It’s one day to testing…okay, about sixteen hours to testing and I am far from excited. Some years back, I read somewhere that depression was a spiritual attack and that stuck with me. For every time I was depressed, I was bound to pray it away and rebuke the devil for trying to steal my joy. When I read the article Chimamanda Adichie wrote about her depression, after the success of her last book, The Americanah I could almost relate to what she was talking about. Some days, you just wake up and it seems as though you carry the world’s problems. They say African women are not allowed to be depressed…we are stronger than that. We have to suck it up and face the world. We dare not shed a tear or break in the face of adversity. And that in itself, is the cause of our depression…the pressure, the responsibilities, the needs of those around us. Pouring out all of ourselves and ending up empty and in need of being filled.
For me, depression comes and goes…and yesterday was one of those blue days. I couldn’t write….I couldn’t do anything. I apologize for not updating the diary yesterday…I apologize that you came looking for it and found nothing to read about my journey. And I am grateful to Nicole for giving me a wake up call and helping me snap out of it. So why was I depressed?? For the first time since I said yes to this surrogacy journey, it actually just hit me yesterday what I have set myself up for. Am I ready to carry the weight of my aunt’s hopes and dreams. I fear what would happen tomorrow…to me and to her, if I do not get a BFP. I have done everything right..everything. But there are no guarantees, and sometimes you do everything right and just don’t get what you were expecting. That’s just the way life works and I wonder if I am ready to deal with the outcome tomorrow.
Even if it swings in our favor and I pray earnestly that it does…for the first time yesterday, I realized just what I had signed up for. Not many of the people around me are aware…because they probably would not understand it. And I wonder how I would avoid all these people once the bump starts to grow. I wonder how the next nine months would be…and I fear that I probably do not have what it takes to carry a multiple pregnancy. Yesterday, I was going through some pictures I took last weekend, and I realized that soon…this body that I worked hard to gain back after giving birth would be gone again. And I want so much to get back to the gym…there is a therapy that comes from working out and burning fat…and I want that again. If working out is my therapy for depression, then I guess I am in for trouble because I obviously won’t be allowed to work out during the first trimester…or throughout the pregnancy.
In the end, this is not about me. Today, i have tried to remind myself of why I said yes in the first instance…and why my husband gave me his support as well. I thank God for the female body that is able to bounce back after childbirth…but even if it doesn’t, even if the scars remain forever, I would be grateful that I gave that up to see my aunt hold her babies. Infertility is no respecter of persons…and sometimes it’s the nicest, kindest and sweetest among us that get hit. But, again that’s life. The past couple of days are a reminder that it is not going to be easy. I would probably have morning sickness and deadlines at work, but that’s fine. I would probably miss a lot of weddings, child dedications and birthday parties, but that’s also fine. I would probably have to give away the lovely new dresses I bought that won’t serve me as the bump grows…but that’s also fine. All of these don’t matter….so long as aunty gets her babies.
It helps that I am now acutely aware of exactly what sacrifice I am making…and that I am prepared for the tumultuous journey ahead. I think I am ready now. I pray that God gives us a BFP tomorrow. I know you are all rooting for me, and I appreciate the love and support…you are all amazing sisters. Please pray for us tonight. May the lines ever be in our favor.
Join the conversation with any of our TTC and Pregnancy Groups here.
Catch up on Ipheoma’s story here:
- Ipheoma’s Surrogacy Diary 1: The Beginning
- Ipheoma’s Surrogacy Diary 2: Transfer Tick Tock
- Ipheoma’s Surrogacy Diary 3: Just Before The Whistle
- Ipheoma’s Surrogacy Diary 4: D-Day
- Ipheoma’s Surrogacy Diary 5: On Bed Rest
- Ipheoma’s Surrogacy Diary 6: Watching the Clock