My infertility story is nothing exotic. I suppose it could be summed up like this: I wanted kids, but could not have them. God surprised us with two late in life. Now they are grown.
Okay, okay. Guess there might be a little more to the story.
Terry and I did not marry young. I was 29 and he was 32. The same year we married, we began trying to have children. After most of a year with no success, we began having some tests done. Terry was producing plenty of healthy sperm. My fallopian tubes were open and useable. My periods were very irregular, so finding a time that I might be ovulating was described by my doctor to be like “finding a needle in a haystack.” In 1985, I began seeing a fertility specialist. He put me on what seemed at the time to be a horrendously expensive drug called Clomid. I took it for several months, but with no success. Terry and I decided that would be all the intervention we would use. Back in the early ‘80s, there was not quite as much available as is used now, but we both knew that I was not emotionally prepared to go through an ordeal to get pregnant, with no guaranteed result. So, we left the matter in God’s hands.
Every Mother’s Day was hard for me. I would cry. This went on for years and years. I enjoyed my nieces and nephew and “adopted” a few more along the way. But, my arms were still empty, and I still desired a baby of my own.
I had worked as a church secretary all of my adult life, and in 1988 we decided it was best for me to quit work, so I did. Getting pregnant was something we had totally given up on. I did not quit work in order to have a better chance at getting pregnant. I quit because we knew it was right. Exactly one year after I quit work, Terry and I left on a trip to French Polynesia. My period was late, but I wrote it up to the excitement of international travel. I thought nothing more about it. Soon after we got back, Dr. Bill Rice held a revival meeting at East Central. I was there every night, but was feeling a little bit queasy. I would take a few crackers to munch on. After the meeting was over, I mentioned to Walta Hattaway about how I was feeling. She said, “Kathy, do you think you might be pregnant?” That possibility had never entered my mind! Monday morning, after Terry went to work, I called my gynecologist’s office and asked them about a pregnancy test. The nurse told me to sterilize a container and bring the first urine of the morning in to their office, so I did. I did not tell Terry I was doing this. We had too many disappointments for too many years, and I was not going to get his hopes up. I would handle this disappointment alone.
After I handed over the container of urine to the nurse, she soon returned and said, “Kathy, I think you might want to sit down! You’re pregnant!” I was just blown away with this unexpected and very happy news! I paid my bill and was given a receipt that said “Positive Pregnancy Test.” I drove straight from the doctor’s office to where my husband was working at his family’s boat dealership. Terry was not expecting me, so when he saw my car pull into the parking lot, he came to the door. I did not say a word to him, but simply held up the paper that said “Positive Pregnancy Test.” His response was, “You’ve got to be kidding!”
Of course, most of his family was there working with him, so they rejoiced with us. Right away, we told my Mom and all our friends. People were so happy for us! Many friends rejoiced with us just as if they were our flesh-and-blood family!
After my second appointment with an OB/GYN someone had highly recommended, that doctor said, “I think you need to see Dr. Beeson.” Dr. Beeson is a high-risk obstetrician who for years was the chairman of the OB/GYN department at OU. He trained many other doctors. I was cared for by the best of the best! (The reason I was sent to him is that I have diabetes.) Well, I was petrified of having a huge and unhealthy baby, so I was super careful with everything I ate. While pregnant with Julie, I gained just 7 ½ pounds, and she weighed about ½ a pound more. God gave us a beautiful, healthy baby girl in June of 1990, when I was 38 and Terry was 41. When she was about 20 months old, I miscarried a baby I did not realize I was pregnant with. Then, a few weeks before she was 3 ½ (in November of 1993), God blessed us with another perfectly healthy baby, “Tommy” (now Tom).
I really believe God did all this for us to PROVE HIMSELF STRONG! Had I opted for a lot of medical intervention, then the doctors would have been given the credit, and not God. I am not saying medical intervention is wrong; I am just saying it was not right for me.
Today, our late-in-life daughter is newly married, a kindergarten teacher, and going to Russia as a missionary. Our son is a first-semester college student, studying to be a computer network engineer. They have both brought us much joy and made us very proud OLD parents!
God is good. All the time.