I was lying there looking at a bank of monitors on the wall. They all had images of my heart on them. No, not the little red hearts like valentines, but my beating heart. It was like an out-of-body experience. The medicine I had been given made me feel like I was in a dream.
When, after eight years of infertility, my wife and I discovered that she was not pregnant again, the pain and disappointment was almost too much to bear. Though we were living in a loving and supportive seminary community, we closed our door for a couple of days and hung a do not disturb sign and grieved.