We say to ourselves, "Don't get your hopes up," and we prepare for the worst. But we were made to hope.
We can't help it.
We can go ahead and brace ourselves for disappointment, but secretly, or not, we cross our fingers and hope for the best. And a lot of times, even when we pray with surrender, we pray with hope. Knowing that God is in control, but still hoping that God's best for us, that His "agenda", includes the things that our hearts ache for.
What was the last thing you hoped for? Was it a job? Was it your soul-mate? Was it a promotion? Was it a clean bill of health?
After 9 years, Chris and I decided to shock our families and shock the world and try to have another baby. For years, we have said that our family of 3 was "complete." And I have to say, it's a great family of 3. But with 40 right around the corner, we started praying about a family of 4, and our prayer was answered very quickly with a positive pregnancy test. (Okay, I took more than one, telling myself, "if the NEXT one is positive, then I really AM pregnant!" I finally believed on the 5th test...). And I surprised Chris on our 13th Anniversary with a whole set of pregnancy tests confirming that he was going to be a Daddy again.
Because I am "no spring chicken" as my OB's nurse told me, the testing started immediately, showing an excellent progesterone level and a swiftly growing HCG number.
5 positive pregnancy tests, a progesterone level of 20.7, and 3 weeks of doubling HCG/Beta numbers means that you're going to have a baby, doesn't it?
But during a 5 hour trip to the ER this weekend because of some late-night bleeding, the sono showed that the pregnancy was not viable and would most likely terminate on its own. And a sono yesterday confirmed it. I spent a lot of time hoping this weekend, knowing deep inside what the reality was, but still hoping for a different -- a miraculous -- outcome.
And now I'm waiting. Waiting for death, essentially. Waiting for closure. I don't know what's worse. The ending or waiting for it.
My emotion is gone now, I'm numb. And I've switched into rational mode. I'm going to work this morning. And trying to rise above reality. Because I know this happens all the time.
But even though a million other women have gone through this, it is a very alone kind of thing.
But even in the numb, even in the alone, I hope. I hope for this to pass quickly. I hope for another try. I hope for the day when we become a family of 4.
I can't stop hoping. It's who I am. It's who WE are. We would be lifeless without it. My hope tells me that I'm alive. That I can make it through. And that tomorrow, and every day following, promises a little less hurt, a little more normal, a little bit brighter smile.
At least I hope...