round 1

Femara again. But twice the dose that I was on 1 year ago, and 2 doctors ago.

I'm anxious.

Next week they'll do another scan, check my follicles, and if all goes well, try IUI.

Did I mention I'm anxious?

It's not that I'm afraid that it won't work. (I mean, I am...) But I'm mostly afraid of how I'll respond if it doesn't work.

I know that with unexplained infertility, the chances of a basic IUI being successful are pretty small. But right now, our finances demand we try it first.

I feel a peace about the decision. I'm anxious about the outcome, but peaceful about the decision.

I'm a total walking contradiction these days. Content one day, desperately lonely the next.

Welcome to my world.

the meaning of hope

I read something interesting today over at the this site. The contributor wrote that her favorite definition for hope reads: to wait for salvation with joy and full confidence.

And for some reason, it really struck a cord with me this morning.

I say the word 'hope' all the time when I'm talking about the weather or my weekend plans, but rarely do I mean it in this context.

It was jarring. There are so many things that I am learning during this journey of heartbreak, and to wait is a big one.

How do I do that? And how do I do that with joy and confidence? I have to admit that most days it's almost impossible to have such a peace about waiting. And I forget that this life is about bringing me closer to my Redeemer.

But then there are other days. Days where I am acutely aware that I have a Saviour who leads me beside still waters and restores my soul. Days where I understand what it means to mourn and to grieve, but where I can still wait with joy and confidence in the One who sustains me.

I don't know which kind of day it will be today.

try, try again

So today we tried again to get that pesky baseline test done.

I have to say, that despite my name of 'hopeful', I rarely have hope these days. So thoughts of my cyst being gone and being able to draw blood were far from my mind.

But you know what?

The cyst was actually gone. I almost cried tears of joy.

Because in the almost 2 years of treatments, this is the first time that something has actually gone as the doctor expected.

What does this mean? Oh, mostly nothing right now.

But it DOES mean that we can begin on a Plan. And although this is probably Plan D, well, it's still a Plan.

support

God has a sense of humor.

Last week at the doctor, I ran into a girl I went to college with. Who also happened to have dated my husband for a little while.

It was awkward. We both knew what we were doing at the fertility clinic, but we didn't mention it.

And this week? This week we're getting together for coffee. I think it will be good, she has just gone through IVF, and it will be nice to hear a personal experience.

I know it was providential running into them at the clinic, and I'm grateful to have the opportunity to talk to someone who's been here.

I just didn't expect it to be her.

4x6

My cyst apparently likes it's home on my left ovary. This was my first time that an actual doctor has performed the scan on me. She remarked how large the cyst was, 4x6 cm. 'No wonder you've been having pain', she says.

Her only concern is if my pain becomes unbearable, it could mean emergency surgery. Great.

But it's not irregular or anything, so she's not concerned about that.

The only problem is having to wait another month to even get my baseline, much less start any fertility treatments.

The past few weeks I've been doing okay emotionally. But today is hard. I think because I got an e-mail about a baby shower. And how we're going to play that game where we all write down advice for the new mother.

As if I have anything to offer. And being the only non-mother of the group, that will be painfully obvious. I want to crawl into a hole and not come out until August 2.

I wonder if anyone would notice?

And also today... fertility treatment is EXPENSIVE. Our cheapest option is still over $1000. Then we have $5K, then we have $13K.

Anyone giving out no-interest loans?

unexplained infertility

That's what she called it. Sperm is fine. I am seemingly fine. But still no baby. Obviously, not everything is fine.

We got a sheet explaining the options for unexplained infertility couples. It showed success rates of each. Apparently, there are not that many options that have good success rates available to us, except IVF.

The other options for the 2 different IUI procedures range from 8-17% success. Is that promising enough for thousands of dollars and months of time? I don't know yet.

When did it become normal for me to throw the terms 'IVF' and 'IUI' around in everyday conversation? I don't think I like it.

I don't know what we'll do. Next week they'll test me to make sure my eggs aren't 'old'. And get a baseline of my follicles.

Before this past year, I always said I'd never do IVF. Now I'm not so sure.

Am I really ready to give up the hope of being pregnant and having a biological child?

I am realizing more and more just how much of a personal decision this fertility stuff is.

And by the way, it totally sucks.

the time has come

My appointment with my doctor this week was very disappointing. Still thin lining. And now, a large cyst on my left ovary.

Clomid and I are apparently not good friends, even at small doses.

So next week we go to a reproductive specialist. My husband will go with me. It'll be the first time that he is there, and I'll be so glad to have him ask the questions this time.

I hadn't wanted him there until now, because then that makes it real. But I guess it IS real.

Every person has a story. And that story molds them and changes them. And I know that God is directing the stories.

Some day down the road I know I'll be thankful for my story. I'll be glad I walked this road. Already I know I am different because of it, and I'm glad for that.

But I just didn't ever want this to be my story. And truth be told, I still don't.