“Why can’t you just be happy for me and let it go?” I remarked to a friend, who insisted we keep praying for pregnancy. After being diagnosed with lupus at age 27, I was prescribed a plethora of toxic meds and told any potential pregnancy would be high risk. The fear of all the “what ifs” almost kept my husband and me from trying altogether. My sister also has an autoimmune disease, and she gave birth to a healthy baby boy, so we remained hopeful. But as time passed, thoughts of hope and joy were replaced with doubt. The faith that once compelled me to pray and seek God was gradually displaced by the thought: It’s never going to happen.