On the nature of miracles

10 Aug

How many miracles can one person reasonably expect in their lifetime? Maybe we only get a certain allotment and once it’s done, that’s it. Maybe that’s the problem – maybe I burned through my miracle allowance without even realizing it.

Every month is awful when you have secondary infertility. Because as soon as your period is one minute late, a match of hope is struck in your darkest heart. You know the match will burn itself out, but you stare at it, willing it to keep burning with the force of your stubbornness alone. As 29 days turn into 30, and 30 into 31, the match turns into a candle. By Day 34, the candle is a torch and you’re thinking of baby names. Reason is screaming at you, throwing buckets on the flames. ‘You’re going to burn this place down!” it shouts. You ignore it, bolstered by the symptoms you’re now convinced are happening, conveniently forgetting that they’re the same as PMS symptoms.

The flame sustains itself on the oxygen of your belief in miracles. Don’t you, after all this pain and suffering, deserve one by now? Look at all these parents. Look at all these babies. They got their miracles, where’s yours?

And when the flame dies out, as it always does, you can’t get out of bed for a day. It’s just not fair.

Eventually, you drag yourself out of bed. You might even go for a run in a vain attempt to get rid of at least some of the excess fat from your three failed miracles.

And that’s where I was this morning, running around the pond and grumbling. Not fair, not fair, crap I’m fat, owwww charley horse, not fair.

The song ‘Everyday is a Winding Road’ comes on. I’m not sure what I was thinking, putting that in the playlist. That song has a very specific memory attached to it, and it’s not a good one.

The breeze increases as I increase my pace, as if I can run away from the memory. (Maybe that’s why I put it on there?) But that makes it worse. It’s May, 1997. My sister is driving the two of us home from high school. It must have been a Thursday, because we got out early. Sheryl Crow told us about the vending machine repairman and his daughter Easter as I dangled my hand out the passenger side window, catching the wind currents.

When we got home, we found out our oldest sister had given birth, but something went very, horribly wrong. The baby – a girl – was brain dead. My mother cautioned us not to get attached as we headed to the hospital.

I prayed like I’d never prayed before. I knew, I believed, that god could work miracles. Didn’t we deserve one? Couldn’t God work a miracle here and restore her brain function? I bargained – I would do anything and everything God asked – if he would grant us this.

Instead, my sister got worse. She turned yellow. They choppered her to another, better hospital. We almost lost her. It was touch and go for longer than I’d still care to admit. She pulled through, the baby did not.

Today, I sat on my porch, guzzling water and rubbing my aching calf, and thought about all this. About praying for one miracle and not realizing until years later that we got another one entirely.

It’s still not fair – I don’t think it should be a quid pro quo situation, I don’t think there should be a lifetime limit. But I do need to stop and remember – just because you didn’t get the specific miracle you asked for doesn’t mean you didn’t get any.

According to the doctors, I should have never been able to get pregnant at all. Ever. According to Daniel’s biological father, I should have never been able to find anyone else to love me, let alone marry me. And I was walking out of the pet shelter, no dog at all, when Benny caught the corner of my eye.

Maybe I’m being greedy for wanting just one more. But, until I figure out how to get it, I’ll remember to thank whatever powers that be for the ones I have.



One Response to “On the nature of miracles”


  1. The Hand Of GOD | Earthpages.org - August 13, 2013

    […] On the nature of miracles (evenmygpsislost.wordpress.com) […]

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: