May 14th, 2012. This was the day that changed the course of my life forever. It was the day that changed who I am and who I will forever be. I remember everything about that gorgeous Monday like it was yesterday. I woke up feeling normal. But as the day progressed, normal smells started to irritate me. The thought of my favorite foods made me sick. And the exhaustion hit me like a freight train.
I was officially seven days past my embryo transfer via In vitro fertilization (IVF) and I knew the possibility of life growing, developing, and nestling inside of my womb was real. And so, later in the afternoon, I found myself feeling hopeful in Walmart. I was dashing in between the aisles of shampoo and body wash, trying to avoid anyone I knew as I raced to “the aisle”. Once I arrived, I made one quick glance to the left, then to the right, ensuring that the coast was clear, and with no one I knew in sight, I quickly grabbed the box of First Response Early Responder pregnancy tests. I quickly stashed them underneath the loaf of bread (which I was only using as a cover up), and bolted to the nearest self-checkout lane.
I rushed home and scurried to the bathroom with my pants already unbuttoned and nearly to the floor. My heart was pounding. My hands were shaking. I was so nervous, yet excited. I remember standing there, anxiously watching and waiting. But friends, I didn’t need to wait long because within seconds, not minutes, I saw it. There were two glorious pink lines that my heart had been praying to see for years. And I crumbled. I slid my back against the wall and sank to the floor weeping because it worked. IVF had worked and I was finally going to be a mommy.
But that moment? This date in history? Those feelings I felt? The thoughts that raced through my mind? They are often tainted. Because the two lines that represented life growing inside of me? Never made it into my arms. And the announcement I had planned to make to my family? Well…it never happened. Unless of course you consider me telling my mom that I was pregnant and miscarrying all in the same sentence.
And it’s hard. And it sucks. It really sucks. But despite the pain, despite the sadness, and despite the dull ache in my heart that tries to seep its way into this day, as well as many other days, I choose to not focus on it. I choose to not dwell on what I have lost, but all that I have gained. Because while I lost the opportunity to hold my miracle in my arms on earth, I still gained a sweet, precious baby waiting for me to hold one day in heaven. A baby that I have hope to rock, sing sweet lullabies to, and possibly even have the opportunity to watch grow. And that my sweet friends is enough reason for me to look past the pain I feel today and celebrate in the hope I have for the future.
Read my full infertility story here.
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