All my posts have been so negative up to this point and whilst I’m going through a pretty dire time at the moment, I’m generally not a pessimistic person. I don’t like reading back over my negativity, which is kind of hard to avoid, because negative experiences seem to have enveloped me – but it’s still like it’s not really me.
But today… I was thinking about my injections, fourth Puregon one tonight. And when I thought about it, I felt…odd. I didn’t feel like crying, giving up, hopeless. I didn’t automatically default to my usual refrain of what’s the point? There was a light, inoffensive, almost pleasurable feeling that didn’t make me want to scream, pick up the nearest thing and throw it in pure frustration.
I think someone who hasn’t borne the weight of treatment, of RPL, of (in)fertility, might recognise this oddly jerking flutter as ‘hope’.
It’s a funny old thing, ‘hope’; almost entirely redundant in my life recently, it’s been banned from the gates of my mind in order to protect my already overwhelmed and exhausted emotions. It’s existed only for the purposes of hoping that donut will still be there when I get home, or that the staff meeting will finish early, or that some giant Wizard of Oz style tornado will plough through the D&G offices, taking the moronic, obtuse and wildly offensive t***-head designers with it, away from our planet entirely. ‘Hope’ and ‘TTC’ are two wildly different paths that have not even glimpsed sight of each other for months, let alone intertwined, like some glorious route leading to The Land Of Baby.
Some people describe hope like a butterfly, fluttering in all delicately. Nope. Not mine. The way I felt today…suddenly, there it was, waltzing in all bad ass and unannounced, chewing gum and nonchalantly flopping down into a seat in my temporal lobe, as if to say, “Yeah, I’m here. What of it?”
I felt hope, real unadulterated hope for the first time since October.
Maybe my emotions aren’t dead. Maybe I feel ready. Maybe.
It’s all Only For Now. I know that. I’m not skipping through a shiny, blossoming field of perpetual positivity; after all, I should have been starting my maternity leave this Friday, but instead, I’ll be having my 50-somethingth internal scan just to see how my follicles are growing – hardly the idealistic dream we had for March, back in August. And that hurts. Hurts.
But it was there, just for a second. Hope exists.