As insignificant as it may seem, each of these folders represents a time that we made a visit to the fertility clinic and our plans changed. The first visit…when we learned how much harder conceiving our own biological children would actually be. The third visit…when we were given contracts, instructions, pricing, INFORMATION OVERLOAD on IVF and what it all means. The day of the retrieval when we were sent home with new medication instructions and rules of what to do and what not to do. Then there’s today, the newest white folder with information and options on what we should do next. Information on acupuncture, egg donors, a 13 page egg donor recipient agreement, a profile page to fill out of what we would want in an egg donor….literally choosing “career, marital status, child status….freckles? Rosy-complexion? Curly hair? Some high school? Professional degree?”. Blerg. Is there a box to check for 50% me and 50% Dawson?
We haven’t decided to use an egg donor. We haven’t decided ANYTHING. And while this new information is sort of overwhelming, I think we also feel excited over new possibilities. Crossing the “sorry, you’re not pregnant” hump into the “where do we go now?” hump. I think the obvious choice is taking our time. My body might be a ticking biological clock, but it won’t do me any good to rush into any thing.
But I must admit how super effing weird it is to think that I might not ever have a child that is actually made up of my biological matter. That I might have to choose someone to mix up with my (truly) perfect husband. That one day I might carry that child and then try to figure out how to explain to them what a miracle/cluster-you-know-what their creation really was.
IVF is hard and every decision feels like it’s the hardest one yet, but woe is me, what is life? Our doctor told us today that all of his patients felt like they were making the hardest decision of their lifetime when they decided to use an egg donor, but now, looking back…it got them to where they wanted to be. It got them to the role of parents and holding a baby in their arms. And isn’t that what we came for?