I can’t think of any valid reason to not share this. It’s such a taboo subject. But if what I share in the following posts can make just one woman not feel alone, can make one woman brave enough to let others in on her story, then this post has done it’s job.
I’ve been scared this story will fall into the “wrong hands” and my name would be smeared or laughed at. There’s shame in knowing your body isn’t working perfectly. I didn’t want to give everyone the privilege of being let in on this intimate information. But after what’s happened, I DON’T CARE WHO KNOWS because this story is bigger than me! Looking back it’s been all about Him. God flexing His matchless power.
I’ve not waited well during this season. It’s been a year of fighting for control, anxiousness, disappointment, frustration, tears, sadness, jealousy, very little enjoyment.
It’s also been a year where God has spoken to me more than He ever has because I’ve sought Him out, spoken to Him, cried to Him, yelled at Him, asked Him my hard questions. Sometimes I got immediate and clear answers, but most of the time His answers came at their own pace and wrapped in the most peculiar packages that have blown me out of the water upon unwrapping.
I looked for Him in everything. And I found Him in everything.
October 22, 2017
Jon and I were 10 days away from our 2nd wedding anniversary. The anniversary we agreed that we’d begin trying for Baby Knowles. I was feeling VERY anxious even though I’ve always wanted a child. It’s like reality set in that we are NOW intentionally trying to get pregnant. Fear crept in very sneakily. I didn’t even know he was there until I voiced out loud for the first time in my City Group that I was terrified we would have a hard time getting pregnant, if we’d even get pregnant, I was terrified of miscarriages, terrified of the label “infertile”. I told Jon on the morning of the 22nd that I wanted us to get prayed for by one of the pastor’s at our church who has like a ton of kids, because obvi that guy’s doing something right, amirite?
My fear and anxiousness got the better of me. We “tried” but I wasn’t tracking anything. I wasn’t trying to get pregnant EVEN THOUGH ALL I’VE EVER WANTED IS A BABY. It didn’t make sense to me why I was putting this off and feeling “not ready” all of a sudden. It also didn’t help that during this time other ladies would say “just don’t try and it’ll happen” or “the more you want it the less likely you are to get it” or “don’t get your hopes up”. PSA: don’t ever, EVER tell a woman who’s trying for a baby these things. I don’t care if you think those things were ~true~ for you. It’s not helpful. Zip it. And listen.
I’m tracking EVERYTHING. We’re trying on good days and bad days, up days and down days, left days and right days. And then one night while at a get together with my City group girls, I went to the restroom and saw that I started my period. I faked a smile, I told the girls that I was with that night and brushed it off like no big deal and left the party. I bawled the entire drive home. I threw myself in bed and wept uncontrollably on Jon’s chest for an hour while he held me and tried his absolute best to comfort and console his weeping wife.
February- August 2018
I’d experienced the most irregular cycles, peed on countless ovulation sticks — every one of them coming back negative. Not one positive. I had conversations with women who upon sharing how I was feeling and how I could potentially maybe be pregnant, shut me down and said “it’s all in your head” “you’re just symptom watching” “you’re probably not pregnant” “take a test just to put your mind at ease, but know that it’ll probably be negative”. So I stopped asking questions. Not because I wasn’t hearing what I wanted to hear, but because I was already telling myself those things in the back of my mind…on repeat. Why did I need other women telling me the same things? I was at my breaking point in August. Frustrated beyond belief at my irregular cycles and my lack of ovulation and everyone and their mothers getting knocked up but me. Crying every time someone announced their pregnancy, wanting to rejoice with them but also feeling so dry and empty inside. One week, I saw 6 ladies announce their pregnancies! SIX! And there I was holding my phone counting the 70th day since my last period. I made an appointment with a new lady doctor and she set me up for a sonogram to get a closer look as to why my cycles are out of whack.
August 24, 2018
The day of my sonogram appointment. As I’m laying on the bed while the sonographer is cruising around downtown, I’m looking up at the tv monitor showing my insides. I wanted to cry because I knew what I was looking for was not going to be a tiny baby. I felt the sonographer stop moving and start taking a ton of pictures on her screen. I saw something on the monitor. She wasn’t blinking, my eyes were darting back and forth from her to the monitor above me. She wasn’t saying anything. I knew this thing I was looking at was the cause of my problems. She sends me out to the waiting room and says the doctor will call me back in a few.
After a lonely, incredibly suspense filled 45 minute wait, I am finally called back. The doctor sits next to me and shows me the sonogram pictures. Again, I wanted to cry because as I’m looking at these pictures I realize that these are not ultrasound pictures of a tiny baby floating around. She begins by apologizing for the long 45 minute wait. She explained that both her and the sonographer could not identify what that thing was that we noticed. The doctor said it was a “cyst-like growth on your left fallopian tube.” But she could not confirm what it actually was because she had no earthly clue. She told me she wanted to schedule me for a laparoscopic procedure after my next cycle comes so she can get a better look and figure out what the heck it is and how we can treat this and get me good and pregnant. I reminded her that since my cycles are so irregular, I didn’t know how long it’d be before I got my period again and that this waiting could go on for a long time. She said she needed me to get a cycle before going in because she didn’t want to run the risk of me being pregnant and then going under anaesthesia. I then asked very timidly “Worst case scenario: this cyst-like thing, if it has damaged/crushed the tube it’s sitting on and you have to remove it, does this mean I can’t get pregnant?” She looked at me and confidently said “Not at all. Worst case scenario we have to remove a damaged tube, research has proven countless times that the remaining tube will function perfectly alone and you’d be able to get pregnant with the one tube.” I already felt a wave of relief hearing that answer.
Beginning that day, my one and only prayer became “Lord, please dissolve whatever this cyst-like growth is by the time she has to go in for this procedure.”
That following Sunday Jon and I asked to be prayed for by one of our pastors again and this time anointed with oil, because we were praying for healing this time.
(James 5:14-15: Is anyone among you sick? Let him call for the elders of the church, and let them pray over him, anointing him with oil in the name of the Lord. And the prayer of faith will save the one who is sick, and the Lord will raise him up. And if he has committed sins, he will be forgiven).
The pastor asked Jon and me to hold hands and then he touched both our hands with oil as he declared healing over my body…