A Different Kind of Hope

This time tomorrow, I will be filling up my bladder and taking my v.alium, ibuprofen, and a.lbuterol in preparation for my second transfer.

I'm nervous.

I'm hopeful.

I'm less nervous about the transfer itself. I'm a pro at shots and know what to expect once I get to the clinic.

I'm more nervous about what I will do if this time doesn't work.

Going into it, I really did expect last time would "work".

I'm more hopeful than I was before everything was squared away with our second match.

But this current hope is a different kind of hope than before my first transfer.

Last time, I had a giddy, excited hope.

I bought enough alcohol pads and bandaids to last for a trimester. I wasn't sure I'd need them, but I sure I hoped so.

This time, I'm more jaded, and my hope is more a type of desperation.

"Yeah, you'd need plenty of alcohol pads and bandaids all right... for a second transfer". And it turns out I'm allergic to those dumb clear bandaids, anyway, so I ended up getting rid of them and buying even more bandaids. Only two boxes this time, instead of four.

Bandaids are a dumb thing to fixate on. But they are a tangible reminder of what my hope looked like then and what it looks like now.

I think u.rban dictionary defines it the best... "jaded: The end result of having a steady flow of negative experiences, disappointment, and unfulfillment fed into a person where they get to the point where their anger circuits just sort of burn out and they accept disillusionment".

It's possible to still hold onto a deep hope in this moment. My foundation is in my faith. That sounds trite, but it's so true.

I hold on to hope that there is a bigger purpose and that something will work out soon.

Oh please, let tomorrow be the start of a new chapter.