Fulfillment in Infertility
by Constance B. Fink © 2003
Today is Mother’s Day. But I am not celebrating as most women.
My ears will never hear a child call me, “Mommy.” My arms will never feel the
contented wiggle of a nursing baby. My dream as “Mother of the Bride” will never
be realized.
A lifelong desire was to be a friend to my children, to give them special memories like
my mom gave me. Memories like shopping with my little girl. Crafting a science
project with my boy. Teaching my daughter how to sew. Cuddling in bed on
Saturday mornings to watch cartoons. Preparing my son for his bride by teaching
him how to respect a woman. Preparing my daughter for her family by modeling how
to make a house a home. Most importantly, guiding my children to a personal
relationship with God. But these dreams are unfulfilled.
Though I have not felt the pain of childbirth, I have felt the pain of childlessness. Both
equally intense, yet different. One lasts for hours, the other may last for years. One
results in a happy ending, the other may not. The pain of childbirth is felt in the body;
childlessness is felt in the heart. By nature, I am a nurturer. The loss I feel from not
having children runs deep.
Twenty years ago I was diagnosed with endometriosis, a painful chronic condition
often affecting fertility. Women can have babies after treatment with surgery, pain
medication, hormonal therapy, and nutrition. I clung to the options with hope.
The first step was to chart the time of ovulation through a non-invasive test. I simply
had to record my temperature the same time every day over a period of months. The
goal—to find the few hours every four weeks when fertility could occur.
My husband, Dave, and I waited each month with anticipation. I browsed the baby
stores and ooh’ed over the little shoes. I smiled when I saw mothers pushing babies
in strollers, my arms literally aching for my own. I mentally decorated the baby’s
nursery, down to the detail of the placement of the stuffed animals. We even chose
names.
But then, one spot of blood unleashed a torrent of tears. Reality flooded in with my
menstrual cycle. Just a few hours earlier, my arms longed for the fulfillment of my
dreams; then in a matter of minutes my heart felt like it ripped in two. I grieved as
though I had lost a child to death. In a sense, I had. My child had been within reach;
now he was snatched away. Though I had not made it to the point of taking a
pregnancy test, my baby was real. He had a name. He had a place in our hearts.
Physical pain, associated with endometriosis—burning, stabbing, gripping pain so
intense I was unable to open my eyes. Medication brought no relief; it only left me in
a daze. There was nothing I could do to stop or control it, causing me to fear my
own body.
As I writhed and screamed similar to labor, I cried: A normal woman would have a
baby to show for all this suffering. The anticipation would help her persevere. I have
nothing to show but sweat-drenched sheets! When my body could endure no more,
the pain subsided. But it was not over yet. Dry heaves and involuntary physical
shakes began, leaving me totally exhausted.
This continued month after month. The emotional roller coaster wearied me. Relax,
our fertile friends said. Give it time, the doctor said, although I had just turned thirty
and thought time was working against us.
We continued the routine of temperature charts. And tried to relax. Additional tests
ruled out other possible conditions. There was nothing keeping us from having a
baby, except endometriosis. We scheduled laparotomy surgery, a procedure to
open the abdominal cavity in order to remove the growths and lesions from the
condition.
The doctor told us he “got it all” and that the most optimal time for pregnancy was
within the first year after surgery. With renewed hope, we focused on getting
pregnant. But close to the end of the year and enough temperature charts to
wallpaper a room, it seemed I was not one step closer to having a baby. The pain
had returned as strong as ever. The endometriosis had grown back.
The next levels of tests and treatments were discussed. With the sky the limit in
infertility treatment, each couple decides their emotional, physical, and financial limits.
How far were we willing to go? The decision was easy.
We chose not to pursue infertility tests with treatments which required readjustment
to my hormonal levels. I was at risk for breast cancer. My mom died from it the
previous year.
Losing my mother at the time I was desperately trying to become a mother affected
my ability to cope not only with her death but also with my barrenness. My mother
modeled the type of nurturing mother I wanted to be, but I had no avenue of
expression. She passed her baton to me, but I had no place to run with it.
To further complicate matters, my brother and his wife decided to start their family
and within weeks they were pregnant; now eighteen years later they have nine
children. The phone call to announce their first pregnancy is the one embedded in my
memory. It came while reading a book on infertility.
Trying to respond as an adult to my sister-in-law, grieving the loss of my mother, and
balancing hope and reality regarding my own barrenness made those years a
challenge. It was difficult to keep the issues separate. Most of the time I felt stuck in
what seemed like a net over me. But God cut the entrapment and freed me.
