Today I decided to bite the bullet and request our funding application for NHS IVF. Our time has come. We are finally eligible. I picked up the phone to call the clinic… and ended up dissolved in floods of tears.
Innocuous as that call was, and as grateful as I am to even have the opportunity of participating in the potential miracle that is IVF, it turns out that the hardest part, for me, may well be mourning the loss of this idea of myself as a fecund woman. She who is bountiful, and generative, ripe and lush and fertile. She who easily brings forth the human race from her loins. The ultimate creator.
She is not me.
The loss is profound. And more unsettling for being entirely unexpected.
