"all donor material"
Three little words that slammed shut the door. With these, the tomb is sealed, the womb forever barren.
Even though I've been processing infertility for years now, the finality whacks me in the solar plexus. We. Will. Not. Ever. Ever....the thought is unfinishable.
But it keeps poking out, while I work, while I walk, while I sleep and eat.
You'll never see your green eyes in your child.and the sing-song taunt from the cruelest part of my psyche:
You'll never know what you and Roger would be like mixed together.
You don't get to swim in the gene pool.This part really pisses me off. Damn Charles Darwin and his stupid theory. Damn the deity who decided we were not among the fittest, deserving to procreate and propagate our genetic material, which, since we had chosen each other over all others, we thought was pretty superior.
And everybody else does.
Neener, neener, neener!
Or at least on par with that woman at Target who had five kids under 10, all equally ignored by her. On par with this woman who finally yelled and swatted at each of them when she could pull herself away from her cell phone conversation about her "loser boyfriend" (her words, not mine). I'm sure everyone who has struggled with IF has a similar Target experience -- THAT person is more worthy of splashing around in the gene pool than I???.So being intelligent and hardworking doesn't count. Being otherwise healthy and health-conscious doesn't count. Having healthy parents and fertile siblings doesn't count. Living ethically and having faith and rolling with the punches and loving each other steadfastly and offering sacrifices (small vices, not small animals) and visiting shrines of the world...all this crap doesn't matter to the objective RE who mutters these words, "You could try with all donor material."
We. Can. Not. Have. Biological. Children.
In a way, we are lucky. Our choices are black and white.
We mourn anew as we contemplate what options remain.