Hope is such a seductive and intoxicating thing. Prior to Lucky Cycle #10, I had lost all hope. I was convinced I was in it for the long haul. The Cyster forever relegated to the barren and infertile side of the chasm. Which, I might add, is a bit dramatic given that twelve months of ttc as a women with PCOS isn’t that bad. See Lucky.
This week I’ve been experiencing some strange patterns in my BBT chart. After almost 18 months of charting, I’ve begun to think I’m really good at it. My temps dropped just three days ago, after my fair share of hot flashes and night sweats. This is a standard BBT presentation post-D&C. Fantastic, I thought, I’m on my way. I did a cleanse, my hormones are regulating, I’m going to ovulate in a short period of time – say 4 weeks from now. This morning? My temperature spiked. This was coupled with two days worth of EWCM. WTF is with the EWCM?!
Big Guy and I happened to have sex at the right time. Good sex – not the “I think I’m ovulating and I think we should get this done, even though you just worked a fourteen hour day” type of sex. Sex that is a reminder that we are in love with each, appreciate each other, and want to be intimate with each other. The type of sex that had begun to fade to a distant memory with the perfunctory, mandated, timed intercourse.
This EWCM combined with the positive and loving sex makes me hopeful. No matter how hard I try to tramp it down, ignore it, shift it to the edge of my consciousness, the hope exists. In fact, it isn’t just seductive and intoxicating, hope is dangerous. If you are devoid of hope the pain, the disappointment, the drudgery, none of it is a surprise. As a result, it ceases to be as painful. The peaks aren’t that high and the lows aren’t that low, because the expectations just don’t exist.
But, today, I’m hopeful, and that scares the shit out of me. Hope and I are strange bedfellows. It is not my natural inclination, and, given my past experience with inevitable ttc let-downs, I am not welcoming the hope with open arms. I am wary and cautious, guarding my heart carefully.
I’m sure that the temperature spike was an anomaly. I’m sure that I did not ovulate. I’m sure that, even if I did, I will not get pregnant.
But, what if?
Go away, Hope.