The hardest thing for a guy I think is to learn not to try to fix things. It is inherent in our nature—a leaky faucet, a squeaky door, that knock in the engine that might signal a pending breakdown must be addressed and promptly repaired.
This natural instinct needs to be reigned in when it comes to infertility.
It took me probably about one thousand days of our nearly 2000 day journey to parenthood to figure this out: more than ½ the time Lisa just needed to rant. She was on high doses of hormones that her body was not used to absorbing, and tuned into every single twinge of potential pregnancy signs her body might be giving her.
The other half of the time those hypothetical “what if this doesn’t work” scenarios simply needed validation in the form of an extra hug, an extra I love you, and reassurance that we would do what we had to do to get our baby into our world.
Watching the connection Lisa has to Elliana makes me realize the strength of the spiritual connection a woman has to motherhood. I sometimes envy the depth of how intertwined their spirits are, but also understand why the absence of her soul baby caused Lisa such angst when we failed one cycle after another.
I can’t imagine how frustrating it must have been for Lisa when I would being mapping out a new game plan every time a cycle failed, vowing that this time we’d demand a positive outcome, a more well researched drug regimen, a definite path to our baby, when all she wanted to hear was ‘I’m really sorry it didn’t work, honey’.