12.5 Fighting Back--NIAW

This is National Infertility Awareness Week, if you don't all know it.  Though I'm not sure how any of you could miss it, what with all the blogs turning purple and people waving it about!  This post is my contribution to the My Story project.

When Sarge and I first decided to start a family, I thought it would be easy.  I knew absolutely *nothing* about temperatures, charting, or infertility.  I suspected we might have some (read: a few) problems because my period have never been what you might call predictable, but on the whole, I thought it wouldn't take longer than a few months.  "How hard can it be?" I said to Sarge.  "Slot A, Tab B.  It's simple!"

It was anything but simple.  A year in, we went to see a gynecologist.  We tried Clomid.  It didn't work.  Our gynecologist left base and wasn't replaced.  We fought tooth and nail to be able to see a civilian gynecologist and then fought again for testing.  When we found out that we would not be able to have children outside of assisted reproductive technology, we were devestated.  Our insurance wouldn't cover anything beyond Clomid; they wouldn't even cover semen analysis.

Sarge and I sat up many nights discussing treatment options and how we could afford IVF.  His illness had devestated our finances and no matter how much we wanted to try IVF, we just could not afford it.  It would have been catastrophic to us.  I cried, cajoled and argued.  I would have done anything, including mortgage the house for the second time in order to pay for a shot at IVF.  I was so sure that one try would bring us the baby we so desparately wanted.   I had already miscarried twice, PGD would surely bring us a healthy embryo that I could carry to term.

In the end, I had to accept that we had money for either one IVF treatment or one domestic adoption.  After a year of crying, praying and long discussions, we decided on adoption.  I'm not sorry we're adopting; I'm extraordinarily excited.  I think adoption would have become part of our life even if we hadn't been infertile; it's been a part of our family building discussions since before we were married.  But every once in a while, on my birthdays especially, I wistfully wonder what it would be like to feel a little life growing inside me.  I wonder what a child made of me and Sarge would look like.  And I feel sadness, regret and loss knowing that I might have the answers to these questions if it weren't for the money.  I might know, if my insurance had covered treatments.