The journey through motherhood isn’t always smooth sailing after the first child is born.
It started with my best friend, Lia, from college. She called me crying, and shared that she was struggling with secondary infertility. When she opened up about her heartbreaking struggle, I started to include her in my daily prayers. It was simple. I had a set of Tehillim cards, and would recite one card a day on her behalf. It only took a few moments, and because it was short and sweet, I was able to keep it up.
This small exercise kept her on my mind, and made her feel close despite the fact that she was halfway across the continent, living on the east coast. I had prayed for over a year when she shared the exciting news that she was expecting. When I saw photos of her precious baby, I felt a gratification that can’t be shared in words.
At the same time that Lia gave birth, another friend, Debra, confided that although she had two children, she was trying again and had experienced several miscarriages. She recently discovered that her first two babies had actually been miraculous because she had a condition that made it statistically difficult for her pregnancies to last full term.
We were both devastated and disheartened.
I too had experienced a miscarriage, and knew the silent pain she was experiencing. So, with no lag time, my prayers continued. After completing one psalm a day, (it consists of 150 chapters), she informed me that she was, gratefully, expecting.
The pregnancy invited even more fear into her life, however. I kept praying, and 150 days (and 150 chapters) later, she held a beautiful baby girl in her arms.
Right afterwards, the prayer baton was passed on when a neighborhood friend, Emma, shared that she had suffered a miscarriage, sadly, and was desperate for another child.
So began my one chapter a day for her.
This time, there wasn’t such a quick response from G-d.
Every time I completed the entire 150 chapters, I would send her a quick text letting her know another round was done, and that I would continue on for her. I must have sent five or six texts like this [translation: 900 days], when she asked if we could get together, as she had something she wanted to tell me.
We were taking a walk when she told me she had lost hope in conception. “I really appreciate your prayers, but I have decided to give up. I am no longer going to try.”
I paused and started to tear up at this confession.
“To be honest,” she continued, “I had an experience that shook me. The other week, my son crossed the street, and was nearly run over. I felt like G-d was telling me to be grateful for what I already had, and that I didn’t need another child to feel complete. What I need instead is to focus on what I do have. I think G-d is telling me to stop trying. I really appreciate your years of heartfelt prayer. But I just can’t keep trying anymore.”
I don’t know what came over me in that moment, but I responded with, “I understand you, but even if you give up, I’m not giving up. I’ll continue to pray for you, regardless. I will pray for you until you are holding a baby in your arms. I don’t care how long it takes.”
We both had tears in our eyes until we parted ways back at home.
A few months later, she called me to thank me for my persistence. “I haven’t told anyone this, but I’m going to go for IVF.”
She was scared, and it was costly, but she had decided she was going to try again.
I walked her to her doctor’s appointment on Shabbat morning. I waited outside the office with my trusted prayer cards, and prayed more.
The first round of treatments didn’t work. We were both devastated. Her loss felt like my loss. She wasn’t sure whether to try again, but I kept praying.
Emma gathered her courage, and tried a second time.
When it took the second time around, she was even more scared. I was, too. She shared her anxious thinking patterns with me.
What if it doesn’t work? What if I end up with another devastating miscarriage?
I kept praying, and imagined visiting her with her baby in arms. Day in and day out, I prayed for this child like it was my pregnancy, like it was my own hope and dream.
Sure enough, she eventually gave birth to a healthy baby boy, and together we cried tears of joy at the bris.
I soon learned after that another friend had struggled, and that friend is now pregnant.
Simultaneously, as I write this article, an additional friend is about to start IVF tomorrow. She shared, “I have been waiting for this day for years. It was Covid, so we put it on hold, and then I got sick, and it just turned into one thing after the next, and now this Friday is the day…
“But now that it’s available to me, I’m scared. I get so anxious when I’m pregnant, and I just don’t know if I can go through with it.”
Sometimes, the very thing we want so badly is the same thing we are completely terrified of. We have to learn to hold these two emotions inside, and embrace the journey.
I told this friend that I would pray for her. And that I wouldn’t stop until she was holding her baby.
Maybe we can all pray for her, for them, for ourselves. If you are struggling with secondary infertility, please share your English or Hebrew name in the comment section below.
Together, as a global community of Jewish women, let’s all pray for one another. United in prayer, we can all stand stronger, and our hopes can become a reality.
* All names and some details have been changed to protect the privacy of the women mentioned.
