What IF this broken heart never heals?

As a part of National Infertility Awareness Week, the IF blogworld has paired up with Resolve for a What IF project, IF being the clever abbreviation for infertility and all the "ifs" that surround the life of an infertile. The first part of the project asked that we come up with our biggest "what IF" regarding infertility, and the second part is to write a post about our particular "what IF" or one of the common themes found in some of the many responses to the call. Now that we've got the particulars out of the way...

What IF this broken heart never heals? What then?

I write this post on the day after our third cycle of positive pregnancy tests. Right now, at this very moment, the moment I've learned to live in, I'm pregnant. With child(ren?). Fertile? No, that's pushing it. But pregnant? I am!

I write these words amidst an internal and external battle. At the moment, I feel relief. I'm able to take a few deeper breaths of this beautiful spring air as it blows in the window and pass it on to whomever currently resides in my womb. I'm happy in this moment, as the positive HPT is the first hurdle we needed to overcome, and we've done it. But the moments of sheer joy are tinged with the fear of those tears that crash onto your cheeks, burning your skin and tearing your gut to bits. The kind of tears that make your body writhe with agony and unreleased anguish, the tears that mean your few days of pregnancy are over yet again. Those small bits of salty water could be right around Monday's corner, but I won't know it until we get there.

I'm not the woman who is overjoyed at a second line on a pregnancy test. I'm the woman who is forever changed by the short days of pregnancy she's experienced that don't even amount to a week. Some uneducated people might even debate whether I've ever been pregnant at all, yet my heart has broken countless times for the babies we conceived and lost and those that we didn't manage to conceive at all.

I talk frequently about how I have changed as a result of our infertility and our losses. I am not the same woman I was two years ago, for better and for worse. There's a deep sadness I've felt that I'm not sure will ever heal. I'd like to think our living, breathing, soft-skinned baby in my arms will heal my heart, but I can never be sure that's the truth. It also seems like so much pressure to put on the gentle complexion of what will hopefully one day be our beloved baby.

I wonder about the healing that might happen if I stay pregnant this time around. Will I be able to believe in our baby, in myself, and in my body to deliver this child to our waiting arms? Will the sadness simply be replaced with worry that the rug will slip out from under us, carrying our baby with it? If I leave the infertile side of this journey and step across the threshold to pregnancy, will my heart be big enough to give this baby or babies, who will have made it farther than any others, enough love? Can I leave the sadness, the tears, and the fears behind and just believe? Our baby(ies) deserve our faith, but can we learn to give it? Tattered and torn hearts are not known for their ability to trust.

Will I always walk the shoes of an infertile? Part of me wants to leave this sadness behind for happier moments, but another part of me will never let this sadness go. We've worked so hard for these babies, and I know we'll be giving them everything our worn hearts have in them. We love them already. Is it as much as we loved the first baby we lost, before we knew that a positive test didn't mean the journey was over? Does it matter?

I believe there will forever be a scar on my heart, maybe one like the railroad tracks on my arm or the tiny laparoscopic seams across my belly. My heart will heal, is healing, each and every day. We may stumble, and frankly, we may fall out of this pregnant tree, but we'll get up. We've gotten up plenty of times before, each one a further fall than the last. Whether we make it through this week of betas or we lose our way and our hearts, we will stand back up. It might take longer than it has before, but we'll do it.

But what IF we don't have to plan for the time when we pick up the pieces? What IF I actually get to meet that brown-haired little girl that I see who is sticky with sunscreen and gritty with sand, sitting on the beach towel next to me? What IF that dresser we got last weekend isn't for the "2nd bedroom" and is really for the nursery? What IF we really get to drive to Michigan and have a baby shower filled with family and love for the babies we're going to have? What IF we get to hear a heartbeat in a few short weeks, and I get to cry the tears of joy I've dreamed about for so long? What IF I get to rub my belly each night as it slowly grows to expand for our dreams come true? And what IF everything we've waited for comes in a set of two rather than the standard one? What IF we get to love with everything we have waiting to give?

What IF?

Infertility is a medical condition not "easily" cured by relaxation, romantic nights, lingerie, or adoption. If you would like to learn more about infertility, please go here. And if you know someone or a couple who is experiencing infertility, please read this and this to learn how you can support and help them through their journey.