It didn't work

And I mean it really didn't work. Out of six eggs that were retrieved, only three of which were mature enough, none of them were fertilized. Even with the most advanced reproductive medical technique available – a procedure called ICSI, in which sperm are injected into the eggs – none of them were fertilized. We've achieved the ultimate fertility fail.

The retrieval was not extremely successful, either. Six eggs were extracted, several shy of the usual 10-12, which the doctor thinks may be due to my endometriosis. On top of that, my blood pressure dropped when I tried to get up after the procedure, and they had to do a blood test to make sure I didn't need a transfusion. I didn't; I was just dehydrated and in need of fluids. Thankfully, my friend Elizabeth and her daughter stayed with me at the clinic while all this was going on and kept me company until Colin could get off work and take me home. When we left, the doctor said she expected from those six eggs, we'd probably get 1-2 embryos.

We waited for the results the next day. I did a little work, read my Bible, listened to worship songs, and prayed pretty much every minute. Colin had to teach class and go to meetings, the last thing he wanted to do at such a tense, uncertain time. We waited until 3:30, when the doctor called me and said, "I'm afraid I have bad news. We didn't get any embryos."

I keep replaying this statement over and over again in my mind. Like the times when people have called to say that someone I love has died, I get stuck in that moment and feel nearly paralyzed with shock and devastation.

Our doctor was very kind, sympathetic, and apologetic. She said she wouldn't have told us she thought we'd have 1-2 embryos if she didn't really believe that would be the case. She said I had three "beautiful"eggs, and the sperm looked good, and the ICSI process went fine, so she didn't know why they didn't get fertilized. She said if we decided to try IVF again, she would use a different protocol of medicine to produce better stimulation, and she even convinced the clinic to waive the ICSI fee the next time around. She said she was sorry it didn't work. She said, "I wish I could just give you a baby."

I got off the phone and began sobbing. Colin held me in his arms and I wept until I felt numb. We sat on our living room couch for hours, while the sun went down and our phones kept ringing, not feeling like getting up to turn on the lights or check our messages. Poor Kaffy stared at us, whimpering, seeming to sense our anguish. Our little family stayed there, grieving in the dark, trying to process the loss of the ability to add to our family.

Neither Colin nor I had high hopes of IVF working. We recognized the reality that at most, there was a 50% chance of us getting pregnant. So we were prepared for the pregnancy test to come back negative. We were not prepared for the possibility that we wouldn't get any embryos, that we wouldn't make it all the way through the IVF process.

This probably doesn't make a lot of sense to those who haven't been through infertility, but in my mind, even having one embryo result from IVF would have been a blessing because it would've meant that Colin and I had at least one baby. And if we had been able to transfer the embryo, even if it didn't implant, at least I would have been "pregnant" for a short while. Of course, going through all that and not having the embryo implant would have been a terrible blow as well because a little life would have been lost. One scenario isn't better than the other; they are equally painful and disappointing. It's just difficult not being able to complete a process that you have invested in so much financially, physically, and emotionally.

It's also hard to grasp the implications of the failed fertilization. Are my eggs and Colin's sperm genetically incompatible? Is conception, whether naturally or in a Petri dish, physiologically impossible for us? It sure looks that way.

I absolutely believe all the verses that say nothing is impossible with God. He's the Creator of all life, for cryin' out loud; it'd be ridiculous to think He couldn't create a biological child out of our genes. It's not a matter of power; it's a matter of preference. For whatever reason, He is choosing to not give us a biological child.

And that is the hardest blow of all. I have prayed over and over and over again for a baby, and He has said no. Colin has prayed, our families have prayed, our friends and several others we don't even know about have prayed, and He has said no. He has answered many, many of my prayers for other issues in miraculous ways, and has always been faithful to love and take care of me even when I've been utterly faithless. He has rescued me from my sin and given me eternal salvation; I have nothing to complain about. I am not complaining that God hasn't given me something I deserve; I am crying because He hasn't given me something I've earnestly asked Him for, something that would bring me joy and bring Him glory.

I know what some people will say to try to comfort us because I've heard these standby expressions before in other situations: "When God shuts a door He always opens a window" and "God didn't answer your prayers because He has something better in store for you." First off, these statements are not necessarily true – some people go through life one trial after another, experiencing terrible suffering that isn't relieved until they get to heaven. Just think of all the missionaries who lived under persecution and were martyred for their faith. Secondly, these statements are not helpful or comforting. Right now, I don't see an open window, and I don't know what "better" thing God has planned for us. The future is uncertain; the present is painful.

I believe the Lord has a purpose in choosing to not allow me and my beloved husband to conceive, so I don't need any placating words of wisdom or suggestions as to what His reasons are. I just need time for God to heal my broken heart – my heart which He has broken. I need time to grieve over something I never had.