By Pencil Cut, Ren Masanque-Madrid
For those days we felt like a mistake, those times when
love’s what you hate, somehow we keep marching on.
How do I ever begin my story, our
story, which dramatically changed our lives?
I got married almost 5 years ago
and next to it was the immediate dream to start a family, bear and raise
children, and live the role of multi tasking parents in today’s family
dynamics. But before we can even embrace that life’s order, we were transported
to a long, dark, painful, tough, and unfamiliar road of conceiving a child. It
was a rigorous route we had ever taken. Every bit of the ordeal seemed
inevitable. Until one day, God did us a favor and we have learned to release
the ideal.
For those nights when I couldn’t be
there, I’ve made it harder to know that you know, that somehow we’ll keep
moving on.
Because one year of trying led us
to series of negative results, we’ve allowed ourselves to be enlightened by the
experts. By doing so, we have managed to change doctors thrice (a short-lived family OB/Gyne, then a
recommended male infertility specialist, until finally a reproductive
endocrinologist and immunologist). All shifts required us to retell our
medical history, take orders, repeat and wait for test results, greet multiple
medicines lined up for a day, honor back to back to back doctor’s appointments,
numb my body with round the clock injectables, and embrace 4 unsuccessful intrauterine inseminations (IUIs). Needless to say, our
bout with infertility broke our savings, left us with personal loans, enormous expenses,
and foregone opportunities. Without us knowing, our travel diaries had been
delayed, our dream to have personal investments postponed, and the goal to help
my family deprioritized. We were both working but our regular paychecks only
went straight to the incredible treatment. Suddenly, the air we shared became thinner.
It was harder to breathe each and every day. Our situation limited us from
enjoying life. It was a life put on hold.
There’s so many wars we fought, there’s
so many things we’re not, but with what we have, I promise you that, we’re
marching on, we’re marching on, we’re marching on.
The battle to infertility made me
insecure. I felt like a total wreck. I questioned my being a woman and the kind
of chronic stress I subjected myself into while I was still single. I would
have probably increased my chances of getting pregnant, of being a mother
someday had I not taken my masters degree or accepted a job in a multinational
bank? I doubted the long hours in the office, the unhealthy food I ate over the
past years, and the sedentary life I enjoyed. Maybe it was all my fault. The
agony was real and the emotional stress found a space in my life. The struggle
continued and I kept protecting myself from the constant, sometimes rude,
sometimes unintentional, but mostly insensitive comments from my surroundings. I purposely declined birthday parties,
baptism, and reunions where I can see my friends with their babies. I alienated
myself from expecting women left and right. I unfollowed some on Facebook whose
pregnant lives and motherhood journey were always shared or published. I knew
they did not mean harm but my inability, incapability taught me not to
celebrate people’s life occasions and milestones. Put it this way, the regular
gatherings only resonated the empty nest, the family that my husband and I so
long for, and does not have.
For all of the plans we’ve made, there
isn’t a flag I’d wave, don’t care if we bend, I’d sink us to swim, we’re
marching on, we’re marchin on, we’re marchin on.
The decision to undergo fertility
treatment was a result of divine intervention. I dreamt of our family’s
favorite saint, Padre Pio, and saw his incorruptible body sleeping beside me.
From another angle, he touched my head, blessed and cautioned me that the
journey will not be easy. We took the risk and put our trust to the Divine
Master. My 3 friends (one was an elementary
classmate and now a US doctor, second was a colleague, and third was a college
friend) altogether suggested a common doctor and so we pursued the latter with
so much hope because we were dying to uncover the root cause of my infertility.
I was diagnosed with an immune problem, an auto immune deficiency which
hindered conceiving. I have antibodies that kill the embryo and end the
potential fertilization. My case was a complete stranger to the majority but
nothing new to all infertile women I mingled with inside the clinic. Further
introspection also revealed that I had endometriosis and a blood clotting
problem. This made pregnancy even more complicated.
For those doubts that swirl all around
us, for those lives that tear at the seams, we know we’re not what we’ve seen.
