Where the Red Fern Grows is one of my favorite books of all time. I've read it over a dozen times, to hundreds of children over the years, and I still cry every time. Like any good book, I also take something new away from it with each reading.
Today, as I was reading to my fifth grade students, I was struck again by this book's power to reach something deep within me. For the past week, my class has been discussing the grit and determination our main character, Billy, has shown as he tries to find a way to get the two redbone hound pups he longs for. We see him in torment as he listens to dogs hunting outside his window at night, wishing they were his. We see everyone around him smile sadly and try to offer consolations, none of which come close to filling the emptiness within him. We see him save his nickels and dimes for two years, not once complain about how difficult it is to wait. Finally, we see him triumphantly place his money on the counter and be told his dogs would be there within a week. After all that waiting, all that patience, heartbreak, frustration, and stubborn hope, his dream is just within reach.
His response? "How can I possibly wait another week?"
As I read this line to my class today, I chuckled out loud. You see, I understand completely how Billy Colman feels. Marc and I have been trying to have a child since April 2015. That will be four years this spring. In that time, we have seen countless setbacks, been buoyed by so much hope, love, and support, and learned, a hundred times over, what it means to wait. Yet, suddenly, I find it nearly impossible to keep waiting.
You see, we are finally climbing the next step on the road to conception. Our donor (the third one we have matched with), had her egg retrieval today. That means, a mere two weeks from now, we will know how many embryos we have to work with. Only a few weeks after that, we will be able to do an IVF transfer. Then, it is only a little bit longer before we know, after all this time, if I am pregnant or not. After four long years, we are now only a few short months away from what we've often thought might never actually happen.
In truth, nothing has changed. We still don't actually have any embryos to transfer yet, just the hope of one. I haven't started the daily ultrasounds and lab appointments that will be required once we start an IVF cycle. A million things could still go wrong. We are still just...waiting.
And yet...everything has changed. Something is happening. Pieces are in motion, and that is beyond exciting. In the past four years, it has been a long time since something has actually happened. I know that the impatience I am feeling now will be nothing compared to the two weeks it will take to get our embryology results back, and even that will be nothing compared to the two weeks of wondering after our IVF transfer.
In the meantime, I will continue to learn how to wait. I will continue to practice mindfulness, to calm the constant flow of thoughts running through my head. I will watch snow fall outside, and appreciate the chill in the air. I learned in Thailand that Everything is Temporary, and that thought had brought me such peace in the past two years. Now, I am beginning to understand that even this journey through infertility is temporary. This phase will end someday.