Poise

HOPE

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

-Emily Dickinson

One more day. Couldn't decipher enough at the appointment today. I needed 3-6 follicles sized between 10 and 13 mm, and I had two 9s, an 11 and a 13. I got a big shot in my hip and my soul is praying with a decade's worth of patience that the 9s grow by tomorrow. Otherwise we have to wait another cycle and I have to take the dizzies again. (Which is worse, the dizzies or more patience?) Greg is optimistic. I'm all over the place between the perching and the fluttering.