Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same.
I'm standing there. At that point where I can see both roads. I look at the path with which I am so familiar. That path of infertility. I'm used to that. The desperate trying, the let down each month. It's a jacket that I wear. A little snug, a little (or a lot) uncomfortable, something I'm shocked to see when I look in the mirror. Not the jacket I would have picked out for myself. Not that path on which I wanted to travel. Yet, I'm oddly comfortable with it. There is something in the familiarity. The trying and somehow knowing that we won't (can't) succeed.
The yearning, the aching arms, the tears in the middle of the night are what pull me to the new path. This path that is grassy, but wanting wear. This path that might, although unclear, lead us to the place, the thing, we want the most: a baby. Our baby. This path is murky, foggy, shadowy, unknown. Perhaps the final destination on this path is NOT the baby we so desperately want. But the path we were on definitely wasn't taking us in the right direction.
So, we're changing plan. No longer are we just trying.
Tomorrow at 1:00 PM, we will take a step of faith. We will leave this path that is familiar, uncomfortable, sad, burdened. We will begin a new journey. A journey of renewed faith in the great Physician who will ultimately decide when the time is right for us. We are hopeful that this is part of His plan, His calling for the time to be now, the doctors are the right ones. I will have surgery tomorrow. The surgery is the first step on this new path.
My heart is racing as we look forward.