Despair was consuming me, and yet the tiniest tinge of relief was starting to seep through the cracks of my broken heart; I was desperate for this torture to end.

“I am so sorry hun, your pregnancy test was negative.” I gulped. I wanted to vomit, and yet I had expected it.

“I’m only doing this for closure,” I’d staunchly say to myself, as if articulating the words out loud would convince my little fragile, hopeful heart.

When I woke up in recovery I had the number “16” written on my hand and I nearly burst into tears. As we drove home we allowed ourselves to relish the sensation of hope again…

I was a little bit hotter, a little bit angrier and a little bit less tolerant every day. Fighting invigorated me – Confrontation felt so GOOD.

So many women are afraid to change doctors as they don’t want to “offend” their current doctor, but for me, this was a decision of life or death – the life or death of my future children.

Life or death – that is EXACTLY how I viewed it. I wanted to be taken seriously; this “casual” approach was making me furious.

I looked up and the screen was black. I didn’t know what was happening, all I knew is that she was causing me unbearable pain and the procedure hadn’t even started.

“Can you do that?” I scrunched my nose in disbelief. “I can try.” Her nod was strong and solid, as though she was accepting a challenge.

For a brief moment I want him to go; I want him to move on with his life. I believe that it’s all my fault that he’s going through this horrible, painful crisis.

You have to keep yourself busy and distracted, and by all means….DON’T overanalyze your symptoms!!!!! Even though everybody does.

She is quick and efficient and before I know it, it’s over. “Can I stand up?” I ask in surprise. She laughs. “It’s not going to fall out of you.”

Hope is slowly growing inside a little dark corner of my heart. Normally I suppress it, but for some reason I watered it a little bit this time.

It’s been almost 4 years since we first started trying and I remember, with a sting of despair, the number of times I have hoped that something would work, yet it never has.

With shaking hands I pick up the phone and shove the fear of the unknown into a little proverbial suitcase that I carry with me always. I choke back tears as I make THE CALL.