When April Fools Stops Being Funny

I remember laying on the table trying to fight back tears as my vulnerabilities were peeled, poked and prodded open.  The lead apron they placed on my chest was heavy and I couldn't hold Mike's hand because he wasn't allowed in the room.  While nurses, the x-ray technician and my specialist talked I had no idea what was going on in the room or my body.  My doctor pointed at the live x-ray image saying things like "isn't this interesting?" or "we'll need another test."  The more he talked the less I wanted to look at the screen.  Instead, I started counting ceiling tiles trying desperately not to show how much pain I was in or how terrified it was while I prayed to feel at peace with whatever happened.

By this point, it shouldn't be a secret that Mike and I struggled with infertility.  If you didn't - surprise! It took monthly blood tests, an HSG, a hysteroscopy, Clomid and a miracle to conceive Lucy Elise.  Along the way Mike and I fought, struggled to balance our spiritual equilibrium because we were incapable of fulfilling the desire to bring spirit children of our Heavenly Father into the world.  Family is such a central focus of our faith, and it was devasting to constantly be reminded of what seemed like something we might never get. I cried myself to sleep at least a few times a week.

There were pregnancy announcements and April Fools jokes where couples would announce that they were pregnant and then later in the day post an April Fools disclaimer: just kidding.  After one April Fools joke, I cried for 4 days and was incapable of going to school or doing anything.  Not Disney Princess pretty crying; angry crying where I questioned how someone could be so cruel just for the sake of a couple awkward Facebook laughs and a mirage of likes and comments.  I also had a few choice words for the guy upstairs if you know what I mean.

Also - you know how fun it is?  Yeah, not so much fun when you have to time everything or insist that it happens on a certain day.

Despite how open we were about our struggle with infertility, I held one of the diagnoses private. Partly out of a self-appointed responsibility to protect and partly because of shame.  As a teenager and young adult, I felt such strong shame and unworthiness, but I got really good at hiding it.

During all of the tests to figure out why we weren't able to conceive and how to fix it, we learnt a lot.  Firstly, I wasn't ovulating consistently.  Secondly, I had scar tissue in my uterus that made it difficult for fertilised eggs to implant.  My doctor was baffled by how I had scar tissue when I'd never had surgery...or been stabbed or shot or any matter of trauma to his knowledge.  Bodies are confusing even to trained professionals.

In a follow-up appointment, I got to attend solo I was caught off guard by a question my doctor asked

casually as he was typing up another requisition for yet another blood test to make sure the current dose of Clomid was doing something.  Meanwhile, Bach blared from his laptop (don't ask, he had a thing for playing classical music 24/7). It went something like this, "Have you, to your knowledge been a victim of sexual abuse or assault."  My response was to blink rapidly and swallow.  Yet, he waited for an actual answer.

"Yes."

Saying it out loud was strange - foreign to me.  I didn't go into specifics with my doctor - he didn't ask.  He just wanted to know where the scar tissue came from.  The physical evidence of my emotional story is what mattered to him and helped him get closer to solving my infertility puzzle.

The blunt truth?

A close family member molested me when I was a little girl.  I've long since forgiven him for what he did, even before I understood or knew the medical repercussions it would later inflict.  Because it happened when I was so little and my mom did everything in her power to make sure I got counselling and support, I was able to forget.

By the time I hit my mid teens I started to remember.  Along with my new found memories was a deep rooted shame that tarnished my self-perception.  Somehow, I was broken, unwhole and unclean.  The youth that I grew up with seemed to be brighter, more spiritual and more virtuous.  So, I threw myself into seminary, talks at church, leadership opportunities at church and was outspoken about my goal to go to the Temple to receive my Endowments.  I got really good at hiding how spiritually corroded I felt inside.

The physical puzzle piece my specialist cared about led to a diagosis.  In short, it caused damage that has greatly decreased the chances of us conceiving children without medical intervention.  Our sweet blessing, Lucy Elise, was our miracle.

Infertility touches approximately 1 in 8 couples, yet no story is the same.  I thought a long time about whether or not I should share mine.  For us, infertility isn't something we went through in order to welcome the biggest blessing in our lives, but something we live with every day.  Infertility can be lonely to those going through it and foreign to those on the outside.  Like most trials in life, you feel as though no one knows what you're going through or the pain it is causing.

I am so grateful to know how much my Heavenly Father loves me and that through the Atonement of Jesus Christ I am truly never alone.  It took me a long time to fully grasp just how far reaching it is.  It has allowed me to slowly peel away and clean the emotional corrosion of my abuse.

I don't know if we'll be able to have more children, but I am slowly (very slowly guys, I'm more stubborn than a mule and I'm a Type A planner who would prefer things to go my way) learning that Heavenly Father has a plan for me and my little family.  Regardless of what you're going through, peace can be found through the Atonement of Jesus Christ.  I know, because I have been blessed to feel it even in the saddest moments of my life.  The Plan of Happiness is simply that - a pathway in which we can find and experience everlasting joy.

We have such an amazing opportunity to be the hands of Christ in others' lives.  We can bear one another's burdens and lift those that feel as though they have wandered out of reach.  If you're struggling with infertility - it's not something to be ashamed about.  Reach out. If you're a victim of sexual assault or abuse, it wasn't your fault.  You are stronger than you realise and have the capacity to love and be loved; you deserve to be too.

I was once accused of having a special little snowflake mind for speaking out about my struggle with infertility, but I've come to take that as a compliment.  I mean...have you seen snowflakes?  Each of them has intricate, unique designs.  They have the capacity to change the environment where they fall; bringing a crisp, clean fresh slate for everyone to enjoy.

In a world of dirty slush, be the fiercest snowflake the world (aka the frozen tundra of Alberta which I call home) has ever seen and remember that you are a child of your Heavenly Father, lovingly and painstakingly made.