My story: endometriosis & other curse words

My husband and I were married in 2009. At the end of 2012, we travelled to UK & Europe for a holiday - a lifelong dream for me. So I inhaled the sights, smells & buttery tastes of Paris & Dom saw his precious Manchester United (precious may not be his word to describe the team). I clearly remember our return flight dialogue, which resulted in a commitment to start trying for a baby. It was the right time/ the next logical step in our lives/ a gentle tug at my heart. I started to plan for nine months time. I bought magazines and books, planned nursery decor, joined forums, researched maternity leave options, family cars, prams, cots, cute itsy bitsy outfits, names. This became an obsession - an excitement I couldn't keep from family & friends.
In retrospect, perhaps I was a little prematurely eager?
My sister and cousin had both been diagnosed with endometriosis, and after six months of trying without results, and increasingly painful & debilitating periods, I knew that I had it too. One year from that plane trip, I went in for a laparoscopy.
Meanwhile, friends appeared to be drinking from some secret source unavailable to me, and were falling pregnant by the dozens. It's hard to explain why that hurts so much - how incredibly selfish am I? I mean, others having babies does not change my ability or inability to!
Every month included monitoring of temps, cm and every symptom - hope, followed by gut wrenching disappointment. After being tested (prodded, poked, scanned) by my obgyn & Genea fertility specialist (and hundreds of dollars), it was found that there was no identifyable reason for the infertility apart from endometriosis. So, I had the procedure, with the perky optimism of an obgyn who said the months following my laparoscopy would be my best hope of falling pregnant. Obviously, this did not happen. In the following year I continued to religiously monitor my cycles and the obgyn put me on clomid for a period of time. It appeared in one of my tests that I wasn't always ovulating, but this may have been an error, as all blood tests following showed consistent ovulation. Clomid made me very sick - hot flushes, nausea, vomiting, fainting - lots of fun when trying to hold down a full time job. After more and more failure I was referred to IVF through Genea and we were told we would need $12,000 upfront to take a 50% chance of becoming pregnant. Certainly worth it - if we had that sort of disposable savings. There was still hope.
It is now 2 1/2 years since that airplane trip from London to Sydney. 31 months of disappointment. In the next few weeks we are meeting with obstetricians and fertility specialists in the hope that we will start IVF soon. HOPE is the word that I have found keeps coming up as I write this very difficult recount. Without hope, what is there? God says in Hosea 2.15 that he will "transform the valley of trouble into a gateway of hope".