Phil K. 2Nd Place (Chose $750 Towards Office Services)

Phil K. – 2nd Place (Chose $750 towards office services)

I still remember the moment I realized I wanted to marry her. We had only been dating for about a month, and we were in the midst of a big step: I had brought her home from college to meet my family. She was sitting across the room from me talking to my mom and sister on the other couch. She didn’t know it at the time, but I was just sitting there watching her. Watching and realizing. Realizing and dreaming.
As I watched her smile radiantly and laugh contagiously, I knew then in the deepest part of my soul that God had led me to the person I was going to spend the rest of my life with. And the second I knew that, I let my mind wander to a beautiful place, a place where I saw visions of our future. I saw her sitting across tables from me, smiling and laughing over a plate of our favorite appetizers. I felt her curled up next to me under a blanket, crying on my shoulder during some movie that I had let her pick out. I could see us walking hand in hand along the beach, and then stopping in a tight embrace, frozen in time as the setting sun painted the sky red. I saw myself down on one knee, her hands in mine, tears falling from her eyes as she speechlessly shook her head up and down and let me slide a ring on her finger. I saw her in a white dress, walking down a long aisle toward me, glowing brighter than any star I would ever see. And the visions went further; I could see her sitting on my lap as we told each other we were ready start a family. I could hear the piercing sound of our first child crying in a hospital room. And I could picture us sitting around a campfire with a family full of children; the flickering flames outshined by the laughter of the kids that I knew would be so precious to us. As if in the blink of eye, this vision was gone, but my convictions were not. My purpose for living now became to make all of this our reality. We were going to share a beautiful life together, and I was going to make sure she had all the joy in the world.
It all began so well. Seven months later, as nervousness and excitement led me to mistakenly be down on two knees instead of one, she was telling me yes. A year after that, there she was, glowing at me in white from the doors into the church, more beautiful and amazing than any other of God’s creatures. The wedding was magical; the honeymoon was perfect. She completed me. She was so beautiful, so happy, so full of life. There was a sparkle in her eyes, and a song in her voice. Her presence lit up every room, her voice enhanced every conversation. We began our married life with all of the happiness and optimism in the world.
They say the first year of marriage is the hardest. This turned out to be true for us, although not for the same reasons as it might be for others. No, it wasn’t petty spats over personality differences or disputes over how to merge two lives into one that made that first year so difficult for us. By the time we reached our first anniversary, we had lost her father to an unexpected heart attack, had nearly lost a friend to attempted suicide, and feared we were on the verge of losing my father to cancer. Life had beaten and bruised us, and it had taken a toll on her. The sparkle in her eye had been dimmed a few shades. The melody of her voice had been marred. But we clung to each other tightly, and I was determined more than ever to bring happiness and innocence back into her life.
Over time, she seemed to heal. Her father’s memory became something that we could celebrate, and we she began to tell me that she was ready to start a family. The way her face lit up when I told her that I felt the same way was incredible. She looks so exquisitely beautiful when she smiles like that, and for the first time in a long time, it seemed that there was something she could be optimistic about again.
And so we began trying. Our excitement and anticipation could not have been higher. When it didn’t work the first month, we thought we had little worry about. We knew it would work next time. And that was what we kept telling ourselves as month after month went by. And then I could see that fear and frustration creeping back over her. The same dark cloud that had plagued her during the trials of our first year had returned. I would fix this. I knew I could. There had to be something I could do. I would help her smile again. I would make her laugh again. That was what I did. I could do this.
But I couldn’t.
We tried it all. I tried all the supplements. I bought the basal thermometer, helped her chart her cycle. I took her to ultrasounds as her OB searched earnestly for any sign of follicle growth. But there was none. They told us she was a victim of anovulation. There was absolutely nothing I could do to fix this. I was powerless. I had failed her. She was defeated, crushed. I couldn’t make it better.
