The Deep End

With treatment ever nearing, money has been on my mind. Well, it's been on both of our minds, really. We have a pretty good system in place for the IVF procedures, but we currently have debt, so things compound and leave a bleak fiscal future. Luckily, we both have stable full time work that pays well, but our current debt plus the $11,000-$15,000 price tag for medical stuff (not to mention normal pregnancy and baby stuff should everything go as planned) makes everything a little daunting. But today, I was incredibly optimistic. I wanted to be productive and was productive. I listed some stuff to sell online and got a bunch of chores done around the house. Hopefully, some of that will pay off, but we'll have to wait and see. I'm still optimistic, even about the money, but I think my husband feels the weight a little more heavily. I hope things fall into place so that we can be reassured that we can truly handle this financially.

Then, to further emphasize all of the seesawing emotions as of late, I began spotting today. (I know. It's not something I would normally write about, but you can't really shy away from menstruation when you're writing about fertility.) Now, my cycle is and has always been pretty abnormal, so this could just be the very early signs of things to come, things which might not come for another week or longer, but it was still a wake-up call. This is really happening. We are really making this decision.

It's weird how cerebral the process becomes when it can't happen naturally. For many couples, there is one night of passion perhaps fueled by the idea of becoming a family and then boom, you're pregnant. Barring some sort of intervention, there is no turning back. Not so for us. We got the first step - the passion and idea (which was really more panic-stricken for me, if I'm truly honest). Then, we had the belabored steps of testing, waiting, testing, waiting, more testing, more waiting, and then options. Then, there was the appointment with the specialist. This was more serious, but it was still a choice. Now I know the plan, but it's not fully in motion yet. I got the meds in anticipation, but this could stop at any moment. We could weigh the options (and we have) and decide it's not worth the costs. Passion comes and goes. Sometimes, I'm 100% sure. Other times, I think we're nuts. But every time, I've come back to this as the right decision. But that's it... it is a decision and it's one we are making over and over again.

Sometimes I wish for that boom and your committed sort of thing. In many ways, it would be so much easier. But this way almost seems more natural for us. My husband and I are very logical people. We think through options. We plan finances. We muse over gifts, friends, patio furniture... whatever decision is currently on the horizon. It seems almost apropos that we had to make the decision to procreate in this way. And since we have both come very slowly into this idea of wanting to be parents, I think it's given us good time to adjust. I used to have short bursts of panic any time my husband would talk about making a baby. I'm sure for some women, that's great foreplay. Not for me! It was like a big red STOP button. But now, I feel more certain of the decision. It's less the novelty of parenthood - decorating the nursery, picking a name, getting to eat more than I should without being ridiculed, getting cute pregnancy clothes (because they are cute now, thank God). Now it's more of the long-term decisions. The desire to be good parents and grow up a well rounded kid (or kids). And aren't those better reasons to venture into parenthood? We would have gotten there eventually, even with a quick natural conception, but I think I needed to baby-step (no pun intended) into this whole "I'm gonna be a mommy" thing. But now we're out of the kiddie pool and getting to the edge of the diving board. My toes are curled over the end and I'm peering cautiously into the waters of the deep end. There is that sense of excitement - that desire to jump headlong into the sparkling waters. To feel the cool rush of wind, then water. To know the exhilaration of the moment. But there's still that underlying fear. The "what if" and the thought of dark and scary things lurking beneath the drain. But as a kid, I always jumped. I fought the fear of that dark speck, the fear of falling, of helplessness. I always jumped... and I was always glad I did. I suppose I should, as an adult, have at least the amount of courage I had as a kid. So... here goes.