And your lips with rejoicing. ~ Job 8:21
Infertility is not such a hoot. I blame it on Eve. Because she succumbed to the serpent’s lies, the Lord told her, “I will greatly multiply your sorrow and your conception” (Genesis 3:16a KJV). I believe that can mean infertility (thanks, Eve). However, God’s word also says, “Where sin abounded, grace abounded much more” (Romans 5:20). One of the ways God shows His grace to me is by allowing me to see the humor in some of life’s impossible situations.
My husband and I did nine IUIs (one unmedicated, two Clomid, two Femara, and four Menupur cocktails mixed on the ironing board). By the time we got to our last one I just knew deep in my soul that it would fail. I was barely going through the motions with this one – my “Hail, Mary.”
We had already felt called to try to adopt rather than to pursue more treatment cycles after this one and had an orientation meeting planned three days before the final anticipated “I’m sorry, it’s negative” phone call from Nurse Mona. But ladies, I was not going to slink away from our IUI days with nothing to show for it!
How was I going to say goodbye to the wonderful nurse practitioners, staff, and sweet Mr. Rogers-esque OB/GYN? They had come to feel like trusted friends over the course of that 10 months, all of them trying to get me pregnant! It felt like walking away from a great relationship only because we discovered we had different goals and dreams.
I was determined to make this a farewell experience I could smile upon rather than snivel away in defeat. Not being one to take anything too seriously I hatched a plan. My Hannah’s Prayer girlfriends had at my request started calling me “Queen IUI.” I wore my virtual crown with pride! Every girl needs a tiara, and fortunately I had one from my wedding 3 years previously.
I took a book bag to this last procedure, and buried deep within were my wedding tiara and digital camera. I was going to live up to my rep of being reigning Queen IUI and snap a self-portrait following the procedure. After lying there for my obligatory 10 minutes of hip elevation I set the scene, making sure the stirrups were visible in my picture. The lights were off in the treatment room as I nervously put on my tiara, set up my camera on the shelf, and got down on my knees to take the picture.
“OK, let’s snap this pic and get out of here,” I thought, my heart racing. The camera clicked, I let out a deep breath, and the door opened! I heard “Dr. Rogers” say, “Oh, excuse me,” as the door quickly shut and he backed out. I don’t know if he could tell what I was furtively doing in the dark treatment room.
When I left the doctor’s office that day, my tiara stuffed back in my bag, I wore a smile. I knew I would miss the OB/GYN staff, miss the excitement of “What if it worked this time?” and the little thrill of seeing a happy fat follicle or two ready to be released. But I wasn’t leaving empty-handed! I wouldn’t have a baby 38 weeks later, but I would forever have a silly reminder of my 10-month reign as Queen IUI. I look back on that final IUI now with laughter and joy. It resulted in my first son joining our family by domestic infant open adoption one year later.
Author Website: Blessed by Adoption & Birth