The land is of IF is a place no one wants to visit (unless maybe you’ve got Munchausen’s). It is also a place that is easy to get lost…that is to get turned around and not find your way. There are no guidelines. For me, mileage is traveled with the backpack of grief.
In this world, I have found that there is one main currency; money. If you have money, you have options. It is a pace where the most stingy people throw this currency at the wind like a Gambler’s Anonymous member in Vegas. We’re always looking at bleak odds and yet we take our hopes and wage them on procedure after procedure with reckless abandon, in search of that magical, golden egg that will become a physical manifestation of our dreams….
I am one of the most pragmatic people you will ever meet and yet when it comes to IF treatment, my brain goes out the window and my heart takes its place. Just ask my long suffering husband.
In the past three months, I’ve done a 360 in what I wanted to do with my body, and what risks I was willing to take. I also have to decide if I want to take my feeble envelope of hopes out of its protected shell and let them try once again to take wings. I’m sure my family thinks I’ve totally lost it but I think IF patients (more than others) deserve absolution for their moments of flakiness , a silver star for their courage and a purple heart for their wounds.