If I had to pick what the
two most difficult aspects about infertility are, I would tell you that: A) it’s
one of the most emotionally challenging things to ever go through, and B) it’s
fucking expensive. Like, really expensive. And when you take emotions and add
money into it, you can start to see how someone could quickly spiral into
enormous amount of debt. Because there’s always that chance. Maybe next time it
will work. We have a whole new treatment plan, so let’s try it one more time.
When we first started
trying way early on, a lot of people told us we were young, that we still had
time. We were told to relax, that it will happen in God’s time. I’d grit my
teeth and put on a smile—trying, trying to remember that they were just trying to
be supportive. Now, in the last few years of treatments, those comments don’t
come anymore. I don’t know whether to be happy that they’ve stopped, or
depressed that now I am no longer considered “young,” and that all the relaxing
in the world has not yet gotten me pregnant. Now, the comments of, “Have you
ever thought about adoption?” are coming up more and more. I get it, so far, it
hasn’t been very successful. But hearing that makes me wonder, are people
trying to tell me to give it up? To move on?
Infertility is emotionally draining. And it’s expensive. Am I selfish for spending thousands of dollars on treatments for a child I am not sure I will ever bring into this world?
Which brings me back to
the beginning of this post. Infertility is emotionally draining. And it’s
expensive. Am I selfish for spending thousands of dollars on treatments for a
child I am not sure I will ever bring into this world? I don’t know. What I do
know is, like everything else in infertility, no one really knows what they
would do in a situation until they are in it. There are those who get a
diagnosis of infertility and go on to adopt lots of children. And that’s
wonderful. Sometimes I wish I could do that. But right now, I can’t. Because I
am fighting for these last one or two cycles for a child I can carry inside me.
Christ, I already know I won’t have my own biological children. But my husband
can. I want to see my husband’s features in our child. I want to experience
pregnancy, morning sickness, feeling the kicks, the screeching pain of childbirth. And I am not going to apologize for that.
Is adoption completely out
of the cards for us? Never say never, right? I’m almost 30. Who knows if
down the road, when we replenish our bank account, if we won’t attempt the
adoption process in a few years? But right now, we are not going down that
road. We are continuing to pursue donor eggs, and have the faith that it could
work with our new treatment plan. Because that’s all I have. I just wish that
some people would understand that this is an incredibly hard enough process to
go through without reading the shocking comments belittling the last two and a
half years of fear, sadness, anger and disappointment.
The choices I have made
with my husband have been far from easy. But they have been my choices
and when I am finished with all this, I hope I can live the rest of my life
without wondering what could have been. Just as in the transition
to donor eggs, there is a transition process to adoption. It involves grieving,
and a whole new “stage” if you will, of infertility. Because the wonderful
women I know who have decided to pursue adoption all say one thing: It didn’t
cure their infertility. It doesn’t diminish the pain of not experiencing a
pregnancy. It’s not as simple as “just adopting” and more importantly, it doesn’t
make the emotional or financial aspects any easier to bear. It’s an incredibly
personal decision to make, and it’s not the road for everyone.