Seeking God Knows What

My childhood always had Christianity and attending church as a part of it but up until a couple of years ago, I pretty much just followed my parents around to their church and never really developed my own relationship with God. That all changed, with many thanks to my family doctor, on November 6, 2005.

I need to fill in some background though.

I had childhood cancer at the age of 5, almost 6. It was the”good kind” of cancer, if there is such a thing, called Wilms’ Tumor, a childhood kidney tumor. I was treated with a radical left nephrectomy, removing the tumor and my kidney, along with 15 months of chemotherapy and 6 weeks of radiation therapy. The “good kind” of cancer, well, it left me with ovarian failure and resulting infertility, discovered as I got older and did not develop any signs of puberty when I should have. My pediatric endocrinologist told me when I was 17, that the only way I *might* become pregnant would be through IVF with donor eggs as my ovaries were completely useless. I was sad then but always thought I would adopt. I did struggle with the idea of what guy would ever want to marry someone who knew they couldn’t have a baby. Fortunately, I had already met and was dating my future husband. I remember T saying that if a guy felt that way, he wasn’t worth it. Needless to say, we got married 3 years later.

After we had been married a couple of years, we decided to try IVF with donor eggs and my older sister volunteered to donate hers. We went through 3 cycles, none of which produced a pregnancy. Each failed cycle felt like a miscarriage because even though I was never pregnant, there were viable embryos. After the 3 cycles, our doctor told us that he did not think we should keep pursuing this option, it just wasn’t going to work. I cried and got mad at God for letting me survive cancer but forcing me to deal with infertility. Gradually, I began going to church less and when I didn’t go, T didn’t go because he didn’t have the commitment without me.

Shortly after we had our last IVF cycle, I decided to leave my job as a manager for a locally-owned toy store. Not the best of choices because the combination of changing jobs and struggling to face the realities of infertility caused me to start to slip into a depression. Now I should have known that depression was a serious possibility for me as my mother had been struggling with it for a few years but I ignored anyone’s attempt to help me or at least get me to acknowledge I was depressed. As for God, while I still believed He existed, I felt too far away and isolated to turn to Him. So I just went to work at a job I never gained much enthusiasm for and then came home.

We started the adoption process about a year later in May of 2002, finally finishing all the paperwork in November. We had chosen to go the domestic adoption route. I took a job transfer within the company to maintain having a job because the company was going through a slowdown. During this whole time period, whatever energy I had went into getting our paperwork ready, profile ready, finances ready. I kept saying to myself that this emptiness I feel is because I’m not a mom yet. When I’m a mom, this will all go away. My participation in church continued to dwindle.

Two months later, I quit my job. I hated the transfer position. I cried every day as soon as I got to work. Fortunately, I had an office with a door I could keep closed. I took a couple months off (spending some of our adoption savings to make ends meet) and then took a part-time job because we knew I would be shifting to part-time work once baby arrived, we might as well start getting ourselves ready for that. At that point, I finally admitted I might be depressed and I started on an anti-depressant and began my first of many rounds with different therapists. I would go for 5-6 sessions and quit.

Eleven months after being approved, we were chosen to adopt a baby girl due in early November. We met the expectant mom and her mom. We got along really well and planned to have an open adoption, where we would have a visit or two as she wanted along with the letters and pictures we would send. November 5th, 2003 we received the call that the baby had been born and we would be able to go up and visit shortly. But the next call said the mom was unsure how she felt about the adoption plan and she didn’t want us involved any further until she was sure. So we waited. Anxiously. Jumping every time the phone rang. The day she was being released, we received the call we knew was coming. The mom was going to parent. We both cried and cried, amazed that we could hurt so much over a baby we never really had. We put ourselves back in the saddle but underneath I could just feel myself sinking further and further down. I had developed a very good surface person by then. The real Erin no one saw, except T and my family on occasion.

