The Final Nail in the Coffin

I was debating whether to title this post “the final nail in the coffin” or “the straw that broke the camels back” but I decided to go with “the final nail in the coffin” because it seems more fitting to explain how I feel. Yesterday I had a voicemail from the “new” infertility doctor’s office stating that they had called my insurance company and I have absolutely no coverage for infertility treatments (which I knew) and therefore, they would need to collect $250 from me for the initial consultation next Tuesday. Yes, 250 bucks just for the privilege of sitting down and talking to a doctor who I already know is going to tell me A) I need to lose weight, B) I need to keep taking the Metformin, and C) any procedure he prescribes will be more money than we will be able to pay. 

So, I called my mom to let her know I will be cancelling the appointment and if she could let Dr. F. know this as well. I think my mom was more up-set by this turn of events than I am. She still has the hope that I will miraculously get pregnant. And why shouldn’t she believe that? It happened for her! After trying to get pregnant and failing for 5 years, my parents decided to start building a house (their current house). They brought me home before all the walls were up because my mom got pregnant almost immediately after they started this immense project. So, sure it makes sense that my mom still believes in pregnancy miracles. I, however, do not. 

The final nail in the coffin is the last little morsel of hope quietly leaving me. Why should I be surprised? I am ADOPTING a baby. I am not HAVING a baby or GIVING birth or anything like that. The last door has closed on a biological baby. I don’t know why this situation has such a ring of finality to me, but it does. And as much as I hate to hear it, I let my mother wholeheartedly believe that we, just like soooooooo many other people, might adopt a baby only to find ourselves pregnant shortly after. I don’t believe it. I don’t think it’s healthy to believe this poppycock and bullshit. But, I can’t dash my mom’s dreams as mine have so often been shattered. I let her believe that this might happen to us. But, I do not believe. 

We are approaching our three year –what should I call it? Anniversary sounds too celebratory. Anyway, we are nearly into our third year of trying to get, find, have, create, procure, build, begin, design, develop, make our family. And if I had a penny for every tear I have shed or for every time I had to run to the bathroom to hide my tears at work, in these past three years, I would have more than enough money to pay for IVF. I still can’t figure out why God has decided we don’t deserve a biological baby. I don’t think I ever will understand it. If He has had the idea that I would experience some kind of personal growth, I think it has backfired. Rather than being a better human being, I find myself a more bitter human being (I am working on that, by the way). I have been carefully constructing an impenetrable wall around my heart, to ward off the incessant pain of not being a mother of not having a baby of disappointing my husband month after month after month after miserable month. So, it is over now. Infertility has won. I wave the white flag to surrender.