Hope and Pain

I didn't post a "where were you post" or a "remember" post yesterday.  I didn't feel the urge.  My feelings on that day are mixed, emotionally and politically speaking.

But, in a way, that day changed the course of my life.

I was in Okovimburu, Namibia.  At a meeting (it was something like 3 in the afternoon).  The family I lived with had satellite TV, the only one for miles around, so I was usually rather well-informed.  I returned from said meeting at a few minutes past 3pm local time.  My brother Kipaa came over and said, "Did you hear?"  "Did I hear what?"  "New York was bombed."  I remember looking at him in utter disbelief and then running in to put C-Span on.  It was early enough that the 2nd plane had yet to hit.  No one knew what was going on.  I watched from the 2nd plane hitting through the next 48 hours until Mama dragged me off the couch and made me eat, bathe, get out.

That was the beginning of the end of my stay in Namibia.  I never fully recovered.  When I flew home in November, I got a full taste of the worldwide panic in airports.  Military carrying machine guns in the airport.  Wow.

If that hadn't happened, I would have had an entirely different life, I think.  I know.

2 years ago, 9/11/09, Hubby and I had our first RE appointment, around 9 am I think, oddly apropos.  We had no diagnosis, just a lot of information, and my first experience with the dildo cam.  We walked out with HOPE.  We were going to cycle in 2 short months, be pregnant, and live happily ever after.

And so 9/11 came to hold another feeling.  Hope.  Instead of pain at what could have been, I had hope about what could be.

Pain.

Hope.

They kind of go hand-in-hand don't they?

Last night I cried.  I read about 2 BFP's in Bloggy Land.  Our dear Missus Gamgee and Sara, both natural, one for an RPL survivor, and one a recent endo lap survivor.  And I cried.  For their HOPE.  For my PAIN. For MY hope.  Excitement for them.  That evil green headed monster Jealousy.  But always, for HOPE.

MY hope.  Between what Nicole has managed to raise with all of your help, and what a dear friend is putting in the mail to us this week, we have enough to SAVE THE FROSTIES.  At least for a bit.  The $500 would get us through until December only at our clinic.  But this fabulous woman, Alexandra, made some phone calls and found that Fairfax Cryobank (oddly, the original source, though not final, of our Sperm Daddy) in Philly will store for 40% the cost.  As we didn't know this ahead of time, we will be scheduling a move, which I can hopefully do myself, and gain us storage until JULY!  Just have to get them moved by the end of the month, so tomorrow I will be making some calls.

MY hope.  Hubby is looking into getting his CDL and doing OTR trucking.  He will be gone a lot.  But the money is good and could end up being a very wise choice for us, plus allow us to move.  My family will not be pleased, but we've given up nearly 3 years of seeing his family to see mine.  No one side will ever be truly pleased with our bicoastal-ness.  If he starts this, that is more money rolling in, meaning we can catch up again.  Because we need approximately $5k for ONE FET.  Thank you IF for putting us in the poorhouse.  Family planning?  Oh, man, whoever came up with that phrase had NO IDEA.

MY hope.  That P will, thanks to many of you, HOPEFULLY have a sibling sometime in the near future. A little brother or sister to torment, to mentor, to love.

My PAIN.  $5k to pull out of our asses.  For a prayer that we will be blessed for attempt #2 as we were for #1.  Could it be that easy?  My heart can't believe that.

My PAIN.  Not seeing my Hubby for possibly weeks at a time.  We still haven't even managed to have nookie.  He gets up at 2am to go deliver papers.  Neither one of us gets enough sleep.  There simply is no energy.  At this rate we could conceive another child without sex happening in between.  What is it like?  To know you created a baby out of a night of love?  That a miracle occurred right in your own body, without any outside help?  I think I will always mourn that.  It is a thought so inconceivable to me that sometimes I have to remind myself that one day I will have to hand my son condoms and tell him to be careful.  Irony.

September 11.  Pain.  Hope.  Forever tied together.