Unconventional Conception

Today I feel like I’m standing on the edge of something huge and fragile all at once. Embryo adoption. Even writing those words feels heavy....like they carry both hope and exhaustion. Which they do.

 I want so badly to believe this is the path that will finally bring me another child, yet I’m terrified that it won’t work. And if it doesn’t, I don’t know what comes after, because this feels like my last chance. That thought alone makes my chest ache.

The practical side of it: the endless paperwork, the appointments, the calls, the waiting rooms, has drained me in ways no one could ever imagine. It feels like my whole life is being managed by calendars and forms. Every time I need time off work, guilt flares. I worry what people are thinking, if they’re judging, if they’ll whisper about my “constant absences.” I don’t want to explain. I don’t want pity or awkward silences. I just want this process to work without feeling like it’s costing me everything else.

Mostly, I feel so alone. No matter how many pamphlets I read or appointments I attend, no one really knows what’s happening inside my head. The fear that gnaws at me at night, the longing that lives in my bones. I ache for this child I don’t even know yet, and the ache is sharper because I know how fragile it all is. What if my body fails me yet again? What if the dream shatters all over again?

But even under all this fear, there is still a tiny flame of hope. It’s why I keep filling out the paperwork, showing up to the appointments, pushing through the exhaustion. I picture holding that baby, my baby, even if not born of my genes, but of my love and determination. That picture is what keeps me moving forward, even when I want to collapse.

Today, I just need to let myself feel it all I suppose. The fear, the sadness, the loneliness. I need to write it down, so it doesn’t crush me from the inside. Maybe tomorrow after my initial blood work and scans, I’ll be able to find the hope again, to whisper to myself: keep going, you’re closer than you think. We are almost there. 

Trembling from the unknown, 

J.C.