I discovered on Tuesday that I suffer from chronic mononucleosis caused by the Epstein-Barr virus. One of the symptoms is constant fatigue, which I can’t do much about. The chronic mono would explain why I feel tired most days and lack energy. As my husband warned me today, I have to be vigilant not to use it as an excuse for laziness. But I have been able to sleep for long periods of time when I have nothing scheduled.
My doctor has recommended that I take a supplement called Virastop 2x to combat the virus. I’m not sure if it’ll work, but it’s the best chance I have to get my energy back.
Today I went to work and had an uneventful day. I always look forward to coming home at the end of a long day.
I’m a little sad, though, because my favorite show, NBC’s “The Voice,” has finished its second season so I don’t have that to look forward to at the end of this long day. I may try watching “America’s Got Talent” if I’m really bored.
The weekend was nice. I had a good Mother’s Day with my mother and did my best to really focus on her. However, I couldn’t help feel sad throughout most of the day. One lady wished me a “Happy Future Mother’s Day,” and I thought that was sweet. I hope she’s right one day.
My mother will be visiting for Mother’s Day, which I’m thankful for because it takes the sting out of a holiday that’s become painful in recent years.
In dealing with infertility, I am well too aware that I am not a mom and the normal, everyday of life of baby showers, pregnant women, and children remind me of this. I don’t have much to say on this topic except that it’s not the happiest or joyous occasion for every woman. Some women are crying over the fact that they have not been able to have children of their own—whether it be through adoption or natural childbearing.
When I started the journey toward having children, I never anticipated that the journey would be so long and arduous. It comes so easily and naturally for those who want it and those who don’t, why not us?
This is a time when I must remind myself to hope in God regardless of how I want to feel toward Him. Because I want to be angry. I want to be bitter. I want to blame Him for my barren womb. But I remember so many of the women who came before, especially Hannah, Samuel’s mother, and I try to remember their faithfulness to God. I want to not give up. I want to have hope. I want to hope because that’s part of my faith.
It’s a shame that I’ve got this good ol’ blog that I don’t use or touch regularly. So perhaps I’ll try posting more mundane posts. Posts that I think no one really cares about. (Let’s see how long this lasts.) Oh, like, something that would qualify as a Facebook status update: Today was a nice day.
Wait, I’m already cheapening my own post.
In all seriousness, today was a relatively good day. I worked my 3-hour shift in the children’s section of the library and endured a 2-hour drive to and from Philly (with my husband) for a 15-minute appointment with my psychiatrist. Thank God my psychiatrist is so good he’s worth the gas.
My husband (J) and I stopped at Bed Bath & Beyond to return an item and purchase some new sheets since we just lost two to wear and (literal) tear. We also spent time bumbling around trying to remember what it was that we wanted to buy at BB&B but couldn’t remember. (To this moment, we still haven’t remembered.) Then on a whim, we ate at Anthony’s Coal Fired Pizza for an early dinner only to discover that the only chicken on the menu were their specialty wings. My husband can’t eat any meat other than poultry due to his gout so the lack of chicken as a topping option was a real letdown. We ended up having an eggplant pizza along with their chicken wings, which were both good.
In addition to attending Bible study tonight, I managed to send off my manuscript to two beta readers in the hopes that I’ll get valuable feedback soon.
Ah yes, my unpublished, completed manuscript. It is tentatively called Getting Right with God and is 19 chapters long and 315 pages wide with 92,538 words and a Flesch-Kincaid Reading Level of 5.2. (Only 2 percent of my sentences are passive!) Now, I need to format it so it follows standard manuscript format and prepare it for—the horror!—querying agents. And now the editor has turned author andI’m the one who needs to pay an editor to review my work.
This Journey Is My Own 