After three months of on-and-off (but mostly on) bleeding, of working with my body to learn what it needs and what is harmful to it, of working with my chiropractor to find the right supplements and homeopathy to support and heal the stresses locked into my muscles and joints and organs, of believing that my body was broken and needing to make a conscious, concerted effort of holding onto hope…. I finally ovulated again (and I say finally relative to my own body, because I know women who have had many more anovulatory cycles in a row, and for that I am sorry; I do count my blessings).
I knew I had ovulated from my temperatures and symptoms. But hearing the words you ovulated, having my doctor point out the corpus luteum (what’s left of the follicle after an egg is released) made it more real, more true.
This doesn’t mean that I don’t have anything to worry about. There are concerns and bloodwork and things to watch for. There is a list of issues for which I might need treatment. What it does means is that I no longer have to feel crazy whenever someone says, You just need to relax. Just stop trying so hard. What it does means is that I know my body well enough to know when something is not right. And I so needed that validation.
I will not go over what’s wrong, what the doctor found and suspects. Not right now. I am still riding the high of knowing that a small miracle occurred in my body a few days ago: my body was able to release a tiny, little miracle—about the size of the period at the end of this sentence—that held the potential for life; and with that, we have a chance. And honestly, that miraculous 20% chance, small as it is, that ovulation brings, well it’s all that we could hope for right now. And, right now, it’s enough.
This post is part of Franchesca’s new Small Miracles Blog Hop for baby lost parents as a way to share and celebrate hope every month, to share the promises, things, people, places, memories, signs, anything that brings us hope, as Franchesca puts it, to share what it is in your life that keeps you going, the signs and promises from above that give you reassurance… the little gifts throughout your day that make life worth living. These are the small miracles.
What small {or big!} miracles have brought you hope lately?
Would you like to join us? Learn more at Franchesca’s Small Miracles Blog Hop page.
Louie and I have never spent a night away from Calvin’s ashes. When we visit family for a weekend, we bring his urn, his main stuffed animals, his memory box, and his journal. We carry all of these things in a canvas bag – the same bag we used to bring his urn to the funeral home when we went to pick up his ashes (it was raining that day). 
