Forgive me for being dense lo these many years, but it was just this morning – yes, this morning – that I realized that the abbreviation for infertility IF is also the word ‘if’. Not much gets past me!
I’ve had a bad case of the IFs this week. What IF this works? What IF it doesn’t? What IF I have a third straight miscarriage? All of these questions have arisen out of my mental thrashing this past week about whether I am *ready* in that euphamistic way to really have a legitimate shot at getting knocked up again. I mentioned it to Dr. Uterus when I saw him on Monday, and he immediately offered that we could postpone things. But, my answer was ‘no’ and that I was more excited about the prospect of getting pregnant than I was fearful at the prospect. I’m not excited about the 2ww, the beta agony or the any of that – but the idea that I have a real shot at the big P again? Yea, that’s still exciting.
In retrospect, this is still an extraordinary thing – it’s like saying that the last two times I put the gun to my temple, pulled the trigger, and I was shot, but I’m still hopeful that this last chamber will be empty.
Hope is a drug, I firmly believe. And, I’m still addicted.
But, it is what allows me to continue this journey, continue to traverse this rocky road with the dream of making it out on the other side, with my sanity intact carrying my child.
I still hope more than I fear. And, that is the only way to go forward.