GOD ENCOURAGED ME
First, God provided a friend, someone who had walked a similar path but made it to
the end. My pastor’s wife not only lost her mother to death, but also went through
an extended time of infertility. She knew! She cheered me on when I had strength,
held me when I felt depleted, and helped me refocus when I could not see the next
step. She passed her baton to me, nurturing me with encouragement.
GOD USED ME
Eight years later, in a phone conversation with my sister-in-law, I spoke of a night
when Dave and I had nothing to do. We decided to go out for dinner. . .three hours
away! Within minutes we were on our way. When I finished my story, my sister-in-
law was quiet. “Are you there?” I asked.
Slowly and quietly she responded, “I’m struggling with jealousy.”
“You, jealous of me? What do you have to be jealous of? You have everything I
want!”
She longed for spontaneity. She and my brother used to have it, but not since the
children came. A few hours of freedom required days of planning to arrange for
babysitters, schedules and supplies. It was as if a light clicked on and I saw things
about my situation I had not seen before—I had something others wanted.
For the first time in years I saw what I had. Our friends had children, but we had
freedom. Not only were we free to enjoy our marriage, but we were available to
serve others. Rather than seeing childlessness as a loss, I began to see it as a gift.
God gave it to us not to impair us but to use us.
Late one night we received a phone call asking for prayer for an elderly couple in
church who, after a serious car accident, had been transported to a hospital a couple
of hours away. We knew what we had to do. By the time we hung up the phone we
were out of bed and half dressed. Within minutes we were on our way. No one in
our church of elderly widows and young parents could have gone. That night I
passed my baton, nurturing one in need…not my child but an elderly couple.
GOD HEARD ME
For years I avoided anything to do with Mother’s Day, especially card shops and
mother daughter banquets. I had nothing to celebrate. The thought of watching
mothers and daughters together made me shiver in emotional pain. But after a friend
shared a couple of ideas for the annual mother daughter banquet, I thought I would
try to attend. (Then she put me on the program to be sure I would not back out.)
But grief came over me like a tornado a few hours before the dinner. I was not
expecting it, especially not that day. I have to get a grip before evening. I asked the
Lord for a verse, something to lean on through the event.
As I read Isaiah 61:4, God reminded me that He “bestowed a crown of beauty
instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, a garment of praise instead
of a spirit of despair.” Even though I mourned the loss of my dream and my mother,
I was glad for her example and the memories. I did not have ashes to show for it—I
was not in despair with regrets. As I thought about the banquet that evening, I knew
there would be some mothers and daughters in difficult relationships. Stepping away
from my own grief for a few hours, I gained the desire and strength to encourage
others.
Then God did something creative. Unknown to me, a few days earlier, a co-worker
had entered my name in a drawing for a bouquet of flowers. I won! On the very day
of the banquet! As I carried the huge bouquet back to my office, it was as though I
was holding a “crown of beauty” from God, a visible reminder that He heard me, was
with me, and had created me with individualized purpose.
I would have liked to be with my mother that evening, but instead I took her
memory. I would have liked to share the evening with a daughter, but instead I took
comfort in being God’s daughter. That night was the first of many opportunities to
pass my baton with joy and strength, nurturing…not my child but other mothers and
their daughters.
A few years later on Mother’s Day, trays of colorful annuals decorated the front of
our small church. The pastor asked the children to come to the front and all the
“mothers” to stand. The children gave a plant to each one standing. I was the only
woman sitting; I wanted to hide. Then I heard a child’s voice nearby and I looked
up. Before me was a smiling seven-year old girl holding a beautiful pink plant. “This
is for you, Mrs. Fink. You are a mom!”
Fulfillment and contentment is not measured by childbirth, but by responding to
opportunities to give to others, no matter their age or residence. This is what gives a
woman a mother’s heart.
Today is Mother’s Day… and I am celebrating!
__________________________________
Endometriosis is a painful, chronic condition that affects five and a half million
women and girls in the United States and Canada, and millions more worldwide. The
condition occurs when tissue similar to the lining of the uterus is found outside the
uterus, usually in the abdomen on the ovaries, fallopian tubes, and other abdominal
areas, including the bladder and bowel.
The misplaced tissue develops into growths or lesions which respond to the menstrual
cycle in the same way that the tissue of the uterine lining does—each month the tissue
builds up, breaks down, and sheds. Menstrual blood flows from the uterus and out
of the body through the vagina, but the blood and tissue shed from endometrial
growths has no way of leaving the body. This results in internal bleeding, breakdown
of the blood and tissue from the lesions, inflammation, scar tissue formation, and
adhesions.
