I bled bright red this week.
Thick and heavy.
And after spotting since January 7 on birth control preparation, I was a bit shocked that my body could still have a medication-induced period. But, I did. And, miraculously, for maybe one of the first times in my life I had no cramping/bloating. I think I should thank pelvic floor physical therapy and Mayan abdominal massage for that. As I currently understand, some menstrual cramps are caused by tight muscles that can’t relax. And my “hypertonic” pelvic floor could have definitely counted prior to the therapy in the past month. But, anyway…
First week of Lupron injections are over, and I have this silly urge to take a pregnancy test. “Um, why?” you might ask. Well, because this process already feels forever long, and I emotionally feel like I’ve been waiting for this baby long enough to see a positive test. But, alas. I probably won’t be able to test until the last week of March/first week of April. The embryo transfer DOES actually have to occur first, and there are a lot more medications and ultrasounds in my future first…
March 24th at 1 pm.
That time is highlighted on my calendar like any other work appointment. But, no, that is when I have already been told my frozen five-day old embryo will be transferred. For the nurse on the phone, it was just a logistical reference point, but for me, my whole world as a mother hung on those words.
March 24th at 1 pm.
My body will carry a another baby. At least briefly. Prayerfully another nine months.
This is really happening. And the last several days I’ve been a mess. Call it hormones. Call it Lupron-induced. Call is stress from life situations (David’s still doesn’t have a job and prospects are nowhere to be found in the oil and gas industry right now.) But, I haven’t been able to recognize myself. I’m on edge. My legs itch from my overworked liver (processing medications). And, I’m questioning my sanity.
But, I’m also crying. In the past several weeks, I’ve worked as a doula and friend with a birthing client, a mama in the throes of a potential miscarriage, and a new mama struggling with postpartum depression. And, I can’t help but relive some of those same emotions.
My baby girl is about to turn two in April.
It took 3.5 years and several miscarriages to conceive her.
And months of postpartum anxiety and depression after her birth to release some of the deep pain from those years.
And, now I’m voluntarily walking that road again. Making myself vulnerable to all of those same emotions. But, there is something to be said to the tears this week – the good tears, the bad, the definitely very ugly tears – that have spilled out at unexplained moments.
I want this baby. This March 24th at 1 pm. This next little one that will grow my body, stretch my skin, and change my heart. I want this baby.
Whenever you find tears in your eyes, especially unexpected tears, it is well to pay the closest attention. They are not only telling you something about the secret of who you are, but more often than not God is speaking to you through them of the mystery of where you have come from and is summoning you to where, if you soul is to be saved, you should go next. ~Frederick Buechner, Whistling in the Dark, quoted by Al Andrews in “A Surprising Way to Discover the Secret of Who You Are”~
Ah, those words…that truth…these tears…
“The mystery of where you have come from…”
“Summoning you to where, if your soul is to be saved, you should go next…”
My soul must walk this road. These injections. These hormones. These unknowns. My unexpected tears tell me of deep desire yet untrusted. Hope quivering on the verge of birthing new life.
And we walk this road together. Hopeful. Terrified. Crazy. Medication-ravaged. Together.
Laughing we forget those who cannot laugh,
but weeping we make a communion.
Tears will soak us through to soil,
down into high, silent caves, where sadness
losing all its sharpness is as soft as air,
and we can bathe naked in the still waters,
sharing unashamedly with other naked folk,
the ravages that brought us there. ~John Bate~
Today, hold your heart gently and let the surprising tears create community and knowing and reveal mystery. Today, can be a good day. It may be a hard day. It may suck. But, it can also cleanse the soul.