B'shaa tova

Some religious Jews are pretty superstitious. They don't have baby showers before the baby is born. There's no gender reveal parties. Some don't even buy anything until the baby is born. It's as if celebrating the good news might bring too much attention to it and attract the evil eye, at least according some. Along the same line there's a thing that people don't wish an expectant mother "congratulations" but rather use the exclamation of "b'shaa tova" which is Hebrew and literally translated as "in a good time." One explanation for it is offered here:

We recognize not to take healthy pregnancies for granted. To say "mazel tov" would imply "we're sure this will make it to birth," which sadly doesn't always happen. Thus, to show that it's in G-d's hands and not ours, we offer a prayer instead, "may the birth happen at a good time."

On March 15, two days after my fourth and most traumatizing miscarriage, I contacted the RPL specialist in New York for a appointment. They gave me the first available date: 10/17/18. The specialist was booked that far in advance. I thanked the receptionist and pledged to call regularly for a sooner appointment.

I did, in fact, call multiple times a month and in April we got moved to a September appointment. That felt like a win. I kept calling for weeks but nothing moved further. His schedule was booked solid and I started to feel depressed at the thought of having to accept waiting until fall.

Then I got a call. It was late May and the day of my husband's surgery for varicocele repair. I actually missed the call because there was no reception in the hospital waiting room. The message said to call back, but by the time I did the appointment had already been given away. It wouldn't have worked out anyway; it was for the next morning and as I was speaking to her my husband wasn't even out of the OR yet. There was no way we were making the trip that night.

Fast forward three days. It's early Friday morning and I'm out shopping for groceries before work. I get a call and my heart skips when I see the caller ID. It's the receptionist I've been talking to the past few months. She apologized for calling so early. Nothing I could say would get her to understand that there was no possible time I wouldn't answer her call. Schedule shift. Canceled travel plans. Open appointment next week. Must get an answer today and get all paperwork in before the holiday weekend. I was thrilled. I accepted on the spot, knowing my husband was on board. There was no chance I was letting the opportunity slip by.

That was it. The end of May, instead of October. It shifted all our summer plans but at least we didn't wait 7 months. It also overlapped with the mandatory wait while my husband recovered from surgery when we couldn't do IVF anyway. I could look at it that we've had all these delays. But I could also look at it that all the stuff we'd been through: the blood tests, the second hysteroscopy, the CD138 stain - all the things that take up a lot of time - we got a head start on.

Whenever I think about how frustrating it is to be waiting right now. For the antibiotics to work, for test results, whatever... I think back to this story. It all happened when it was supposed to. At the right time.

This week marks the time of when my original appointment was scheduled for. It passed without incident but the was a tickle in the back of my mind feeling like I'd forgotten something. It was only when I was reminded that I realized how this week once held so much significance.

So the wait continues and while I am impatient at times I know that whatever is supposed to happen will happen at the right time, when it's supposed to.