Today I write to you from the middle cushion of my couch.
Under several quilts, cozied up, but in incredible pain.
Today was the day that I had been dreading for some time.
The day that Iโ€™ve thought about every single night while lying awake in bed for the past month.
The day I would go in to get my HSG.
I had discussed this with my doctor in great detail โ€“ 
and it was no secret that it was going to be painful.
But I guess I just didnโ€™t really realize, 
how emotionally and physically exhausting it would actually be.
An HSG is a procedure that is done for a number of reasons.
For me it was the fear that my tubes were blocked by scar tissue from my Endometriosis โ€“
Which has been the reason William and I have been unsuccessful at conceiving.
I prayed for strength. Strength to get through the procedure – and strength to deal with the news it would bring. I laid on the table as they inserted the clamp, and the instrument, and then the dye into my cervix. I tried my best to focus on the ceiling tiles above me, counting the tiny dots within each one. But after a moment I was distracted and whipped back to why I was laying there in the first place. In my head I pictured my husband, who was nervously awaiting a few halls down. I pictured Wyatt playing at his Puppaโ€™s house with a giant smile on his face.          
There was a lot of cramping, a lot of pressure, and a lot of lying still while the x-ray machine rotated above my abdomen and snapped pictures of the spreading dye. I peeked up at the screen hoping to magically know what a good cervix and tubes would look like. But everything was a blur. Then all of a sudden it was over โ€“ and I honestly couldnโ€™t tell you how long I was laying there. I slowly started to rise from the table and immediately I was struck with a terrible, stabbing pain. Tears immediately began to run down my warm cheeks. The doctor rushed off in a hurry telling me they would call with the results and the nurse guided me to a room where I could get dressed. She handed me a small towel, a pad, and told me to have a nice day. Iโ€™m not sure if it was the pain, my nervousness, or just the situation at hand โ€“ but a flood gate opened as I stood in the empty room alone.
I started to pull off the gown and I struggled to get myself dressed. I managed to pull on my pink sweat pants and my husbands grey sweatshirt. But I couldnโ€™t โ€“ for the life of me โ€“ get my shoes on. There was no one around, and I just wanted to get back to him. I carried my shoes in my hands as I slowly and awkwardly began to walk the halls of the hospital, crying the entire way. I was in so much pain, but I just kept walking. People passed me, doctors, nurses, and fellow patients โ€“ they stared as I passed them in tears. Finally I turned the corner, looked into the waiting room, and saw my husband sitting there. And then he looked up, and the tears pushed through even more.
Standing outside the room, holding my boots, mascara running โ€“ a complete mess.
He jumped up and rushed up to the door โ€“ came whipping through it โ€“ and just held me.
It was in that moment that I relized – whatever happens – baby or no baby, surgery or no surgery,
We would be okay.
We will always be okay.
Because we have each other.
And we have so much love between us.
So much love in our family.
And I can never lose that love in my heart.

(We get the results tomorrow.)

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