I met with the fertility clinic's doctor today about IVF. While I was hoping we'd be able to use my own eggs, the numbers look pretty bad. I went in expecting this given my age (44) and history, but it still hurt. Managed not to cry until we were done talking. I started looking at an egg bank for potential donors. That made me cry.
Part of me feels like there's no use crying over spilt milk. The time was never right, the money was never right. Now that it is, it's too late for my own. It doesn't mean everything is over, but it's still a type of mourning.
No comments:
Post a Comment