And that was how we found our way to the Fertility Center. We arrived there anxious, desperate, and a bit skeptical. So many things seemed to have gone wrong in our short life together. Why would this go any better? But the doctors seemed optimistic. They thought they could help. And they were right. A couple months later, we learned our first child was on the way. Our jubilance could not be contained. There will never be a more beautiful pregnant woman than she was. Her zest for life was back. Things were finally going to be okay. A precious new life was going to outshine the dark clouds that had hung over our life for so long. Finally, something was going to go her way.
Our son was born seven weeks early. We nearly lost him before we ever met him. But a very unanticipated emergency cesarean section had saved his life, and after a three week stay in the NICU, we bought our precious firstborn home with us. As the lurching shock of his hospitalization faded away, we slowly got the hang of parenthood, and life was perfect again. She was born to a mother. She was so good at it. Every moment I watched her interact with him, I fell even more in love with her. It was more wonderful than I ever could have imagined when I had those visions of our future so long ago on the couch in my parents’ house.
You can imagine our excitement when we decided it was time to grow our family even further. Our son was now two years old, and we were ready to give him a sibling companion. We returned to the Fertility Center, and began the same process as before. In stark contrast to our original visit, we were full of optimism and excitement. The treatment had worked last time, and it had worked fast, with success in her first cycle. There was no reason in the world to think we had anything to fear. I was not surprised in the least about the results just weeks later when she told me the doctor had called about her blood test. Our family was going to grow again! And when early test results and ultrasounds gave the appearance that twins were on the way, we couldn’t have been more delighted.
That’s when the dark cloud came back. It began one night when she awoke with intense abdominal pain. A trip to the emergency room led to an extended stay in the hospital and the news that we were losing the babies to an ectopic pregnancy. Soon after, it was explained to us that attempting the same path towards pregnancy posed a great risk to her health, should there be another ectopic pregnancy. Her physical and emotional anguish was unbearable for me to watch. Once again, I couldn’t fix this. I couldn’t give her hope back. I couldn’t rekindle the fire in her soul. I watched the sparkle completely leave her eyes as we waited for the frequent blood tests to tell us the horrible ordeal was over.
That was last October. The months since then have been some of the longest in our lives. Despite what the blood tests told us, the ordeal wasn’t really over. Everywhere we went, all her eyes could seem to find were the other women who were pregnant. Friend after friend, coworker after coworker shared the news that they were expecting. All she wanted was to heal, to put the whole ordeal behind her. But the constant reminders of her struggle made this exceedingly difficult.
After consulting with the doctors, and spending nights in prayer, we decided we would attempt in vitro fertilization. But she wasn’t ready yet. She needed time to heal. So we decided to wait until the spring. Every day since that decision to wait has felt like it has lasted an eternity. We have been sitting on the edge of a great uncertainty. It’s not supposed to be like this. My wife isn’t supposed to feel such sadness and disappointment. I’m supposed to be the one who can fix everything for her and make her feel happy. I’m supposed to be her rock. Her healer. I’m supposed to make everything perfect for her. But I can’t. Not alone.
Next month, we finally begin our first round of IVF. Already we have begun to have our preliminary appointments and procedures. Just like they did the first time we came in for an appointment, the doctors are optimistic and reassuring. They put me at ease. It’s so hard feeling like I can’t make this better for my wife, but it eases my mind to know that I am supporting her and taking her to the people who CAN make it better. IVF is by no means a guarantee for success, but I can’t help feeling like we are one step closer to something better happening again in our lives. Her optimism is cautious, and I know she is afraid to hope again. Afraid of the pain. But I think that this process is finally the true beginning of her healing. It has been a long time since I’ve been able to do anything that I thought could make her feel better, but I saw this journal contest on the website. She has been through so many defeats. This is my chance to turn her story into a victory. It would be one small victory, but that’s a start. And if this story can help other men and women to see they don’t suffer alone, and that there can be hope out there, then that in and of itself can be a victory too. And above all, I continue to pray every day that we are on the verge of another, much greater victory as we begin this process next month.