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by Marty Kovacs
After a year of infertility testing, doctor appointments, and mind-numbing needle sticks for blood, we finally had our first intrauterine insemination (IUI). It was exhilarating to think that all our frustration might finally end. I was so excited to think of the possibilities and hoped this procedure would work. I was ready to get on with life and stop living at the doctor's office, where I seemed to spend more time than at home!
My cycle came and went. The hormones made my body do things I have never experienced before, and since these sensations were new, I figured this must be what pregnancy feels like. I was more excited than ever. I was warned not to buy a pregnant test at the store, as the hormones would cause it to read a false positive. So we waited. I was more excited with each passing day.
Then it happened: the ceiling fell in on my world and it became very dark. The blood test showed that the procedure did not work and the cycle was over. I was not pregnant. The emotional roller coaster of the hormones and my false euphoria caused me to crash emotionally.
The following months we put all fertility treatments on hold. I could not sleep at night, and I thought I was going mad. I cried often and was angry and bitter when I saw pregnant women in public, who seemed to be everywhere.
During this same time, I was writing a book about my profession. Being a funeral director is not the happiest profession in the world, but it can be both rewarding and draining. It is our job to help people recognize grief and guide them into a healthy direction to deal with their loss.
As I was doing research for my book, I realized that I am grieving too...about not ever knowing whom our children would have looked like...about not ever knowing what it is like to be pregnant.
For two months, I could not shake my grief. I did not want to look at adoption books from agencies...I did not want to see the sight of a baby or a pregnant woman. I would cry uncontrollably, for no reason. If I heard someone say one more time that maybe I was not meant to have children - that God may have other plans for us - I was going to scream.
And then I hit bottom.
I was tired of people around me walking on eggshells, not knowing if I was okay that day. So, I began to take one day at a time and slowly began to look toward the future. If I could not have children, we could adopt. We would get through the adoption process with God's help. It took almost six months to go from the beginning of the crash to climbing out of the depression. I was starting to sleep again and crying less. I began to enjoy going to church again, and I looked forward to each new day.
I still have tough times, and just like those who have lost a loved one, holidays are still difficult. Thankfully, we are surrounded by people who understand and comfort us. We thank God for the support we have received from our families and local church assembly.
We have learned to take life one day at a time.
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