Dear God

Why can’t we get on the same page?

I feel like you enjoy it when people are proactive in their lives and do things for themselves instead of just asking you to take care of it all. This is why I’m regularly visiting my RE, popping pills and stabbing myself in the gut with injections.

I’m trying. Really hard.

Where are you?

I know you’re here because you’re the head cheerleader in my personal Cheerios squad. You lift me up when I fall after another failed cycle. You keep me positive and focused when I start a new one. You’ve been part of my marriage and keep things between Rob and I smooth as butter so we can face infertility together instead of against one another. You’ve blessed me with a wide net of support, and you’ve managed to bribe them into sticking by me.

God, not only am I medically/physically trying, I’m mentally and emotionally trying So Very Hard. It would be So Very Easy to let the failure keep me down, to snarl and foam at the mouth as I witness the endless parade of positive pregnancy tests, big ultrasounds and amazing, sweet babies who grow into fun, wonderful kids.

I was a kid once, too. I’m somebody’s baby.

God, I know that each pregnancy I see, each baby I meet, each kid I play with – they’re going to grow into their place in this world, and each place is one you have planned out. That’s why I’ve never once wondered why one baby was born to one mother and father and not to me and Rob. That’s their time and place, not ours. You don’t run a baby factory that they stole from what you had designated for me. Their baby does not have a single thing to do with our no-baby. Well, except that their baby reminds me of our no-baby. All the time.

I just wish I could see your plan for me.

Am I wrong to seek medical help? Am I wrong to time things, to take medication? Should I wait for you? Are you waiting for me?

God, I don’t know what to do next. I don’t know if I should back off and not try so hard; if I should let you take over and see if you want to do this on your own. I don’t know if that’s giving up or being faithful. I don’t know if I should try harder and seek further medical interventions.

Am I trying too hard? Am I not trying enough? Is this just not the time? Did we already miss the time you had planned for us?

God, what’s got me down most is that you know my heart. You know the bruising it’s taking with these repeated failures. You know how I question my worth as a woman and a wife, how my husband can bring to the table wonderful test results and prognoses, amazing odds, and I continue to bring failure after failure. No matter how good results are, my body refuses to put them to use.

God, you certainly haven’t given more than I can handle, but I’m exhausted. I’m emotionally drained. I’ve gone numb to the negative pregnancy tests, and I have to work harder to enter each new cycle with high steps and no dragging feet.

I’m tired of delivering bad news to my husband, family and friends. I’m tired of building hope only to have it crushed. I’m tired of fighting my demons, those rare but ugly bitter feelings.

If you and I were married, my friends would suggest a divorce. God, this relationship has to work both ways. You can’t expect me to try and try and try without you putting in your share of the effort. We haven’t taken the medical intervention to the max, but we’ve done A Lot of work. Without you, though, it’s all for nothing.

My patience is wearing thin, but I’m afraid to give up just as you’ve decided I have paid my dues and done what you planned for me. I’m afraid to keep going because I don’t want to fail if you’re testing my faith in you rather than medicine (though you know I believe you work together).

I know you’re there, and I know you’re listening. I truly appreciate gentle pats and boosts you’ve given me. I’m not so down this time around and have shed minimal tears. I don’t need the pep talk this time.

I need answers.

Yours,
Jenny