I had an appointment with my fertility specialist. She reminded me of some previous tests.
Cystic fibrosis and a rare disease, I can’t recall the name currently.
Thankfully Frank and I don’t share the same recessive traits, at least for the sequences tested. These are the countless screenings you endure while being poked and prodded, filling syringes to find out why a womb remains empty. Even if you never wanted to know, it’s part of the procedure. You will learn about the dormant genes that threaten to take the life you are trying so hard to create.
Then again, we have a God who performs miracles. Science can say what it wants, the supernatural still defies it. Medicine said the chances were slim for conception, that our best bet for offspring would be an IVF.
The risk of IVF is that if it doesn’t keep then you are out 10-20k, possibly more. Most have an oops night and nine months later their trying to contain the shock. Those with the faulty plumbing invest in their kids even before there is a child to go to college. The barren ones help pay the bills for the reckless, those of the broken barrier trial, and the planned zygote while they grieve, bearing the heavy weight of a formless babe.
We had the answered prayer…and then it was lost. We got the wind knocked out of us.
Now we sit here trying to pick up the pieces of shattered hearts. We clutch our chests as our lungs fill with over-bearing grief. Another prayer is uttered, a plea not to choke. There is begging in our whispers, a cry that we’d continue to function.
He’s transplanting fear with trust, weaning fleshly desire to the nourishment of a gospel filled nation. He’s the physician giving us oxygen. May we use this breath to spread his gospel rather than heaving sighs, breaking body and bank.