Wrestling With Demons -- And Paying For the Privilege

If I were a Trump or a Hilton, I'm sure I wouldn't flinch at putting nearly $10k on a credit card all at once. But I'm not, so my flinch was more like a full-body spasm.

Yes, we've done it. We've bellied up to the IVF bar and plunked our money down. I hope the gonadatropin cocktail goes down easy.

Paying for the procedure made it seem much more real to me. And as I was out walking last night, I was gripped by fear. How will I feel if this doesn't work? How hard will I cry? How many days will I spend distracted and immobilized? How many times will we be able to do this? How will we know when we've had enough?

As I wrestled with those demons, a song called "Quitting Time" popped up on my iPod. It's a lovely song about being free from everyday responsibilities -- if not forever, at least for the night. Last night, it sounded like a terrible augur. Quitting is not on the agenda. And if we do pursue adoption, I don't want that to feel like quitting.

Oh, did I mention that I was grappling with these awful thoughts on my way to meditation practice?

Now, what were those noble truths again? Something about letting go of our cravings, not chasing our hopes and fears around like gerbils on an exercise wheel, living in the moment? Perhaps I just suck at Buddhism.

Or perhaps not. Maybe it's enough, for right now, to know that I am incredibly uneasy with not knowing how things will turn out. Maybe it's enough to take Atomic's hand and walk down this path with the knowledge that we're both scared out of our minds.