News from Jules | 03.28.2022 | Get Your Hopes Up
The clock was ticking and my body was getting restless. My curiosity to watch the video feed of the doctor “vacuuming” the inside of my uterus wained as my discomfort increased. What was typically a 10-minute hysteroscopy to remove a small polyp ended up taking 45 minutes due to an additional, much larger, and unexpected fibroid. Plus some technical difficulties.
“Hang in there. We’re so close to getting it all cleared out,” the doctor said.
I covered my eyes with an extra shirt so I could just focus on breathing evenly, noticing the sensations, and hearing the soothing Solfeggio frequencies in my earbuds.
“Okay. That’s it! You’re quite the trooper. You’ll do great in labor,” she said.
On the outside, I smiled at the reassuring vote of confidence. On the inside, I smiled at the immediate relief.
Oddly, it felt exactly like a spring cleaning. Like everything from the past year that decomposed during the winter—all the loss, grief, fear, despair—as well as old pain bodies, had been removed. No longer blocking the planting of new possibilities.
In addition to reassurance and relief, there was also a flicker of another unfamiliar feeling. What was that?
I felt something I haven’t felt in a while: Hope.
I didn’t lose joy or wonder in the past 14+ months of attempting to conceive life. If anything, my awe at the true miracle of making life has multiplied with every new challenge and setback.
What I lost track of was hope.
We don’t hope, we don’t wish for, discomfort or pain or sadness or despair—in experiences or from things. No, we hope and we wish for what brings us: excitement, joy, delight, satisfaction, happiness.
So, it’s easy to conflate the anticipatory feeling of the outcome—like joy—with the process. That hope itself feels exciting or joyful.
And since hope is based on promise—which is another word for potential, but also another word for expectation—then feeling hopeful must ensure success.
That’s where the slope gets really slippery.
This is where despair and hope are linked. Despair being the absence of hope. Because experiences or things are not happening as we imagined or expected. The situation doesn’t feel promising.
When I didn’t get pregnant on the first attempt. When love-at-first-sight wasn’t the one. When the diagnostic testing was inconclusive.
After the first two tests in January, I had another ultrasound before heading on retreat in February. Based on those, I did the uterine procedure a couple of days before heading back to the coast in mid-March. During magical, spontaneous conversations with people on both retreats, I learned one promising thing after another about others’ successful fertility journeys.
I realized what had been missing for a while: Hope.
That anything is still possible.
A week ago the pathology results showed that the fibroid and polyp were benign. The worst-case scenario of cancer is not an issue. The best case is coming true that I should be fully recovered and ready to make another attempt in a couple of weeks.
Last weekend, I returned to some favorite spots on the coast near Yachats, Ore. while one of my best friends is visiting for Spring Break. Walking down Amanda’s Trail to make offerings at the Native American memorial, I noticed a giant suspension bridge extending over the babbling creek below.
When I was last there in October there was no bridge.
As I bounced across the new bridge, I realized:
Despair is standing on one side without a bridge to the other side. Hope forms a bridge. Who knows what’s on the other side?
For bridges we haven’t crossed before—which is most of life—there’s no promised or expected guarantee. It’s curiosity about the possibilities and faith in reality that carries us across.
Perhaps hope doesn’t feel exciting or joyful, it feels peaceful.
And perhaps optimistic.
Seeing so much potential.
May you get your hopes up this week.
Love,
Jules