Three months into infertility treatments, there are few things so difficult to bear as hope.
This tiny little voice, pointing out the strange feelings your reproductive system creates three days before your period. Because so many hallmarks of a period are also hallmarks of implantation and early conception. That people do get pregnant from fertility treatments. Otherwise, well, they wouldn't be offered as a treatment. That God can do anything he pleases. And Maybe - just maybe - this time he will be pleased to give us a baby.
So, this tiny voice brings hopeful dreams: what would it be like to look at my husband with tears of happiness, instead of sadness, numbness and disappointment? To tell people who have prayed for so long with us that we're finally pregnant? To have hope fulfilled? To, for a momentary second, feel the relief of success?
Then remembering the crushing pain of the last month: "not pregnant" in indisputable digital display. On our fourth anniversary. When we were so hopeful, so positive this month would be the best shot. The knowledge that the ultrasound this time showed I ovulated on the side that is most damaged from endometriosis. Knowing that side is unlikely to move an egg properly, fertilized or not. Thinking about the fever from illness that came for two days after the last fertility treatment.
With all that proof, wouldn't you think I would rest in the knowledge that I'm not pregnant?
But there it is. The tiny little voice of hope.