Walking with Faith

Life lessons come at some of the weirdest times for me.
And they usually happen when I'm out of my comfort zone.

Mark and I recently traveled to Wisconsin Dells for a quick overnight with some family members. We had reached out to them shortly after our miscarriage, knowing they have made the trip many times before.

We figured this would be something fun to look forward to in the wake of our loss.

The weeks leading up to our fun little trip seem to nearly drowned us in anger and sadness.
I could not stop looking back at all that we had worked for and lost.
I was depressed and lashing out and screaming and generally making an absolute fool out of myself as an adult.
Mark had been noticeably drinking more, and was generally tuned out from my sadness and frustration.

Instead of looking inward to each other, we were looking away, and it all came to a head just days before we left.
We were forceful with each other and our belongings, and threw around very real futures involving divorce. We were losing touch with each other and it seemed like neither wanted to keep putting in the effort to fix it.

But morning came.

And my husband shuffled towards the house from the garage where he had been sleeping.
I let him in and we sank into the couch.
Eyes blurred, hair a mess, un-brushed teeth.

I talked for a very long time.
I laid out how it is, what needs to change, what isn't working, and how we need to start viewing our life with infertility.

And then he talked.
And he brought in some understanding and perspective that aligned with me and opened up some views I hadn't considered.

Everyone will deal with a tough situation, and will do so differently.
Mark and I have always thought we have been rather blessed in life.
Sometimes it was more difficult than others, but we always seem to triumph and keep moving forward.

But infertility is a whole other beast.
The uncertainty and tension and nerves can literally tear you apart if you let it consume you.
And we almost let it.

Tempers have flared worse than when we were in our 20's, when we were trying to figure out this whole living together thing.
I suppose that is what happens when you throw an Italian and a German in a confined space for too long. :)

So anyways, it happened. It wasn't pretty. But we are still together, moving forward.

And the very next day we left for the Dells.

It has been nearly two decades since I went to a waterpark, and I very clearly remember how scared I was to climb all those steps, look down at my demise, and meekly crawl back down all those stairs because I just couldn't go through with it.
It was too high and too fast and too dark and I couldn't possibly make it out alive.

So here we are again doing the exact same thing. But I'm an adult and I have to try and keep it together.
We would start by watching people actually make it out of these tubes. Alive.
And with smiles on their face, to boot!

I gulped and nervously laughed as we started climbing flight after flight of stairs.
The thing about indoor waterslides is...they are all completely enclosed.
No light anywhere.
So you are just supposed to say OK as you fall straight down, or volley side-to-side, at increasing speeds until you are finally spit out in the end.

But I did actually ride on nearly every slide that involved a raft.
I made it out in one piece and even ended up with one of those damn cheesy ear-to-ear grins on my face!

On the way home, we were listening to Tom Petty and not really talking.
Just sort of enjoying the never-ending rolling hills of Wisconsin.

And I couldn't help but think how similarly aligned heading into a scary water-slide is with the likes of IVF.

When you know you have to go through IVF, you immediately look at the end result.

You see these new families with their tiny babies and you cry tears of happiness because you just know some day that's going to be you.

You'll get to hashtag with #webeatinfertility and make a heart of needles around a onesie and build a nursery and birth this blessed child.

As daunting as IVF seems, obviously it DOES work because you see these people holding their baby, after being spit out of the end of the IVF tunnel.

That's hope, right?

So you start climbing.

Higher and higher you go, your knees start to wobble a bit, because honestly, you have no idea how many more steps there are.

You can't quite ever see the end of the line, and for all you know there could be a million more, but you're just going to keep climbing because well....look how many steps you already took?
You couldn't possibly back out now. You've come too far!

And there are just so. many. people in front of you.
They will all get their babies before you and it doesn't seem fair.

You're just as eager as they are...why can't you just cut a little and get there faster, right?
You want it the MOST.

But that's not how it works.
You wait your turn like everyone else.

So then you FINALLY make it to the entry of the tunnel.
The pitch-black, dark tunnel.
And you thought the climb was the hard part because you clearly need to do more cardio.
And you are basically freaking out because you sort of forgot to ask if there was a map with all the twists and turns.

Spoiler Alert: There isn't one.

But you look over and your spouse is right there next to you, smiling like a crazy person, because it's finally our turn and it's scary but it's going to be great, right?

RIGHT?

You don't know what's ahead.
You don't know how many drops or twists or turns are going to happen.
You just have to walk with faith and trust that you are both going to get through it and likely be happier for doing it, but you just have to take that first step.

And when it's all said and done, you are being spit out of the bottom of the tunnel, the IVF tunnel, with baby in hand, sort of frazzled and dizzy.....but with HUGE SMILES plastered on your faces.

Because you FUCKING DID IT.
And IT WAS AWESOME.

Thanks for reading. XO