The way to address my immunologic
problem was to replace my white blood cells with my husband’s and other donors’
(unrelated) blood to prepare my maternal immune system with pregnancy. With
God’s grace, support of family and friends, and regular visits to Mother of
Perpetual Help in Baclaran prior to the blood therapy, we managed to find
donors, paid for the treatment, and recovered from the 16 subcutaneous
injection shots which my forearm endured every month for 5 months. To say that it was
painful was an understatement because it was excruciatingly painful to the
core. I felt I was being punished relentlessly for my sins. I saw my fragile skin
bubbled and turned like small buttons. I even remembered going to work with my
left or right forearm wrapped, bruised, swollen, and itchy. I couldn’t shower
normally and sleep comfortably for a couple of days. I wondered where the
strength lies but each time we had a session I held on to my husband and
breathe deeply consoling myself that this, too, shall soon pass. When we hear
mass and into deep prayer, I cried the hardest because I could not believe it
was happening to me. No matter how brave you thought you were in the past, the
strong one sometimes bent because of the overwhelming hurt and you just cannot
fight your tears. So instead of repressing my emotions, I coped by crying. It
was the only way to wash the pain.
For this dance we’ll move with each
other, there ain’t no other step than one foot, right in front of the other.
Things seemed not enough. We
needed to face another hurdle. This time my doctor wanted to do a surgery (laparoscopy)
to cure my endometriosis. I was stunned. There was pregnant silence. In my mind
it was a go but in my heart I wanted to say no. I felt I was already too way
battered with physical and emotional stress. How do I face another one? My
scheduled operation was on the 1st working day of 2015. To be
honest, I greeted the new year with fear and sadness. I worried about the
anesthesia, the first time blues of having a real medical procedure. And so I
recalled crying at the height of the New Year’s eve celebration. I hid for a
while so as not to spoil the merriment. While the fireworks were seen everywhere
and adored beautifully in the sky, there I was in my room sobbing uncontrollably.
I knew I still have a long way to go.
There’s so many wars we fought, there’s
so many things we’re not, but with what we have, I promise you that, we’re
marchin on, we’re marchin on, we’re marchin on.
I had a successful operation but
the aftermath was not plain and simple. There were baby steps from unable to
stand on my own to finally be sitting and walking at my own pace and
independently. I recovered at home as quickly as possible because of work. I
continued my vitamins, my Aspirin for blood clotting, and that one prescription
called Immuran which I was so hesitant to take but just had to trust my doctors
for taking it. They needed to continue suppressing my strong immune system for
the sake of having a baby. I followed. But my physical body refused to
cooperate any longer. Two months after I had my surgery, I found myself lying
in the emergency room with throbbing pain in my stomach and profuse vomiting. I
had to be rescued with the help of strong pain killers. Sadly, the effect of
the medicines to counter my immune system had taken a toll in my health. The
laboratory results showed that my stomach lining was inflamed. Looking through the window of my room, I once
again cried and at this point began asking the Lord. Why do I have to go
through all of these? Why does God allow this pain in my life? My faith started
to weaken.
For all of the plans we’ve made, there
isn’t a flag I’d wave, don’t care if we bend, I’d sink us to swim, we’re
marchin on, we’re marching on, we’re marchin on
During my alone time in the
hospital, a nun visited and prayed for me. I asked her if my prayers weren’t
enough. I was extremely exhausted. She advised me to just drift my cares into
the woods and coast thru life. God exactly knew what was going on. He is the
Master planner after all and He loves it when we are communicating with Him. He
hears us even if we feel He is distant, aloof, silent, indifferent. We experienced suffering
so we can be more compassionate to our poor brothers and sisters. I decided to
have a heart to heart talk with God. I asked him to guide me on the next step
to take. I was on the verge of discontinuing our fight with infertility. But my
husband told me that we’ve come so far already and letting go was not the
option. After all nothing worth having comes easy. So I went back to work after the interim rest,
back to juggling the demands of corporate life and the tedious journey of our
pregnancy work up.
Right, right, right, right left. Right,
right, right, right left. Right, right, right. We’re marching on.
We were blessed with jobs to
finance the treatment. Even if I was unhappy at work I chose to stay because I
needed to. I just can’t leave the sole responsibility to my husband. It looked
ironic though that our priority was to get pregnant but I just can’t ignore my
primary source of income and take that full stop. In fact, I felt the true
meaning of supreme sacrifice when I took career risks in between. I’ve let go
of a job offer because I felt the timing was not right. I wanted to escape the
tough love I perpetually received in the office but maybe jumping from one job to
another may just cause more trouble. The demands of the upper management
continued to be a stressor. I decided for a time-off and moved on.
We’ll have the days we break, and we’ll
have the scars to prove it, we’ll have the bonds that we save, but we’ll have
the heart not to lose it.
