They will tell you no, and you will tell them...

When I got home yesterday, Michael had dug five new flower beds for tulips and daffodils around the house for me as a surprise. He said he wanted me to have something to look forward to after the barreness of the winter. He's not really into gardening, but he built terraced beds for the front yard, and worked the hard clay soil into something that held promise... he fertilized and supplemented and the soil was rich and loamy.

He said, I want you to have something to hope for. We sat side by side, our knees pressing into the newly turned earth, planting close to six hundred bulbs before the sun slipped below the horizon and our hands became numb. Today, we will plant around four hundred more.

Spring has always been my favorite season... cliched - yes, perhaps. But I adore that feeling of rebirth - of new opportunities - new beginnings. As each tulip, hyacinth, crocus and daffodil breaks free from the frozen earth, as each tree cloaks herself in bright hope of flowers - hinting at the promise of fruit, I feel my own sadness dissipate as the world slowly shrugs off the brisk touch of winter and moves on. Spring is a prelude, a constant seduction of growth and renewal.

The R.E.'s office called yesterday - and asked that I drop by this morning for more blood work. Lupus Anticoagulant (?), ANA, and some other test, I don't remember the name of in addition to the CA-125. The nurse asked me if I had ever miscarried. Yes, I said dismissively, but it was very early. It was a chemical pregnancy, it hardly counts. She sighed, and said - honey it counts. They all count as lost dreams. She then explained what all the tests were for, and I explained - I'm spotting, red - on CD 24 - five days early.

They had me code the lab sheet, and the insurance codes were submitted as ovarian endometriosis, female pelvic pain, and habitual aborter to have the insurance pick up as large as a portion of the cost as possible. We discussed whether to move forward with this cycle, given the extenuating health issues. The doctor told us it's up to us, but that he would advise a cautious approach.

This morning on the way to the lab, my windshield was frosted over. The landscape looked as if it had been cloaked in tiny diamonds, the frost sparkling in the first streaks of grey dawn.

I am not ready for the emptiness and the grey flannel skies of winter. I am simply not ready to acknowledge the slipping temperatures and the cold north wind blowing against the windows. I don't, logically - emotionally - spiritually - believe that this cycle would work. Everything seems stacked against it. Rationally, I realize that I am perhaps being irresponsible. I fully acknowledge it would be better to wait, to have concrete answers and plans.

We have been waiting so long, another few cycles really are not that important.

I remember a Nike ad that used to hang on the inside of my closet when I was thirteen. I don't remember the exact words, but it went something along the lines of:

All your life you are told the things you cannot do. All your life they will say you're not good enough or strong enough or talented enough; they will say you're the wrong height or the wrong weight or the wrong type to play this or be this or achieve this. THEY WILL TELL YOU NO, a thousand times no, until all the no's become meaningless. All your life they will tell you no, quite firmly and very quickly. AND YOU WILL TELL THEM YES.

We are moving forward. I will start this cycle, barring any blanket prohibition by the doctor.