Then the worst things an infertile person when they are in the midst of facing their infertility can hear began to happen. Pregnancy announcements started rolling in. Two of my sisters, three of my friends, T’s younger brother’s girlfriend (that one really, really rankled) all told us they were pregnant in the six months following our failed situation. And we had no word on whether we were even being considered for a baby.

At this point, God was out. I even began to doubt He existed. I was so incredibly hurt and angry about all these things in my life. All things I couldn’t control. Babies were being born. I had a friend die of kidney cancer, not the same kind as I had because he was an adult and it rarely strikes adults. Again we were still no closer to being matched with a possible baby.

After all these babies started appearing, T and I decided to change agencies and we ended up being matched with an expectant mom the day we officially switched. So two years after starting the adoption process and one year after our *almost baby*, we were on the way to being parents. Three weeks later, our daughter was born and this time, while it wasn’t all smooth sailing due to her birthfather disappearing, her firstmom determined that she was still going to place and we took Widget home from the hospital two days before Thanksgiving.

But that emptiness? It wasn’t filled when she arrived. I loved being a mom but I struggled. I was still depressed. I didn’t know what to do or where to turn. I had developed a fairly good relationship with my family doctor, who I refer to as PH, while working through some issues with my mom plus my own depression stuff and I would e-mail him on occasion when I had “parenting” questions or he would ask me how I was doing. Seven months after Widget came home, everything reached this breaking point and I thought I’m just going to drown in this. So one night at 4 am I sent my doctor this long e-mail, just laying it all out and while I wasn’t suicidal, I was desperately scared I was going to head that way. He helped me set up an appointment with yet another therapist, who I saw for about 6 appointments and then quit, but also began an e-mail correspondence with me.

We began talking about my life and what was going on. Eventually, we began to talk about faith and I remember writing that I wasn’t even sure I ever had faith. PH was a Christian, having been born and raised here in west Michigan. I asked him what church he went to, meaning what denomination but he told me what church he actually attended. Then he said you should come. You might be surprised. He even told me he was going to be on vacation that following Sunday, so if I wanted to avoid seeing him, he wouldn’t be there. So I thought what the heck and asked T if he wanted to go with me, and off we went. It was very different from anything I was used to as I had always gone to either the Episcopal church or the Missouri Synod Lutheran church, both being very liturgical. Here it was contemporary, no set pattern to the service. It was also very evangelical, talking about making a commitment to having a relationship with God, asking God into your heart. I’ll admit I was kind of skeptical about that notion, since again it wasn’t what I was used to for a church. But I liked it. I decided to go again the next week. T came with me for awhile but decided to stop because he just wasn’t sure. In the fall, I started a program called Alpha. I began to read the New Testament, something I had never really done before. PH asked me if I would ever like to talk to the pastor. I said no. Then one night at the end of October after having a really bad night with my depression, I asked if he remembered suggesting that and I had decided that maybe I would be interested. So he set up a meeting for the following Sunday and said he would be there too, if that was okay. More than okay with me, I was actually terrified at the idea of going alone. That Sunday, we sat and we talked for about an hour about God, about where I was with my relationship with God. Then the pastor asked if I thought I was ready to make a commitment, to ask Him into my heart and my life? I said no. Then, I don’t know. At which point I began to cry. He asked me what was keeping me from saying yes and I said I was afraid if I made the commitment and T didn’t, I would lose him. So we talked about that and how perhaps if I made the commitment, T might begin to see that it was a good thing. And then he asked me again- Did I think I was ready? I said yes. And then they prayed for me, while I prayed asking God in to my life, my heart forever. That Sunday, November 6, 2005 will forever be etched in my heart as the day my life began anew.

I still struggle with depression. My commitment to God didn’t take that away but now I try to pray instead of turning away. I did find an amazing Christian counselor (he’s also a pastor) this past summer and he has been wonderful at helping me sort through my feelings regarding my infertility and my childhood cancer experience. I know I have a long, long way to go but I hold tight to the gift of grace God has blessed me with. And I thank Him with great regularity for having my life journey cross the path of one amazing family doctor.

Here ends my saga