It's said that grief comes in stages, but sometimes it feels more like waves. Huge powerful waves that suck you under with no hope of fighting. There you stand waiting...hoping...praying and then it hits you, wave 1, denial and isolation. You look at another negative test and think there is no way you could be going through this again. You crawl in bed and cry, sob, hyperventilate. Eventually you stand back up only to be overcome with wave 2, anger. The anger runs deep with IF. Anger with pregnant people, anger with the situation, anger at the needle that still has to go into your arm until the doctor gives the okay, anger that you have to do it all again. Anger that some people aren't "trying" and end up pregnant, anger at their little fruit pictures, anger that the Duggars can have 19 and I can't even have 1! Then you wake up feeling a little less bitter and it hits you, the bargaining wave. The begging, the pleading, the belief that you can make something happen. This is where I am today, completely overcome with the belief that I can beg my way out of infertility.
"If I was pregnant I wouldn't care if I gained weight. I would be 200 pounds and happy."
"If I was pregnant I wouldn't complain about wanting the baby out. I'd be pregnant for 10 months."
"I don't care if it's a boy or a girl, I'd be happy with anything."
"If I can have this I won't ask for anything else."
I have to assume this is where Hannah was as she was on the temple steps crying out to God, begging for a child. She did so with so much passion that she was thought to be drunk. I get it, I feel her heart in that moment. So unable to cope with the waves that keep crashing down on her that she has nothing left to do but plead for the child she wants but can't have.
Until the next wave...