it changes everything...

Most Americans, myself usually included, hold pretty fast to the belief that money equals a certain degree of security. Gainfully employed since the age of about eleven, I've always been a saver: every dollar tucked away giving me a little leg up against the "what ifs" my mind constantly conjures up. If you'd told me a few years ago that I would willingly gamble away every dollar to my name (and a few I borrowed) on something that is almost certain to fail, I would have laughed in your face.

Infertility changes everything.

Today Camille is hosting a BlogShare contest. The topic is: Things I Never Thought I Would Do/Say and Why I Changed My Mind. You may as well subtitle this blog, my contribution, as "Part 27384 of Erika's Never-ending Whine-fest about her Empty Womb."

I'm not a big spender. It's just not me. We drive non-fancy used cars that we pay cash for. We live in a house we can afford (imagine that!). I coupon and bargain-hunt and yard-sale for things we need. We completed Dave Ramsey's Financial Peace University before we got married, and I'd like to think we've done Dave right. We don't make a lot of money, but I'm pretty proud with how responsible we've been with what we've got.

With a track record like that, we probably don't look like the kind of people who go drop $15k on a shot in the dark. But that's where we are. Other than a miracle (which we would prefer, by the way, God), IVF is our only option left for obtaining a biological child. And IVF, even in the best of circumstances, is not exactly known as a sure bet.

Like I said earlier: if you'd told Old Me that this would be an option I would be seriously considering, I'd have laughed in your face. First of all, I would have thought, there's no way we'd have that much trouble getting pregnant. IVF is for people who are just really impatient or lazy or dumb or rich or something. There's no way I would ever be thinking about it. Because even if we did for some weird reason find ourselves unable to have children...we would just adopt. Obviously. It's just as expensive, but at least you know you'll get something for your money. Right?

Old Me was pretty judgmental, I guess. Obviously Old Me had never actually experienced the heartache of infertility and the physical, emotional, spiritual, psychological, any-other-ical-you-can-think-of desire to have children that Real Life Me has felt. Obviously Old Me didn't know that adoption isn't "just adoption." It's a separate-but-equal endeavor...not just an easy backup option for getting a kid into your house.

Old Me was never posed this question, the hardest question I've ever had to honestly answer: Do you want a child or do you want to be pregnant? And had to answer that question with a tearful and heart-wrenching cry of I want to be pregnant. I have to know I tried everything possible. Only then will I be able to grieve and move on towards filling my desire for a child through other means. Only then.

So that puts us where we are now: staring down that IVF bill, facing the reality that to do it will mean parting with almost every penny to our name. Sure, we could wait a few more years til we have more money in the bank. But in the world of infertility, time isn't on your side. Our chances are a lot better on this side of thirty. The longer we wait, the greater the chance of failure. So we've got to do it with what we've got now. The emergency fund, the vacation fund, the car fund. All of them. On a gamble. Our one shot at a child. If it works, then we win. We pray we don't lose our jobs or need a new car or a new pair of shoes, but we will be thrilled beyond belief, thankful for our miracle. If it doesn't work, then we're not much worse off than we are now, just a lot poorer. We're still childless. We're still broken-hearted. But probably our hearts will heal, and knowing that we tried everything, maybe we will be able to move on.

I never thought I would be so irresponsible as to want to throw my money away at a dream. I changed my mind because infertility left me with no other options.