Decision vs. The Only Option

      Last night I was talking to a fellow infertile friend (sometimes she seems like the only infertile friend, since everyone else is pregnant or has had a baby). We were talking about our decision to adopt and she said her and her husband are thinking about starting the process next year. She said she is so scared to even contact an agency to get started. Her fear hit me like a ton of bricks, crashing into the fortress I had built around my heart. I realized, yes, it is scary. And I’m scared. I am scared that it will happen and I am scared that it will not happen. I fear entrusting our child to someone else for the beginning of their life (before the child becomes ours). I fear the entangling web of bureaucracy  in the adoption system and I fear the poking and prodding into our lives (although, we are used to this, thanks to fighting our way through the immigration process!). I’m terrified of finding a child we love, only to have something go wrong and lose the child we already loved. After two and a half years of the never-ending cycle of hoping and believing in my heart of hearts that this was going to be our month to get pregnant only to be severely disappointed every single month, I am emotionally raw. I don’t know if my heart can handle anymore loss. I am scared, but I’m going to do it anyway.
     Yesterday I discovered there is an open house event next week at a local adoption agency. I want to attend, however Flaco will be working and he cannot go along with me. I don’t want to go by myself, but I feel like I need to explore all of my options before we decide on an agency. This is a big decision. It feels even bigger than the decision we made to start trying to have a baby. This process also seems more convoluted and I fear getting frustrated enough to give up altogether. Flaco and I have not discussed telling our families, but I think we should drop the bomb on them sooner rather than later. I hope they will all accept and respect our decision, but it makes no difference in what we have decided.
     A friend posted on my blog that she and her husband have considered adopting. They have a beautiful son together. I applaud their decision, however, I couldn’t help but think about it in terms of my own situation. They have a buffet of baby-making options open to them. They can reproduce on their own, without interference from prodding medical staff. They can decide to adopt. We on the other hand, have limited options. We can only choose from the value menu. Having a biologically baby would involve intensive and invasive treatments, not to mention lots of $$$$$. While adoption is still a decision, it also feels like the only option we have. Growing up, I always thought I wanted to adopt. My heart aches for all of the beautiful children out there all over the world, who do not have a loving mother and father. They do not have the safety of a home to call their own. They are tossed about and shoved around, sometimes in less-than ideal conditions. I thought it would be a good thing to help at least one of these precious children by opening my heart and my home to accept them. I thought I would have a few of my own kids and then once they are off to school, I would adopt to fill the empty nest. Never did I think adoption would be the only viable option to having a family. Never did I think adoption would go from being a decision to the only way possible.
     I am still at peace with our decision and I have accepted our lot in this Russian Roulette of infertility. Just sometimes a tiny part of me still feels jealous of all the dam fertile people out there. Sometimes I remember the dream I had so vividly of the children I would birth and then, like in the Titanic movie when Rose shoved a dead Jack off the hunk of floating wood to save her own life, I whisper, “I’ll never let go” and let my dreams slowly sink into the inky depths. I must now recreate a new dream. The beginning is not what I had in mind, but the ending is still fabulous. I just need to hang onto the beautiful ending.