Finally, we have secured
clearance from our pre-pregnancy issues. Hence, we proceeded with the IVF
procedure (egg retrieval and egg transfer), the final phase of the treatment,
and kept everything a secret. We raised a big amount of money, sourced for
loans, allowed the pain of the needles once again, tried to relax, and finally
stormed the heavens with our prayers for one last time. The day of the egg
harvest came. I was wheeled to the operating room, settled in, both legs raised
and strapped, and then slept from the anesthesia. Upon waking up, a devastating
news reached us. One egg was degenerated while the other one did not survive
maturity. The embryologist was quick to generalize that, sadly, there were
women who were incapable of producing quality eggs despite the treatment. I was
in state of delusion and then again the countless tears.
For all of the things we’ve stopped, for
all of the things I’m not, we put one foot in front of the other, we move like
we ain’t got no other, we go where we go, we’re marchin on, marchin on.
My husband who was and still is
my rock has seen me thrived in this journey of infertility. He saw my
willingness to make everything work even at the expense of my body, my life, my
whole being. Because of the latest turn of event, one morning before heading to
work, as vividly as I remembered, my husband lovingly assured me that sans the
baby we are complete and he is content and happy with just the two of us. I
longed to hear this from him and understood what true love meant. Persevering
and unconditional. The last situation made him realized that this time we were
no longer in control and we have to honor that. If we keep on fighting reality
then we might totally lose ourselves in the end, and moreso lose sight of the
lessons in this whole experience, in this ordeal designed exclusively to us by
God. The truth is, being childless was never a loss. It does not and will never define us and our
married life.
There’s so many wars we fought, there’s
so many things we’re not, but with what we have, I promise you that, we’re
marchin on, we’re marchin on, we’re marchin on.
Our doctors advised us to
de-focus and rest for a while. I took the cue to finally stop and close this
chapter. I knew God was talking to us. We just needed to listen. At first, I wanted to escape and the idea of leaving the country looked like a quick fix. We applied for an Australian visa but something went wrong with our papers. Hence, we stayed and began the healing process. I took the
time to quiet my mind and to heal my body. I enrolled to a yoga class for
restoration and meditation. Each time I was back on my mat, I talked to my body
for self-acceptance. I used the different poses to turn my stress into
strength. One step at a time because it was not easy. I listened to Kundalini songs and put on repeat mode the song of Laura Story entitled Blessings to calm myself. I turned to music therapy for inspiration and to remind
myself that everything will be better in time. I summoned the strength to process the pain, the hurt for self-improvement. My husband and I took long drives to get a new perspective, to see the
beauty of life again, to appreciate more the present and to stop looking for
what was missing. Our trip to the city of surfing, La Union, was a
representation of God’s presence in the middle of the waves in our lives. Into
the deep of raging waters there is God. So do not be afraid. Keep going. I also
attended Zumba sessions with my sister to release my happy hormones. Then, i basked myself into fangirling. I became hooked with Jadine, my happy pill of
course. In other words, I stepped back briefly away from the corporate noise so that in
my alone time I will be able to listen perfectly to God’s message. Breaks in
life were good so we can reflect better. I needed to create a new space in my life
so I will be ready to receive again.
Right, right, right, right left. Right,
right, right, right left. Right, right, right. We’re marching on.
I once read in Romans 8:18 that our present
sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed to us.
The hard times, the bad times, were all given intentionally as they were part
of God’s best plan. We just had to go through the painful experience so that
one day we may fully surrender, trust in Him completely, and attain peace of
mind. God knew that we will never stop until told so, until we discovered what
was wrong. We placed our fate in our own hands and in controlling we forgot
that human ways were not God’s ways. The main reason why our IVF procedure
failed was because God has seen us toiled tirelessly and He wanted to free us,
to relieve us, to liberate us from the suffering already. He wanted to do the
work for us this time as he had seen us obeyed Him and carried the cross. God
wanted us to trust Him completely.
Today, our peace of mind comes
from God alone. The dream of having a baby will always be tucked in my heart, a
petition that will always stay closely in my heart. But this time we would no
longer battle with it or become so attached to it because God knows when to
give it, when the stars aligned and the universe conspired the gift will surely
come. So in whatever form that the tiny miracle may come, either way, one thing
is constant, we will always be ready to create a loving home for the blessing.
Our journey talked a lot about the goodness and love of God. It paved the way
for us to be closer with Him. Being uncomfortable made us grow spiritually. Somehow,
I was happy that it happened because the experience led us to where we are
right now – in a much better place. We hit rock bottom and that was when we
fully saw God, sought Him, and set daily conversations with Him. We fell so
many times but it was the only way to rise again, always with God. Keep in mind
that He is a sovereign God. He can turn things possible.
For now, my husband and I continue
to march on. We start fresh. Life, as they say, is better after the heartache.
p.s. I wrote this piece to inspire, help, and heal people. I hope it
reaches you.
