Somehow, someway, in the midst of just wanting to give up and move on with my life, as I watch more and more friends get pregnant, God has instilled in me an ounce of undying hope. And I know exactly how and when it got there.
My false positive hpt (triggered by a level of only 10 hCG, residual from post-Peak injections) on January 9th, 2008 was a day I'll never forget, for as long as I live. Forever in my mind and in my heart and in my soul, that day WILL REMAIN the day I first found out I was pregnant. On January 10th at 1:00pm, I received the fateful voicemail from my Dr, telling me that the level was only 10, and progesterone was 6.4- that I was not pregnant. I've often said that if I had ever had a miscarriage, it would be the worst experience of my life... BUT, I would feel fueled to continue on this journey, confident that I could achieve pregnancy a 2nd time. But on that cold, barren day in January, not only was I stripped of a life inside of me (a life that I truly felt), but I was also stripped of any hope of conceiving in the future.
However, what was NOT taken from me was the memory of January 9th. A feeling of complete and utter bliss like I have never felt before or since. A spiritual place so elevated, so pure, so clothed in God's love for me and my husband - how is it that I should come to be so blessed? I was more grateful in those 24 hrs than I had been in the previous 26 1/2 years. That place- that perfect, serene, and essential place, is where I long to be once more. It is the hope of attaining that peace again that keeps me hanging on in this journey, even on days and weeks like this one, when I desperately want to throw in the towel.
I now recognize that experience in January as a gift from God. He knew that I would need something to keep me going, some light at the end of the tunnel, one ounce of hope in the endless abyss of failure. But I wonder... how much longer can an ounce of hope sustain me?