The number five

When peace like a river attendeth my way....

Five. Not only is five another ef word, five is the number of pregnancy announcements in my department of 30, since the beginning of this year. The most recent announcement came just last week. Five. That makes for a 17% pregnancy rate in my department. These are all first time pregnancies and they are all 10 years or more younger than I am. There is no where, during the very long work week, that I can go to not see them. And when I see them, all I can think of is what I just can't do - the joy that Ar and I seemingly will never share. The life I can't know. Yet I have to somehow manage to get out of bed each morning, breath, do my job, supervise my staff, and generally function in the world. I have to do these things well -- without letting on that I feel like the walking dead. This seems such an impossible task; it's taking all my energy. All around me is the talk. The incessant pregnancy talk, the planning, the excitement, and the (five) showers. The painfully insensitive comments. The sadness, the desolation, the secrecy and shame, the insane desire to run and hide, to escape, to pop all their balloons, and to smash all their baby shower cupcakes! (Confession: I decline to attend the showers, but.... well, I'd hate the leftover cupcakes to go to waste... that would just be wrong.)

Coincidentally, five is exactly the number of years we've been actively trying to conceive. It was five years ago this month, in fact. I didn't think it would just happen, but I didn't think this...

And five. It was just a few minutes after five o'clock today that I knew my period started. Again.

Boy, could I ever go for a cupcake right now! Or maybe five....

In related news, five multiplied by seven is the number of pounds I've gained in the last eight months.... when the panic attacks and anxiety issues suddenly started. Great, between the extra weight and incredible stress, now I've decreased my fertility even further. Nice work.

When sorrows like sea billows roll...

What does this all add up to? Heck if I know. But I'm sitting here at midnight, next to the most beautiful roses that Ar surprised me with the other day, while I listen to him snoring peacefully away in the next room, and I'm writing this sad story because at the bottom of all the goodness present in my life, I am just sad. I am anxious and sad - and I don't know how to be better. I don't know how to be me, anymore. What if I can't ever be me again?

I'm trying to get better. I've seen my doctor about the panic attacks. I'm going to acupuncture to help me relax, and I even saw a therapist. That was not an easy step to take. And boy, she was a real peach:

She: "So, I suppose it will make you jealous to learn that I gave birth to six children."

Me: "Uhhhh?"

She: "You shouldn't compare yourself to others, though - maybe God has something else in store for you. Not everyone has kids."

Me: "Uhhhhhhhhhh....!?"

Yeah, Dr. Bob Hartley she was not. But I truly enjoyed the "gave birth to" part. Heaven forbid I should think for a moment that she had adopted any of her six children... She went on to fill me in on what they do. I also know all about her mother, her own anxiety issues, her research, and her thoughts on computer games. Also, she was very helpful in letting me know that one person in her family (but not blood related) struggled with infertility... for a whole six or seven months. Whoo - that must have been tough. Six months, eh. Needless to say, I won't be back.

And then, I stopped and picked up french fries on the way home.

Really? French fries? I've never been that girl. Really! I've only been that girl in the last eight months. I mean, I've always had some weight issues, but reasonably controllable - not like this. I'm a happy, celebratory eater, normally. And I don't eat that - I love good, fresh, delicious, real food. And I've never been a stress eater, but I picked up french fries. I don't know why. I do know that I felt even worse about myself when I left the "therapist," than when I went in. And I do know that it was very, very hard for me to go there - but I did it - yet somehow I managed to find a therapist nuttier than I am. Do I do anything right? So, yeah - getting french fries suddenly seems to be what I do now. And it has to stop. I don't want to be that girl.

I have made an appointment with another therapist for next week, hopefully that will go better. Hard to imagine it being any worse.

Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say... are hopefully teaching me to say....

Did I mention that when I woke up this morning, since my period was a couple days late, I was going to stop and pick up a pregnancy test? At least I didn't have a chance to do that before five o'clock...

Yep, I was going to pick up a pregnancy test. Kinda funny, huh? Not so much in a ha ha sort of way, though. Instead, I picked up some french fries.

So I don't know what all of this adds up to. All I know is that it's a mystery to me how constant and unrelenting despair continues to live alongside constant and unreasonable hope. Part of me wants the hope to go far, far away - as far as the east is from the west. Yet what is life without hope, even though the hope -unrealized- is so incredibly painful? At some point, I will either be a mom, or it will be too late. That thought hovers over my head like one of those dark clouds in cartoons. And so I know I must constantly choose the higher Hope. It is not that I must give up this particular hope sooner than necessary, but my truest hope must be higher still than that. I must remember to cling to the Hope of Hopes, which gives me life, and which will not abandon me - even in these dark days.
(Please, Lord, teach me to say) It is well, it is well, with my soul.

Romans 5:1-5: Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand. And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us.