There’s no doubt about: dealing with infertility consumes every last bit of energy reserve a girl can have.  Emily Ley wrote a fantastically transparent post on the emotional side of it, and I could’ve written it myself.  I’m learning to deal with it and I’m trying to choose joy. Choosing to cut myself some slack when I feel muddled from the hormone-raging drugs has proven to be a process. I’m a do-it-all-myself kind of girl; I like to think that things are no big deal and that I should be able to FIX IT.

I sat in the doctor’s office on Monday. Hormones raging, emotions flaring. Then it turned out that the timing on this month’s cycle was completely shot and it was enough to send me over the emotional edge. I began crying, which was humiliating enough. The nurse looked me in the eye and told me that I WILL get my baby. And that I needed to be tough. I went on with the day and ate my feelings at Chickfila (diet lemonade and waffle fry, if you must know), simmering over that one phrase.

In my mind, I’m fuming — But I’m not really fuming at the nurse, because she’s not the one I’m really upset with. It’s Infertility Personified. It’s the Not Getting My Way.

This was my angry stream of consciousness: “Toughen up? I can guarantee you that I’m far tougher than you know. I’m tough enough to deal with a premature baby, ulcerative colitis, my dog dying, my husband leaving his job and deciding to pursue another career all within a very short frame of time. I’m tough enough to deal with having my colon removed, for goodness’ sakes. I learned how to be tough when dealing with my ostomy and subsequent surgeries to reverse it. I “GET” BEING TOUGH.  And while I work really hard to stay positive, this infertility thing is knocking me. HARD. Two years of this is starting to rub me the wrong way!”

Don’t get me wrong. I know I’m not to the point of doing even tougher things, like IVF. But I can’t discount the road I’ve already been on to get to where I am today. What I’m pursuing now is what all those other hard things tried to keep me from doing.

The Bible study I participate in right now is focusing on how we can choose to view hardship as a blessing instead of just, well, awfulness. Choosing positivity (is that a word?) over negativity. I thought back to the things in my life that have been truly awful, and I can unequivocally say that I do view them as blessings. Blessings I would not trade for anything. Are there battle scars? Yup. And I brandish them proudly.

So I’m going to forge ahead and know that this thing, this infertility business — it’s bigger than me. In fact, it’s not even about me. It’s about what God is going to do because of it. And I know that He will because I’ve already seen what He’s done with all that other yuck in my life.

Now on a funnier note, in a moment of weakness as I’m all red in the face from crying at the doctor’s office, I spilled the beans to Jude that the reason mommy is so upset is because I’ve been going to the doctor to get help with having a baby. He kept saying, “Well did you get a shot at the doctor? Are you so sick? Are you going to have to go to the HOSPITAL?!”

He lit up when I told him it was just a doctor’s appointment about having a baby. “Ohhh, is that all?” he crowed. “Well, that’s awesome. TWO NEW BABIES!”

Umm, that’s not what I said, child. It’s like he’s been talking with my mom or something (who is convinced we’re going to get 2 out of this whole deal.) Then when my parents dropped by later that afternoon, he ran straight out to my mom and promptly said “My mommy is SUPER SICK because of the NEWBORN BABY!”

Remind me to keep it all to myself next time, mmkay?