One year ago, I was in a deep, dark place.
I had no idea if we would ever be pregnant. I had no idea if the ART treatments would work. I had no idea where this infertility bullet train was headed for. I had no idea for how long I would need to be on the train.
I had no idea and nowhere to go.
And now, 12 months later, things are looking so different.
I have a Tiny Human in my belly. We are oh so cautiously happy. Our marriage is stronger, sweeter and still heaps of fun. I am teeming with optimism at the new job. I am calm, confident and looking forward to the future.
But I also know that for many out there, the answer that they are seeking still eludes them. And I am grateful that I finally am at the place where I had so desperately wanted to be in, never mind that it took us a good two years.
During dinner with Mr Thick one night, I told him that sometimes, I feel almost guilty for being pregnant and writing about it. I know that there are those who started reading my blog because they identify with my struggles and it must be tough for them to know that another “sister” has left the infertility path and “graduated”. His reply was that we bring these people hope. That knowing we had succeeded and in such a miraculous fashion would give them the strength and courage to push on because if even we could do it after a year of almost continuous treatments, so could they.
I don’t know how true that is but his words brought me some consolation. I hope he is right.
I once wrote that miracles don’t happen to me and that I was putting all my eggs into the baskets of Science and Medicine. Well, I’ll have to eat my words now because Mother Nature has proven me wrong.
And for that, I am immensely grateful.