Last week, when two years of my life’s work were flushed down the proverbial toilet, to say I felt negative was a bit of an understatement. OK, it was about as big of an understatement as is humanly possible. I felt devastated.
We have put our lives, our plans for a family, my health to even be able to conceive, and any steps forward toward adoption, on hold–all for that darn “Doctor” title. And four months before I was done, the bottom fell out and I found myself in reverse, driving 600 miles an hour, in the completely wrong direction. Back to the starting line; the door was slammed shut in my stunned face.
I wanted to give up. I wanted to strangle a few select people. I wanted to scream, and cry, and rage against the injustice. I wanted to see this as the worst thing, aside from being labeled “infertile,” that had ever happened to me.
And then today, I went to see my OBGYN. Possibly the best doctor I have ever known in my life. I told her what I had just been through. She giggled, apologized for giggling, and then said with delight: How exciting, you’ve been set free. Now go get that baby!
You see life has a way of turning us in the direction that we need to be going. Never so succinctly, with such precision, and with the exacting cut of the best surgeon’s knife, had something been so immediately removed from my life–so definitively stopped.
And you know what?
I thank every wispy angel floating above me for working their magic to stop me in my dissertation tracks.
Because my baby is calling me to them; my baby is ready for me to look left when I’ve been fixated on the horizon to the right for so, so long.
Would it have been nice if the work of many years of my life did not have to be sacrificed for motherhood? Yes, I suppose so. Yet, I would give up all of that and more just to hold her in my arms.
And so, I’m going to go get that baby!