Game Over. The End.

"You can't live like this. We will need to schedule a hysterectomy or you will be in serious trouble..."

It was the word I have been dreading for an entire decade - hysterectomy. Fifteen surgeries, countless doctors appointments, shots, drugs, acupuncture, begging and pleading, praying. None of it worked. Just like that, my dreams were being shattered and the door to carrying my children was closing a lot faster than I imagined.

Is there anything else we can do? Can you save it one more time? I just want one pregnancy.

"No. It's impossible. Look at these scans, I have never in all my years of practice seen this. It is over, Mary. We tried everything we could."

It was like an out of body experience. I felt my husbands hand on my leg. I heard him sigh and start to ask a question, but I wasn't there anymore. I couldn't catch my breath, and I didn't want to. I wanted to rewind my day and go back to being a busy mom chasing after my kids. I knew I was sick, I could tell my body was shutting down. I could hardly walk up stairs without seeing stars, my hair was falling out, and I was tired all the time. I could no longer lay on my side or stomach from the pressure of the giant tumors taking over my abdomen, but there was comfort and solace in not knowing what was wrong with me. I wanted to be whole again, but without any of the hard stuff. No shots, no medicine. I just wanted to be me. 

I snapped back when I heard the doctor ordering the dreaded prescription that would help shrink the tumors in preparation for the surgery. I could almost taste the metal in my mouth, the nasty taste I instantly had when I got the injections. Please no! I have been here before - weight gain, hot flashes, hair loss, and extreme bone pain. Yay! Not to mention the cost of this nasty drug...nothing like paying for complete and total misery. I begged the doctor to think of another way to make this as painless as possible. Three doses. The max a person can have before it begins causing permanent bone damage. 

I couldn't see straight. I couldn't even cry. Not one tear. The doctor asked me if I had any questions. I couldn't have even told him my name at that point. I wanted to get out of there as fast as I could. Hadn't I been through enough already? 

As we walked to the car, we had a weird sense of relief. This giant question mark had hung over us for five years. Would we conceive? How? Would we be one of those couples who adopts a few kids and then oopsy, who knew?! But no. It was done. The question mark was turning into a period. Final. Game over. The End.

Why did I have no emotion? Why no tears? My world was crashing down, the moment I had dreaded was here and I couldn't even cry. Was I out of tears?

It hit me. I had been waiting for this. I was ready to give up, to throw in the towel, to be done. For a few years, I was over it. I was over the pain, the waiting, and the pressure from others to conceive. I was a mom to two beautiful girls - THAT was my dream. Of course, I was brokenhearted that I wasn't the one who got to carry them, to feel them move for the first time. But their stories, my story of becoming their mom, wouldn't fit if I had experienced those things. I wanted Hannah. I wanted Eden. And if I had given birth to them, they wouldn't be MY Hannah and MY Eden. It doesn't work that way. My heart had accepted the defeat that a hysterectomy would bring. I was relieved that my doctor was making this decision for me. I was oddly excited for the chance to be alive again, and I didn't have a choice. It was time to be done, and this time it wasn't my decision. It was out of my control.

Eventually, the tears came. I cried a lot. Like for three solid months. I was in agony. My bones hurt down to my pinky toe. One emergency hospital stay and the decision to move forward with the surgery was yet again confirmed. I needed those suckers out, and fast. They were literally sucking the life right out of me.

In this dark and lonely time, God showed himself. He brought friends who hugged us, fed us, encouraged us. They helped us with our girls, brought care packages, dinners, and flowers, they loved on us when we needed it most, and we knew we weren't alone. He also gave us peace - a feeling I didn't know was possible when diving into something so tragic and horrible. This was our story. We were starting to own it and accept it.

If I had experienced this when I was 21 years old, the first time a doctor had mentioned doing a hysterectomy, I would have died. It was the process that needed to happen. I needed this to play out exactly like it was for this to be okay. And God knew, like He always does, exactly what my heart needed.

I held my babies, held my husband, and held on to the peace that only God could give me for the next three months.

**This is deep and dark and way more intense than I generally like to be. But I need to share this. I need my readers who have walked this road with me to see exactly how this was for us. I have shared so much about our journey here and it only seems fitting that I finish the story out and allow you in on this aspect as well. I want you to know exactly what happened, and I want you to see how God redeemed even this. Thank you for being a part of this journey, for allowing me the space to share this. It is deeply personal and scary to share this, but I feel it is necessary. This blog got me through the beginning stages of my battle with infertility and it feels only fitting that I close that chapter out here too. I am surviving and thriving...and I want to make it clear that my faith and trust in God alone is what has brought me out of this dark time.