This may very well be my last chance at another child and the weight of that hasn't completely sunk in.
I held on to these two embryos for three years with a steel-laced grip. Changes, bills and tragedies piled high throughout that time, leaving me undoubtedly unprepared, so the decision to keep them in storage was almost always a no-brainer. And then I realized the main reason why they were still waiting: suspended possibilities.
You see, I thought that as long as they remained, so too did the possibility of another child. Their very existence, the bill that I received every month, meant that the game wasn't over. And that once I went forward with the cycle, should it fail, meant that any possibility of another child would be gone with them.
While this could very well be true, I came to a place recently (though I'm not sure when) during which I was ready to let those possibilities fly, whichever direction they chose. I became ready to accept their destiny and as a result, mine. And in some strange way, I felt a peace in doing it. Letting go of this dangling unknown to see where it may go has been strangely freeing and yet anxiety provoking at the same time. My cushion of insurance is gone.
How is it that the end of these next several days will likely reveal a turning point in my life? How can one treatment, a few snapshots in time, change a person's path completely? I know that well, but I still can't understand it. This game of gamble where so many put all of their chips down on one dream can either bring about the greatest thing imaginable, a child, or it can stop it on a dime. It's a dream giver, a dream crusher, and I will soon (but not soon enough) find out on which side of the coin mine will fall.