Tomorrow, we find out if Dr. Miracle has been successful in persuading the person who recently pulled the plug on our gestational surrogacy to reverse her decision.

Our original meeting to discuss this matter wasn’t until October, since waitlists for fertility doctors, especially those as good as ours, are obscene. We got lucky when a cancellation for tomorrow became available: I’m grateful we don’t have hold on an additional seven weeks. If the news is negative, I’d rather know now.

For the folks who haven’t endured the wrenching parachute jumps that are infertility treatment, the level of nerves I’m feeling tonight may be incomprehensible. That’s okay. My sisters in the field of difficult baby-making, you know what it is to be immersed in pre-appointment apprehension. I’m sorry you can relate, but it helps to know I’m not alone.

I was trying to sum things up in one sentence. That made things worse.

Tomorrow, before lunch, we will know if we can pursue parenthood as planned. 

See? The single statement isn’t helping anyone. Distilling the gravity of a complex situation into a few brief clauses doesn’t make it easier to stomach.

To make things even more fun, The Electrician is on the night shift, so I’m home by myself tonight. So far, in the interest of easing my stress, I’ve snuggled with the cat, played RockBand, eaten too much pasta, and written this post. I was thinking about working on a quilting project, but given my miserable results on the video game, I’m avoiding machinery and rapidly-moving sharp objects tonight.

We are two full years into this process, and I’m exhausted. Thank you to all the folks who have sent us support in many ways. Your kindness helps me keep going.