It was our usual Friday morning production meeting. Since I work for a ministry starting a meeting with prayer requests and then prayer is not an unusual thing. There were some pretty heavy ones that morning…a brother recovering from a brain injury incurred in a motorcycle accident two weeks ago. He had awoken from his coma and seems to be recovering. Someone’s mother is the hospital. She may have to have surgery. A long-time friend fighting a brave battle with recurrent cancer.
Then…a pregnancy announcement. They are not all that uncommon in our department since there are numerous folks in the their late 20s and early 30s, prime reproductive years. Actually, there are a few of my male coworkers who are trying to out-do Jim Bob Duggar in the siring-of-the-children department, so PG announcements are as common as policy change announcements…frequent.
However, I was not prepared for the one we had on Friday. My co-worker holds up his iPhone for all to see, and he says, “Here’s what I need prayer for…”
An ultrasound picture of a baby the size of a peanut. Gasps and awwws commence as well as the questions.
“Was this planned?”
“Well, I was supposed to have ‘taken care of business’ three years ago but didn’t”… alluding to the vasectomy he was supposed to have gotten. He doesn’t look too upset about it though. In fact, he smiles like the cat who just ate the cream. Something about this announcement is just rubbing me the wrong way.
So jokes about “the accident” and his super-virility began. “Are you going to name it ‘Oops?” “You’ve still got some potent bullets in the gun.” “You need to have a girl since you’ve got those two boys.” “If it’s a girl then all she’ll know is farts and burps in that house full of boys.” Ad nauseum.
“Gag”, I think to myself. “Can can we just get this over with and move on to actual business?
While everyone is laughing I’m trying not to cry. I want to scream, “Please stop making light of this. There are people in the room who’ve never had a planned pregnancy (even thought they wanted it) much less an “oops”. I notice the handful of us are not laughing as freely as the fertile ones. I can see smiles and laughter being forced by the unfortunate few who look just as uncomfortable as me. In fact, I find myself trying not to cry knowing that if I did…and if I ran from the room like I wanted to…it would only make a scene.
FINALLY, a prayer before we actually get down to actual business. A few unrestrained tears slide for me and my fellow CNBC cow0rkers in the room. I quickly wipe them away hoping people will think I’m crying over the sick brother, mother, and friend and not because my/our guts were just kicked again by a PG announcement…especially one that happened in a setting where we were a captive audience. While our coworkers didn’t mean…nor were they probably aware…that the previous scene was highly uncomfortable for us who have never conceived I had to pray that God would temper my anger at my fellow coworkers who don’t have a clue.
The rest of the day I fought tears, sometimes unsuccessfully. I broke down once when my husband called me. I couldn’t tell him why. He’s ready for me to be done with all this grief. And believe me, so am I, but the reminders of what comes so easily…or even unwanted…for some people and never came to me and others still hurts acutely some times. I suspect it always will.