Sick of Being Sick

I go through bouts every once in awhile of seriously feeling sorry for myself. 

I am currently in one of those.

My health issues have flared up involving my reproductive system, again. 

I won't get into the nitty gritty details for those male readers out there, but I will share that I once again have to have surgery.

The amount of estrogen the Dr. put me on alarmed the pharmacist so much that he didn't want to prescribe it to me. 

I am taking 8 pills a day and my body feels like it was run over by a truck. My emotions are on a ridiculous roller coaster ride, one minute making me all sappy and sentimental and the next all angry and ticked off at the world.

But mostly I feel sad.

Sad that my body is always all kinds of screwed up.

Sad that once again I had to go through another sonogram where my empty womb was displayed on a big screen this time. 

The sonographer said, "have you had any children?"

I said, "yes. I have five. But no pregnancies."

"That is what I meant," she replied with an arrogant tone.

Well then you should have said so... 

Go ahead and mark me once again with the scarlet letter:

I

~Infertile~ 

The definition of  "infertile" and "barren" are:

"not producing or incapable of producing offspring; sterile: a barren woman.

2. unproductive; unfruitful"

Really? Am I unproductive and unfruitful?

Most women cry during a sonogram because they get to see this:

I cry because all I have ever seen is this:

Only this time there were little polyps to be measured and soon removed. 

Thrillsville.

It is getting old, people.

I am at the point where I am like: "take it all!"

What good has any of my eggs or ovaries done for me anyway?

Nothing but loss.

I am grateful for good friends and an attentive mother-in-law who listen to me rant and wail. But I am also grateful to a God who makes each day a new one. A new day of LIFE to be lived, regardless of how I feel.

Isaac was crying the other night to sleep and I went in to check on him. He said, "Mom. I'm sorry you are sick."

I said, "I'm sorry I'm sick too buddy. But you know what?  If Mommy's womb was healthy and could produce babies, I would not have you as my son. So even though I hate being sick, I can thank God for giving me this broken part of my body...so I can have the very children I was always meant to have."

He smiled and nodded. I kissed him and I went to bed that night with a lighter heart.

My five children make it all worth it. 

Sometimes I am still mad at my suffering.
But I know that Christ suffered far more.

Sometimes I am still sad at my brokenness.
But I know that this broken road led my family home.

And I often lament the pain and loss my friends have been on in their journey to parenthood. It just seems unfair.

But I know that this is not the end for any of us.
This is not where we belong. 
One day we will all be Home, far from pain and tears and cramps and bleeding and barrenness and miscarriages and still born babies and doctors and medicine and surgeries and loss and grief.

We will be Home where peace like a river will cover all of our earthly wounds.

Truly healed.