Just Haven’t Met You Yet.

This post is for NATIONAL INFERTILITY AWARENESS WEEK 4/24 – 4/30/2011. 

On a Thursday morning, May 27 of last year, I sat in my car crying.  Sobbing uncontrollably really, if we’re being honest. 

My sister was watching Finnegan for me and I had my egg follicle check ultrasound.  For those of you who are on, or have been on this heart wrenching journey called infertility, you know that pain of seeing empty ovaries on that black and white screen.  It was my third cycle, spread over five months, of seeing an empty screen.

My doctor and I both knew that didn’t look good, she called me into her office and told me as gently as possible that if I wanted to get pregnant, it would mean seeing someone else.  Stronger drugs than what she was comfortable with. A specialist.  We were lucky, if you can ever call infertility lucky, that Finnegan was conceived with Clomid and we didn’t have to go to the fertility clinic. 

What made it more painful?  It seems that with secondary infertility, you get the added bonus of “maybe you should just be happy that you have one,” thoughts.  Sometimes people don’t even say it, but you can tell it’s what they are thinking.  Why would you go through all of this?  Maybe it’s not meant to be.  Maybe you should just be ok with what you were given.  It certainly wouldn’t be something you would ever say to someone trying for the first time, but it seems that it’s just fine to say if you’ve already got one child at home.  I’m here to say that when your family isn’t complete, whether you have five kids or none… it isn’t complete, and the pain of seeing a negative pregnancy test is just as raw and hurtful as it was the first time. 

There would be five more months of fertility drugs coming, of giving myself shots in the stomach until it was bruised, and so much blood drawn that I would feel like a pin cushion.  The ultrasounds, the frustration, the missed opportunities, the waiting, the disappointment, those would all be there in full force too.  The loneliness, realizing when I did get pregnant that a burst ovarian cyst was making me bleed uncontrollably internally, an ambulance ride, three days in the hospital, two months of recovery and on and on.  You know how we got to tell my dad and in laws that we were pregnant this time?  My husband got to call them, scared shitless from the ER, when he wasn’t sure if I was going to bleed out or not, to tell them just in case.  There were no happy cards or ultrasound pictures left out for them to find this time.

It has been a tough road.  

I didn’t know any of the journey that was to come that morning of May 27 sitting in my car, nor the pure joy of knowing that our sweet girl was coming to us.  I just got in the car and sobbed great big hiccupping awful sobs.  When I finally composed myself to drive home & turned on the car, the radio started Just Haven’t Met You Yet. 

I'm not surprised, not everything lasts
I've broken my heart so many times, I stopped keeping track
Talk myself in, I talk myself out
I get all worked up, then I let myself down

I tried so very hard not to lose it
I came up with a million excuses
I thought, I thought of every possibility

And I know someday that it'll all turn out
You'll make me work, so we can work to work it out
And I promise you, kid, that I give so much more than I get
I just haven't met you yet

I might have to wait, I'll never give up
I guess it's half timing, and the other half's luck
Wherever you are, whenever it's right
You'll come out of nowhere and into my life

And I know that we can be so amazing
And, baby, your love is gonna change me
And now I can see every possibility

And somehow I know that it'll all turn out
You'll make me work, so we can work to work it out
And I promise you, kid, I give so much more than I get
I just haven't met you yet

They say all's fair
In love and war
But I won't need to fight it
We'll get it right and we'll be united

And I know that we can be so amazing
And being in your life is gonna change me
And now I can see every single possibility

And someday I know it'll all turn out
And I'll work to work it out
Promise you, kid, I'll give more than I get
Than I get, than I get, than I get

Oh, you know it'll all turn out
And you'll make me work so we can work to work it out
And I promise you kid to give so much more than I get
Yeah, I just haven't met you yet
I just haven't met you yet

Oh, promise you, kid
To give so much more than I get

I said love, love, love, love
Love, love, love, love
(I just haven't met you yet)
Love, love, love, love
Love, love
I just haven't met you yet

And I knew.  Right then.  No matter where the infertility journey took us this time, whether it meant me getting pregnant, adoption or surrogacy, that when it was right, it would happen.  It certainly didn’t take away the pain, but in all of those months, it seems like every moment that I needed a little nudge or a reminder, I would hear this song on the radio.  I heard it in the car on the way home from the hospital in November.  I heard it just after I found out she was a girl.  Every time it reduced me to tears and still does, even more so now than ever.

Tuesday June 7, just one year and a few days after crying in my car, my baby girl and I will be sitting at a Michael Buble concert listening to him belt it out live.  She’ll make her arrival a month after that.  I can not express to you how heart wrenching and painful this last year has been, but I am thankful.  So thankful.  For her.  For my husband.  For Finn.  Even for the journey as hard as some of it has been.  But mostly, for listening to what the universe was telling me and knowing a year ago that it would all turn out.

I hope if you’re on this shitty awful journey right now, that you know you are not alone.  It sucks.  It hurts.  And I want nothing more than for it to all turn out for you too, whether it’s your first or your second or your fifth.