her in a room of women but feeling all alone. No one on earth ever had or ever would know her experience. I saw her then at the foot of the cross. My heart hurt as I pictured her crying, screaming, pleading with the soldiers as they beat her baby boy. I could almost feel her pain as she cried out. I know she had to feel like no woman on earth could relate to her unique pain. No other woman had a perfect son, no other woman had watched their blameless Savior come into this world and then be brutally taken from it.
Then I felt as if God laid this on my heart.
Mary, was it worth it? The price was high. She had been hand chosen to be the most important woman in the history of history. She was selected to be the mother of Christ. She knew Jesus better than anyone else in this world. She was able to spend time with him daily. She watched him grow, and I can only imagine how he blessed her heart. The price was high, though. It would cost her. She would not be able to feel like even a soul on this earth could relate to her. She would be scared, lonely at times, afraid, and she would hurt. She'd watch as her baby was murdered and hurt. Mary, if you knew all this from the beginning. If you knew the price of your path, would you still want to be Jesus' mother? I know she would have said, "SOLD!" I want him. I need him. I wouldn't want life any other way. SOLD! Bring on the pain and the hurt, because in the end it can't compare to the joy.

While Dani Marie is not Jesus, and I am certainly not Mary. I reflected on this struggle. If God asked me, "Ashlee, is it worth it? If he had shown me what was ahead all those years ago. If he explained that the only way I could get to Dani Marie was to go through all the loss, the hurt, the loneliness, would I do it? If that first procedure had worked for you flawlessly, you would have quit. You would have never known Dani Marie. The price tag for being Dani Marie's mom is high. It will cost your tears, scars, blood, pain, and heartache. I would have said, "SOLD!" I'd do every single bit of it again to be Dani's mom.

My pity party was over. I think sometimes we get overwhelmed. We begin to feel like our struggles define us. Maybe you have struggled with infertility, death, abuse, financial insecurity, betrayal, marital issues, divorce, or something else. It can feel like we are all alone. It's easy to see the struggle under a magnifying glass that makes it seem so HUGE. If we pour out our hearts to God, he can help us 'ZOOM OUT". He sees the big picture. He knew the hurt I would face. He saw every tear I cried, but He also saw the prize waiting at the end. He knew Dani Marie even in 2009 years before she had been knit together in her birthmother's womb. He knew her. He knew me. He knew we needed to find each other. And so, He placed a high, high price tag on her. He knew that experiencing the pain that came before her, would make her value that much greater.

If you are in the middle of a struggle today. Please remember that you only see the magnifying glass version. I know you may feel alone. You may feel like God has given you a burden too heavy to carry, but I promise you He hasn't. Think of it this way, Mt. Everest is beautiful. Modern technology can capture beautiful images from the top. We could Google those images and appreciate the beauty of the mountain top, but we could never know it's value. You see the value of that view can only be truly felt by the climber. The climber who has shed blood, sweat, and tears to fight his way to the top. He paid the price for the view. When he reaches the top, he can see the beautiful view for all it is worth. The price must be paid in the struggle. Please know that I am praying for anyone who reads this blog. I have asked God to use this to encourage them. To remind us that we are loved. That He has a plan for us and that is is perfect. He places a high price tag on the things that will bring us the most joy sometimes. He won't run a clearance sale or offer a coupon to make it more affordable, but He will be with you every step of the way. He will never leave your side. Let's remember that if we go through great trials or struggles, we are in good company. God loved Mary and showed great favor on her, but he didn't give her a discount. She knew great pain and loss, but she also knew great joy! Jesus, perfect Jesus, decided in the Garden of Gethsemane that though the cup would be painful He would take it. He set out to buy our souls, and it was costly. It cost him His life. He boldly said, "Sold!" My struggle can't hold a candle to these, but I am reminded when I reflect on my hurts, I am in great company. So are you! I love you!

1 Peter 1:6-7 "In all this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that the proven genuineness of your faith-of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire-may result in praise, glory, and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed."