As I sit on the eve of yet another hospital visit, before the second of a ‘surgical procedure’, which is no more than a 20 minute sedated nap to avoid awkwardness between doc and I, my mind starts to think back over the years and all we’ve been through, and to the first time I went in for a similar op.
3 years ago, I had yet another thing that so many women have, but that none of us seem to talk about openly – a hysteroscopy and laparoscopy**. It was so close to the start of this journey. I went to sleep with a nervous anticipation and woke up excited that surely, the problem would be in the results. The solution would be at the hands of our doctors. I was filled with hope. Blind faith. That moment I opened my eyes, would be the new beginning, all would be solved, and we could get on with our lives and head into parenthood at last. (And my bestest and I would be pregnant at the same time with our first child!)
As the story goes, however, she has since had two kids. And I have no solutions.
I have no blind hope in tomorrow’s surgery ending in pregnancy or resolved issues. That is not why I’m going in. I’m no more excited than I am indifferent to the outcome of the Williams vs Asarenka tennis match on TV right now. I am scared. And I am nervous. Mostly because I am not a fan of hospitals in the least. Also, and more importantly, because I hope that tomorrow’s verdict is one of health and a long life ahead. This isn’t about having a baby, or not having a baby (although, maybe it always is). This is just about living a happy long life with someone I promised to do that with.