At the first fertility doctor we tried, the office was like a factory. You felt like a number—no wonder, because you actually were one. This was no human or personal approach. It was so scientific and cold and so matter of fact that I didn't have a moment to even consider that it may not work.

I had no idea what to expect, which, in a way, was a very good thing. I knew so little that I didn't know that it could not work. I had no idea that you had to give yourself shots—this was the biggest shock. We went to the first orientation and I almost fainted.

As supportive as Darren is, there was no way he could ever give me the shots. He would make the mixtures and ensure that I was doing it the right way, but I needed to inject. He couldn't get past the thought of hurting me and the sight of the needles, but he gets a major hall pass for supporting me through the hormones. But we'll get into that later.

Deciding to go through IVF isn't for the faint of heart or bank account. It's expensive and emotionally taxing. Our first cycle was 100 percent covered by insurance. If you are younger than 40, some carriers cover one cycle. (The doctor that we work with today, Dr. Geoffrey Sher, has an outcome-based IVF plan that is good for women under a certain age. This is just one more thing we wished we knew ahead of time.)

My situation is something I cannot change. I waited to have children until I found my life partner and best friend and soul mate, and that didn't happen until later in my life. We met when I was 38 and didn't get married until I was 41. But we did our first IVF cycle at 39. But the goal of that cycle was to create embryos for the future, to freeze and have available if and when we were married. It was risky decision, and I didn't know if we should do it. What if we didn't stay together? Would these embryos just be mine? What were his rights? What were mine? This was a serious consideration for a young couple in the early stages of their relationship.

In sharing this, I realize now how amazing the commitment that Darren had for us and our future, but I didn't always see it that way. To me, the glass was always half-empty. I focused on what I didn't have, not on what I did.


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