I remind myself that my job is to protect our love. I must steady her drop into hopelessness. I hold her as she sobs, saving the pep talk for another day. I tell her that we can remain in the ache of this disaster for however long it takes.
You know when you have one of "those days" and you have to merely laugh for sheer lack of finding any other method that seems suitable for the occasion? This happened to me recently on the way to collect a donation for my future child. There, I said it.
I've always imagined having kids. And I always thought that when I was ready to be a mother, it would happen in a snap. A decade into our marriage, we felt ready. We excitedly began trying and nothing happened. Well, something happened: I couldn't get pregnant.
In the last year, over the course of four IUIs (intrauterine inseminations) and one IVF (in-vitro fertilization) procedure, I have purchased millions of sperm "donated" by men whose names, ages and places of birth remain unknown to me.
Every time you have to go through another kind of treatment, you ask yourself: "Is it worth it? Do I really want it that bad?" And then in the very next breath, you are taken out by the sheer magnitude of how much you want a baby.