The symptoms include: pain before and during periods, pain with intercourse, fatigue,
frequent urination during periods, painful bowel movements during periods, other
gastrointestinal upsets, and frequent yeast infections. Infertility affects approximately
40% of women with endometriosis.
For more information, contact the Endometriosis Association
__________________________________
Practical suggestions to help ease your pain of childlessness:
Pamper yourself on Mother’s Day. Don’t make it just a Sunday in May. Plan
something that is special to you.
Write a letter to the child you dream of.
Ask your gynecologist to schedule your appointments when the waiting room is not
full of pregnant women.
Take care of a pet, something to love, and something that will return affection.
Eat well. Good nutrition is a significant factor in the relief of physical discomfort.
__________________________________
O Lord, you have searched me and you know me. You know when I sit and
when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar. You discern my going out and
my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways. Before a word is on my
tongue you know it completely, O Lord.
You hem me in—behind and before; you have laid your hand upon me. Such
knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain. Where can I go
from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the
heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I rise
on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your
hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast.
If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around
me,” even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day,
for darkness is as light to you.
For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are
wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I
was made in the secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the
earth, your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were
written in your book before one of them came to be.
How precious to me are your thoughts O God! How vast is the sum of them!
Were I to count them, they would outnumber the grains of sand.
(Psalm 139: 1-18 (NIV)
Constance B. Fink was raised as the pastor’s daughter of a large metropolitan
church in New Jersey. She has a degree in psychology from The King’s College in
New York, and has worked at Moody Bible Institute in Chicago, and in the
Counseling Center at Bradley University. She has also been director of Christian
education, church secretary, church librarian, and coordinator of several women’s
programs. Married for twenty years, she and her husband are currently members of
a quiet community and rural church in northwest Illinois. Her articles have appeared
in Bible Advocate’s Now What magazine, Voice Magazine, Charisma, New
Wineskins, Rest Ministries Newsletter, and local newspapers. Email Constance B.
Fink
back to Hope Stories
by Constance B. Fink © 2003
Today is Mother’s Day. But I am not celebrating as most women.
My ears will never hear a child call me, “Mommy.” My arms will never feel the
contented wiggle of a nursing baby. My dream as “Mother of the Bride” will never
be realized.
A lifelong desire was to be a friend to my children, to give them special memories like
my mom gave me. Memories like shopping with my little girl. Crafting a science
project with my boy. Teaching my daughter how to sew. Cuddling in bed on
Saturday mornings to watch cartoons. Preparing my son for his bride by teaching
him how to respect a woman. Preparing my daughter for her family by modeling how
to make a house a home. Most importantly, guiding my children to a personal
relationship with God. But these dreams are unfulfilled.
Though I have not felt the pain of childbirth, I have felt the pain of childlessness. Both
equally intense, yet different. One lasts for hours, the other may last for years. One
results in a happy ending, the other may not. The pain of childbirth is felt in the body;
childlessness is felt in the heart. By nature, I am a nurturer. The loss I feel from not
having children runs deep.
Twenty years ago I was diagnosed with endometriosis, a painful chronic condition
often affecting fertility. Women can have babies after treatment with surgery, pain
medication, hormonal therapy, and nutrition. I clung to the options with hope.
The first step was to chart the time of ovulation through a non-invasive test. I simply
had to record my temperature the same time every day over a period of months. The
goal—to find the few hours every four weeks when fertility could occur.
My husband, Dave, and I waited each month with anticipation. I browsed the baby
stores and ooh’ed over the little shoes. I smiled when I saw mothers pushing babies
in strollers, my arms literally aching for my own. I mentally decorated the baby’s
nursery, down to the detail of the placement of the stuffed animals. We even chose
names.
But then, one spot of blood unleashed a torrent of tears. Reality flooded in with my
menstrual cycle. Just a few hours earlier, my arms longed for the fulfillment of my
dreams; then in a matter of minutes my heart felt like it ripped in two. I grieved as
though I had lost a child to death. In a sense, I had. My child had been within reach;
now he was snatched away. Though I had not made it to the point of taking a
pregnancy test, my baby was real. He had a name. He had a place in our hearts.
Physical pain, associated with endometriosis—burning, stabbing, gripping pain so
intense I was unable to open my eyes. Medication brought no relief; it only left me in
a daze. There was nothing I could do to stop or control it, causing me to fear my
own body.
