A thousand paring knives, expertly wielded

Deciding to give up on IVF is not like ripping a bandaid off. The immense and immediate pain of the initial decision is not followed by a gradual healing process.

It is more like a hundred pinpricks drawn out over the course of months or years. The decision to stop, actually informing the doctor you are stopping, the first pregnancy of a friend during which you no longer have the hope that you may one day join her in having that experience, the first time nosy Nancy asks “so when are you and DH going to have children?” and your old awkward answer of “oh we’re working on it…” is actually a lie, and that saccharine sweet day of pure evil known as Mother’s Day.

We received a notice from the andrology lab yesterday reminding us that our sperm storage fee was due. They require either a notarized form or in person notification in order to dispose of the samples. DH went in today to inform them that we no longer required their services and they could dispose of his swimmers. They were nice enough not to charge us, but the finality of it was like a small paring knife, expertly wielded, to the kidney. It took my breath away and I could hear the defeat in DH’s voice when he called to tell me the deed had been done.