After my recent miscarriage I thought I would never recover to the point where I could swallow the idea of fertility treatment again. All those doctor appointments and needles, accompanied by the usual hormonal and emotional insanity. The very thought made my heart race, and gave me the all-too familiar feeling of a large concrete block sliding into my stomach.
Of course I can't say I am completely free of that feeling, but at least the pool of despair I have been swimming in for the last two months has evaporated to the point that I can at least put my feet on the ground.
And that primal ache for a baby has replaced the throbbing depression that has overwhelmed me, and it has given me hope. Hope of the future, of trying again and being rewarded, and the knowledge that I will be able to handle the disappointment if it doesn't work.
Here we go again.
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