Hope.  A word with four little letters, yet it’s played such a huge role in my journey to grow my family.

Hope that the mass on my ovary wasn’t a big deal.  (It wasn’t, although it was the first sign of my PCOS)

Hope that the mass in the front of my husband’s brain wasn’t malignant.  (It wasn’t, although it was the reason my husband wasn’t producing sperm)

Hope that the medication my husband was given to reduce the mass of the tumor would do so. (It did, although the side-effects were sometimes so hard on him)

Hope that reducing the mass of the tumor would allow his body to produce the right hormones in the right proportions for him to start producing sperm (It did)

Hope that we would be able to successfully conceive via IVF/ICSI (We did)

Hope that we would be able to conceive again after the loss of our firstborn (We did)

Hope that I would heal enough from the complications during my pregnancy with our rainbow that it would be safe for us to attempt another pregnancy (I did)

Hope that our first frozen embryo transfer would be successful (It was not)

 

And here we are, with our amazing 18 month old rainbow, still full of hope.

Hope that the embryo we transferred just two days ago will “stick” (in layman’s terms) and that my next post for PALS will be the one in which we announce that we are expecting our second rainbow.

 

I’ve been asked by several people lately how I’ve been able to remain hopeful through everything we’ve been through (not just related to family-building).  And my honest answer is “I just have.” There are many reasons I am still hopeful that we will be successful in having another biological child: My faith, the support of my family and friends.  During some of the darkest days of my life, two quotes regarding hope have always been so special to me:  Once you choose hope, anything’s possible (Christopher Reeve) and Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness (Desmond Tutu).  Because even in my darkest days, choosing hope has led to some incredible blessings.

So here’s to hope.

My amazing little 18 month old bubble-fiend.

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