To those who love us...

So in no particular order, to those who love us...

Some only know we're "trying."  They might not know my daily E2 levels or follicle count, but they know it hasn't been easy.  Parents of my close friends have e-mailed words of support.  My mom's girlfriends sent cards before and after each IVF cycle.  Her church group continues to pray for us.  Our priest somehow crafted homilies that at times seemed meant for us.  My dad's neighbor quietly toasted us on New Year's, winking and saying "here's to YOUR year." 

Our colleagues know, and it's made our lives easier.  With all of the packages stamped with a penguin figure arriving at the office and being deposited into the fridge, the last-minute shuffling around of our own patients, and a few "pop to the loo" injections, our colleagues were bound to find out.  We didn't make an announcement at happy hour, but our colleagues are also our friends, and they came to know what we were going through.  There have been gentle questions during stims, and a wordless understanding that came after each of our failed attempts.  After our first IVF, I found a card on my desk addressed to "Beautiful," which brought me to tears.  My sweet friends knew to leave it quietly on my desk at the end of the day.

I think it's safe to say that my closest girlfriends know more about my ovarian function than their own.  About a year after starting TTC, I began to let them in on the happenings.  They listened.  They hoped for us.  They "amen, sister-ed" me when I bitched about women popping up pregnant all over Facebook.  They checked in on my cycles.  A far away friend sent a mother's day card with words of encouragement.  A tech savvy friend offered to create a "Courtney & the hubs are adopting" website for us if needed.  In the wake of our final IVF cycle cancellation, they understood our sadness.  A dear friend sent a spa gift card, an old friend who had suffered a miscarriage the year before sent us flowers.  They continue to make me feel normal and beautiful.  They make me laugh.  More than anything they tell me I'm strong.  Thank you beautiful friends.

While sometimes a bit dry--a light joke goes a long way in the fertility field--Dr. M is clearly respected in his field.  We trust his guidance based on both empirical data, years of experience, as well as intuition.  Our nurse, S, has been incredibly patient, informative, and warm.  She has actually cried with me on more than one occasion (for which my mom then cried, knowing she was so good to us).  She has tempered honestly with optimism.  When we only ended up with three embryos at our first IVF, she assured us she had "seen perfect babies come from not-so-perfect embryos."  Our tech is always smiling, and on days when I've had blood pregnancy tests, she always asks "how you doin', darlin?" and assures me her fingers are crossed for the both of us.

There's a baby boy I need to mention.  My big, sweet, and beautiful nephew, H.  Friends have asked if it's difficult to be around him, what with the infertility diagnosis and all.  But being around my sweet H is a cure for what ails me.  I feel calm, happy, and hopeful in his little presence.  He's been amazing to watch grow up in the past year.  I've been honored to be with him for his first Christmas, first snow, first trip to Pottery Barn, and for thousands of smiles, grasps, and steps.  I love seeing my brother in his precious baby face, or seeing my sister in law in his eyes.  His amazing parents have been so good to us through this.  When we found out we weren't eligible for shared risk IVF, they sent us flowers.  My brother has faithfully called to "check in" after each disappointment, being mostly silent on the phone, and letting me talk.  And they both humor my ruthless demands for pics and video of "my" baby H.

My step-dad has offered more support than I would have ever thought to his once bratty teenage step-daughter.  My aunt has been another source of love, support, and a shoulder to cry on.  She has cried with me, her heart has broken for me, but she has also kept me laughing when what I really needed to do is laugh.  She and my uncle have both helped us with our expenses, completely of their own accord.  Quietly, modestly.

My Dad, step-mom, and in-laws stepped forward with such generosity as to make it possible for us to move on past our IVF failures and onto the next step.  Again we never asked.  We have shared our disappointment and hopes with them.  They have been cautious not to invade our privacy--one's fertility can be a delicate thing to discuss beyond the "mom" realm for women.  But hey have been wonderful through it all, and offered to "nurse" through various recoveries if needed.  Their gift has allowed us to hope again.

My sweet mama has been with us from day one.  In the past three years, it's safe to say she's fielded the most meltdowns (along w/ the hubs) with unfailing kindness and hopefulness.  We never asked for any help, but from the beginning, she has helped us with the overwhelming expenses we were just starting to encounter.  We literally could not have started down the IVF route without her support.  She knows the ups and downs as intimately as I do.  While with me through our first IVF, she realized that in no way is IVF a "given."  She was with me for each report on our embryos, sitting breathless beside me while I took each phone call.  She's been with me, either physically holding me, or on the phone, when I've been overwhelmed with emptiness.  She realizes just how sad infertility has been for us, as she has experienced it alongside my husband and I as another partner.  Hubs and I would not be where we are today without her support.

From hope to disappointment, and back again.  And again.  And again.  The times that I thought I could never hope again, its our friends and family who have helped us to believe again in hope.