The sun sank below the dusty window ledge. I didn’t bother getting up off the couch to turn on the lights. All I wanted was to stay curled up in my husband’s arms, our toy poodle nestled against my neck. For hours, our little family sat there, grieving in the dark.
Going through a failed round of IVF (In Vitro Fertilization) crushed me. After months of trying other fertility treatments, my husband and I reluctantly decided to do IVF as a last-ditch effort at pregnancy.
Knowing the procedure had a 50/50 chance of success, I wasn’t planning to rush out and buy a ton of baby clothes. I had prepared for the test to come back negative. I had not prepared to get a call from the doctor saying, “We didn’t get any embryos.”
No embryos. No baby. No hope.
This is where I hit rock bottom.
Though I had been a Christian for a long time, infertility led me to doubt God. He had the power to give me a baby but chose not to.
Exasperated, I asked him, “Why are you doing this, Lord? Have you forgotten me? Do you even care?”
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