When I envisioned the life that I wanted for myself, I pictured myself sitting in a rocking chair in the nursery me and my husband had spent months designing. I pictured looking down at a baby that resembled the both of us, and thanking God that he chose me to be their mother.
My reality was that I was staring down at another negative pregnancy test and realizing the possibility that I had failed another cycle of IVF, alone.
There was no husband here to comfort me, or a nursery that I could sit and sob in.
Each time that one line appeared, a small piece of me always died inside. It was like the plastic test was determining my future. My fate. Letting me know I wasn’t worthy of giving life. Becoming the one thing I had always wanted to become: a mother.
After taking this failed pregnancy test, I had to tie my scrubs, plaster a smile on my face and go out there and care for my patients. So, when someone smiled and asked me the dreaded question … How are you? I always smiled, though dying on the inside, and responded with, Never better … thanks.