As I writhed and screamed similar to labor, I cried: A normal woman would have a
baby to show for all this suffering. The anticipation would help her persevere. I have
nothing to show but sweat-drenched sheets! When my body could endure no more,
the pain subsided. But it was not over yet. Dry heaves and involuntary physical
shakes began, leaving me totally exhausted.
This continued month after month. The emotional roller coaster wearied me. Relax,
our fertile friends said. Give it time, the doctor said, although I had just turned thirty
and thought time was working against us.
We continued the routine of temperature charts. And tried to relax. Additional tests
ruled out other possible conditions. There was nothing keeping us from having a
baby, except endometriosis. We scheduled laparotomy surgery, a procedure to
open the abdominal cavity in order to remove the growths and lesions from the
condition.
The doctor told us he “got it all” and that the most optimal time for pregnancy was
within the first year after surgery. With renewed hope, we focused on getting
pregnant. But close to the end of the year and enough temperature charts to
wallpaper a room, it seemed I was not one step closer to having a baby. The pain
had returned as strong as ever. The endometriosis had grown back.
The next levels of tests and treatments were discussed. With the sky the limit in
infertility treatment, each couple decides their emotional, physical, and financial limits.
How far were we willing to go? The decision was easy.
We chose not to pursue infertility tests with treatments which required readjustment
to my hormonal levels. I was at risk for breast cancer. My mom died from it the
previous year.
Losing my mother at the time I was desperately trying to become a mother affected
my ability to cope not only with her death but also with my barrenness. My mother
modeled the type of nurturing mother I wanted to be, but I had no avenue of
expression. She passed her baton to me, but I had no place to run with it.
To further complicate matters, my brother and his wife decided to start their family
and within weeks they were pregnant; now eighteen years later they have nine
children. The phone call to announce their first pregnancy is the one embedded in my
memory. It came while reading a book on infertility.
Trying to respond as an adult to my sister-in-law, grieving the loss of my mother, and
balancing hope and reality regarding my own barrenness made those years a
challenge. It was difficult to keep the issues separate. Most of the time I felt stuck in
what seemed like a net over me. But God cut the entrapment and freed me.
GOD ENCOURAGED ME
First, God provided a friend, someone who had walked a similar path but made it to
the end. My pastor’s wife not only lost her mother to death, but also went through
an extended time of infertility. She knew! She cheered me on when I had strength,
held me when I felt depleted, and helped me refocus when I could not see the next
step. She passed her baton to me, nurturing me with encouragement.
GOD USED ME
Eight years later, in a phone conversation with my sister-in-law, I spoke of a night
when Dave and I had nothing to do. We decided to go out for dinner. . .three hours
away! Within minutes we were on our way. When I finished my story, my sister-in-
law was quiet. “Are you there?” I asked.
Slowly and quietly she responded, “I’m struggling with jealousy.”
“You, jealous of me? What do you have to be jealous of? You have everything I
want!”
She longed for spontaneity. She and my brother used to have it, but not since the
children came. A few hours of freedom required days of planning to arrange for
babysitters, schedules and supplies. It was as if a light clicked on and I saw things
about my situation I had not seen before—I had something others wanted.
For the first time in years I saw what I had. Our friends had children, but we had
freedom. Not only were we free to enjoy our marriage, but we were available to
serve others. Rather than seeing childlessness as a loss, I began to see it as a gift.
God gave it to us not to impair us but to use us.
Late one night we received a phone call asking for prayer for an elderly couple in
church who, after a serious car accident, had been transported to a hospital a couple
of hours away. We knew what we had to do. By the time we hung up the phone we
were out of bed and half dressed. Within minutes we were on our way. No one in
our church of elderly widows and young parents could have gone. That night I
passed my baton, nurturing one in need…not my child but an elderly couple.
GOD HEARD ME
For years I avoided anything to do with Mother’s Day, especially card shops and
mother daughter banquets. I had nothing to celebrate. The thought of watching
mothers and daughters together made me shiver in emotional pain. But after a friend
shared a couple of ideas for the annual mother daughter banquet, I thought I would
try to attend. (Then she put me on the program to be sure I would not back out.)
But grief came over me like a tornado a few hours before the dinner. I was not
expecting it, especially not that day. I have to get a grip before evening. I asked the
Lord for a verse, something to lean on through the event.
As I read Isaiah 61:4, God reminded me that He “bestowed a crown of beauty
instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, a garment of praise instead
of a spirit of despair.” Even though I mourned the loss of my dream and my mother,
I was glad for her example and the memories. I did not have ashes to show for it—I
was not in despair with regrets. As I thought about the banquet that evening, I knew
there would be some mothers and daughters in difficult relationships. Stepping away
from my own grief for a few hours, I gained the desire and strength to encourage
others.
