Many people in the infertility community talk about hope as a positive thing. We encourage people to Never give up hope!, to cling to the slightest chance that one may eventually conceive a healthy baby. Personally, I think hope is overrated.
Hope is a virus. And I’m permanently infected. Every cycle, I try to dismiss hope. No hope, no disappointment, right? But, every cycle, something happens–something slightly different, something new–and it keeps the hope virus alive and well inside me, no matter how hard I try to get rid of it. This time it’s my thick uterine lining. As frustrated as I was about the rocky start to this cycle, it gave my medical team the opportunity to try something different to boost my lining–and it worked. So, even though I have pretty much everything else working against me, I’m hanging on to this little thread of hope of that maybe, just maybe, a nice, cushy uterus was the missing piece of the puzzle.
Last cycle, it was the addition of progesterone to my fertility arsenal.
The cycle before that, a higher dose of Femara and awesome response.
Before that was my first Femara and trigger cycle.
Before that, the diagnosis and removal of Stage IV endometriosis.
I could go on for a year’s worth of cycles, but I think you see my point: Every cycle presents a new glimmer of hope in the form of a new treatment or improved response. I’m happy that there have been improvements along the way, but it makes it all the more difficult to remain emotionally neutral.
You could argue that, hope or no hope, disappointment will find me. And you’d be right. But it’s more than just avoiding disappointment. When a cycle fails, I feel a little ashamed that I allowed myself to indulge in hope. What made me think this cycle would work? What makes me think any of these cycles will work? What is keeping me from accepting the fact that getting pregnant just isn’t in the cards for me?
Aha! There you have it. What really bothers me about this unrelenting hope is that it’s somehow preventing me from coming to terms with the inevitable. Or maybe my inability to come to terms is feeding my hope?
Sheesh. This emotional stuff just keeps getting more and more complicated.