How many times have I uttered these words?
A hundred times? A thousand?
While duct-taping the leak in the garden
hose so I can continue using it without buying a whole new one. “Whew,” I’d
said, “I hope this works.”
While scheming with my sisters back when we
were little, coming up with a plan to get our dad to agree to take us to the
park. (Word of advice: Send the cute youngest sister to bat her big brown eyes.)
“OK, you guys,” I’d said, looking seriously at the two of them. “I hope this
While my husband and I sat on the floor of
our new kitchen, installing our new dishwasher with no prior experience.
Glancing at each other quickly as my husband went to go turn on the water. I
shut my eyes, nervous. “I hope this works.”
While working on an inpatient psych unit,
being coached by senior staff on how to talk down a violent patient, and then
being led into the patient’s room to try it for the first time. “Oh my dear God
in heaven,” I muttered under my breath. “I hope this works.”
While sitting in the waiting room at the
fertility clinic for our first appointment. Squeezing my husband’s hand and
whispering in his ear, “I hope this works.”
How many times have I said these words over
Now, when I say the words “I hope this works,” I mean “I’ve sunk over $35,000 into this. I am at the end of the line, and I am willing to subject my body and mind to whatever it takes to bring home this baby.”
A few days ago, I was chatting with a
friend, telling her that I was about to start my second donor egg cycle. I was
giving her a rundown of the schedule of ultrasounds and appointments I had
coming up, and which medications I was going to be on. When I was finished, I
took a deep breath, let it out, and said, “I hope this works.”
Thinking back on that day, makes me reflect
on all the other times I have said this statement without really understanding
the true meaning of the words. Yes, I hoped the duct tape would hold on the
garden hose, my dad would take us to the park, the kitchen wouldn’t flood with
my husband’s mediocre handyman skills, and that psych patient wouldn’t kill me
upon walking into his room. I hoped that the doctors at the fertility clinic
could get me pregnant, but in retrospect, I uttered those words to my husband
because I didn’t expect it not to work. Back then, saying those words at
the clinic was no different than the eight-year-old that plotted with her two
sisters behind the recliner. In other words, they didn’t have the meaning that
they do now.
Now, when I say the words “I hope this
works,” I mean “I’ve sunk over $35,000 into this, I am at the end of
the line, and I am willing to subject my body and mind to whatever it takes to
bring home this baby.” I say these words out loud with a lump in my
throat, my breath catching, and a literal pain in my heart.
How many times have I said this without
really meaning it?
We go to Texas for our next cycle March 18. And I
hope this time, it works. More than anything, I hope this works.