The Office Is The Only Hope

The office is the source of hope.

But it brings with it, more.

 

Fluid filled, cystic anxiety.

Blood soaked uncertainty.

Regression, after success.

Loss.

 

It brings stomach aches and heart palpitations.

Emotions and exposed nerves that are scrubbed raw,

to maintain sanitary conditions in the sterile environment.

 

It’s a recurring nightmare that offers the promise of a dream.

The office is the source of hope.

But, it is not free for the taking.

 

You must pay, with more than only money or time.

You pay with undignified prods and pokes and pills.

With screams and moans that are saved for later.

With tears that are held back and with some that escape.

With exhaustion.

 

And even with a visceral reaction to the office itself, you keep going back.

It’s where you hate to be

and want to be

and must be.

Because the office is the only hope.

Waiting room

The Reproductive Endocrinologist’s Office Is The Only Hope For Those Dealing With Infertility (Photo credit: Melissa Venable)

A Bit Of Gray Peeking Out

Don’t you hate?

Heavy lids, dull eyes, jealous heart.

Hateful thoughts, ugly lies escaping.

The stifling cocoon of inadequacy.

Slumping shoulders, curved spine, bent knees.

Longing for the all-consuming comfort of open wounds.

The weight of exhaustion.

 

 

Don’t you love?

A bit of release.

A full intake of breath, balanced with a paired exhale.

A bit of gray peeking out, from behind the black.

Illumination, far ahead.

 

 

Don’t you hope?

For grace.

For even lighter shades of gray.

A better person is waiting for you, ahead.

Dark Night 2

Dark Night 2 (Photo credit: skinner08)

This post is linked up to Love Links #28 – if you like what you see here, vote for me on Thursday.