Today infertility feels heavy. It feels heavy to have to bear the label. It's heavy to feel so empty.
Today the brokenness feels heavy. To have a body that, for some reason, does not do what it's supposed to, does not conceive like it should. I weigh less than I have in months, and I've never felt so heavy.
Today the bills feel heavy. The exploratory tests do not qualify toward the deductible. Triple digits, quadruple digits, these tiny pieces of paper in official-looking envelopes feel heavy.
Today a doctor told me that it may be very, very hard for us to have children. Those words, a childless future, feel so very heavy.
Today, one of my best friends told me she's pregnant. Juggling great joy and great sorrow is exhausting.
Today, I don't know how to feel. So I just feel heavy.
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