I’d had many episodes over the last few years where I felt “depressed”, but nothing quite like this. In fact, I wasn’t even sure I felt sad – I just felt unbelievably tired.

I was excited, yet terrified – I wanted to meet her baby before I left, yet it seemed way too confronting.

It would send me into a frenzy of weeping until all the anger, envy, fury, disappointment and bitterness would leave me.

I gulped again. I was terrible at saying no. I was terrible at self-care. I was terrible at setting boundaries. I cared too much about what people thought of me.

“Break?” he scoffed, “You don’t have time for a break! I know you feel exhausted and depleted now, but you’re not going to feel any better in a few months.”

I got out of the shower and sat, exhausted, on the couch. I felt like I was losing my mind. I really didn’t know if Jarod was ever going to come home.

How do I describe a feeling so complex, that the layers themselves are blurry in my own mind? How do I convey the depth of pain that permeates the soul when all hope is lost?

I’d chosen to take a break – a long one – and it was gut wrenching to know that I was CHOOSING to prolong my pain, my suffering and the length of the unknown.

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.

But, instead, we are trying NATURALLY. The best way really. I know I should be thrilled. So…..here I go again….on that horrible rollercoaster ride.

The doctor had warned me that only about 80% of my pain would improve. But an 80% decrease in pain is LIFE-CHANGING!

Some days were worse than others and I never told my husband about this because I was terrified that we would stop having sex all together.

In those powerful moments of awe, wonder and mindfulness you find that, in that brief moment, your pain and sadness actually disappears.