Then God did something creative. Unknown to me, a few days earlier, a co-worker
had entered my name in a drawing for a bouquet of flowers. I won! On the very day
of the banquet! As I carried the huge bouquet back to my office, it was as though I
was holding a “crown of beauty” from God, a visible reminder that He heard me, was
with me, and had created me with individualized purpose.
I would have liked to be with my mother that evening, but instead I took her
memory. I would have liked to share the evening with a daughter, but instead I took
comfort in being God’s daughter. That night was the first of many opportunities to
pass my baton with joy and strength, nurturing…not my child but other mothers and
their daughters.
A few years later on Mother’s Day, trays of colorful annuals decorated the front of
our small church. The pastor asked the children to come to the front and all the
“mothers” to stand. The children gave a plant to each one standing. I was the only
woman sitting; I wanted to hide. Then I heard a child’s voice nearby and I looked
up. Before me was a smiling seven-year old girl holding a beautiful pink plant. “This
is for you, Mrs. Fink. You are a mom!”
Fulfillment and contentment is not measured by childbirth, but by responding to
opportunities to give to others, no matter their age or residence. This is what gives a
woman a mother’s heart.
Today is Mother’s Day… and I am celebrating!
__________________________________
Endometriosis is a painful, chronic condition that affects five and a half million
women and girls in the United States and Canada, and millions more worldwide. The
condition occurs when tissue similar to the lining of the uterus is found outside the
uterus, usually in the abdomen on the ovaries, fallopian tubes, and other abdominal
areas, including the bladder and bowel.
The misplaced tissue develops into growths or lesions which respond to the menstrual
cycle in the same way that the tissue of the uterine lining does—each month the tissue
builds up, breaks down, and sheds. Menstrual blood flows from the uterus and out
of the body through the vagina, but the blood and tissue shed from endometrial
growths has no way of leaving the body. This results in internal bleeding, breakdown
of the blood and tissue from the lesions, inflammation, scar tissue formation, and
adhesions.
The symptoms include: pain before and during periods, pain with intercourse, fatigue,
frequent urination during periods, painful bowel movements during periods, other
gastrointestinal upsets, and frequent yeast infections. Infertility affects approximately
40% of women with endometriosis.
For more information, contact the Endometriosis Association
__________________________________
Practical suggestions to help ease your pain of childlessness:
Pamper yourself on Mother’s Day. Don’t make it just a Sunday in May. Plan
something that is special to you.
Write a letter to the child you dream of.
Ask your gynecologist to schedule your appointments when the waiting room is not
full of pregnant women.
Take care of a pet, something to love, and something that will return affection.
Eat well. Good nutrition is a significant factor in the relief of physical discomfort.
__________________________________
O Lord, you have searched me and you know me. You know when I sit and
when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar. You discern my going out and
my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways. Before a word is on my
tongue you know it completely, O Lord.
You hem me in—behind and before; you have laid your hand upon me. Such
knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain. Where can I go
from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the
heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I rise
on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your
hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast.
If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around
me,” even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day,
for darkness is as light to you.
For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are
wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I
was made in the secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the
earth, your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were
written in your book before one of them came to be.
How precious to me are your thoughts O God! How vast is the sum of them!
Were I to count them, they would outnumber the grains of sand.
(Psalm 139: 1-18 (NIV)
Constance B. Fink was raised as the pastor’s daughter of a large metropolitan
church in New Jersey. She has a degree in psychology from The King’s College in
New York, and has worked at Moody Bible Institute in Chicago, and in the
Counseling Center at Bradley University. She has also been director of Christian
education, church secretary, church librarian, and coordinator of several women’s
programs. Married for twenty years, she and her husband are currently members of
a quiet community and rural church in northwest Illinois. Her articles have appeared
in Bible Advocate’s Now What magazine, Voice Magazine, Charisma, New
Wineskins, Rest Ministries Newsletter, and local newspapers. Email Constance B.
Fink
back to Hope Stories
© 2004 Dave and Merry Marinello, all rights reserved.
Welcome! Thanks for visiting our little "harbor" amid life's storms. We hope you
will find rest and encouragement in your struggles, big or small. Here you can:
will find rest and encouragement in your struggles, big or small. Here you can:
Fulfillment in Infertility
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Hope is My Anchor
Strength for your soul amid life's storms
Strength for your soul amid life's storms