Desperate Times Call for Drinks with the Preacher

I went home from work as soon as I could that day.  My husband still wasn't available, so I called my Mom.  At first, I tried to have a normal conversation with her.  I just hate upsetting her and if I cry, she's upset.  But, my voice was quivering and soon I was crying.  She came over and sat with me on my back patio while I tried to explain what the doctor had said.  I had looked up a few things on the internet before leaving work and understood that my ovaries produced a cyst instead of an egg each month, which contributed to difficulties in conceiving.  I also saw that Metabolic Syndrome contributed to weight gain, high blood pressure, and even heart attacks.  It was just overwhelming and I could do nothing but cry.  Would I ever be able to conceive?

My husband came home and I told him all the news.  He was as shaken as I was.  He couldn't understand why his results came back the way they did.  We both felt bad for ourselves and for each other.  We cried.  We asked questions that had no answers. We wondered if the future would ever hold a little one for us.  We were a wreck.

Later that evening,  I had texted our preacher telling her that we had not gotten good news from the doctor.  She called me, of course while I was in the middle of sobbing, and suggested that we go for a drink.  We all met for a beer while we talked about the information and processed it all together.

For the next week I was a mess.  I worried and cried all the time.  My world had been shaken.  I had always assumed I'd be a mother someday.  Every major decision we had made in life - careers, where we lived, the layout of our house, our vehicles - were all made with the assumption that we'd have little ones someday.  Would I never get the chance to feel a kick inside of me?  Would I never rock a child of my own to sleep?  What would I be if I were not a Mom someday?  My entire definition of "me" was up in the air.  That was scary and confusing.