Going All-In

As the gamblers say, I'm all-in now.

A couple of weeks ago, I made the biggest purchase of my life: a package that includes up to two fresh IVF cycles and two FETs. I went for the whole package because my odds are grim, and it's discounted almost 50% this way.

That's me: weighing the odds and trying to be careful. I am SO not a gambler. In fact, the most money I've ever gambled before was $2 on the nickel slots in Las Vegas. Yeah, seriously. It was a family trip years ago, and my 80-year-old grandmother spent more than I did. Throw in a few raffle tickets over the years, and there you have my whole financial risk-taking profile.

So lately I've been waking up with a start at 3 AM, panicked over the numbers in my head. No, I'm not on the verge of moving into a cardboard box. I just have such minimalist habits that, first of all, numbers this big scare me on a gut level.

Source: Baby Dust Boutique

Some background: in my last apartment, where my partner and I lived for years, my half of the rent was $200/month. (The place was basic and we did major work on it.) I've lived without electricity or plumbing. Never had cable. Kept my last car for 15 years. I've even been cutting my own hair since the unplanned DIY hack job haircut in February has gotten so many compliments (which cracks me up, by the way).

To a point, of course, living simply is great. It's enabled me to have the options I do. But I don't want to cross the line into a stinginess that spreads beyond my wallet into my whole personality. I want it to be about honoring my priorities, not about pride or self-denial. You know? As cold as it is to go around bragging, "Look how much I have," it can be equally cold to go around bragging, "Look how little I need from the world."

Pride and self-denial are tempting when I'm feeling especially bitter. Didn't get something I really wanted? "Well, I've lived without it this long already, so I'll get by. Who cares? There's not much point in caring anyway." What a joyless way to live.

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A few months ago, I had lunch with a relative I don't see often but have always especially loved. I finally told her about TTC, being pregnant, the whole story. It's not like I had meant to keep it a secret. It's just that TTC is usually a private process ... and who knew it was going to take YEARS? But now that it has indeed taken years, it's starting to feel more and more like a wedge between me and the people who don't know. They ask what I've been doing lately, and what can I say? Nothing much that feels authentic.

Maybe I also waited to tell this aunt because she's childless by choice. I knew she'd be supportive in the end, but didn't know if she'd really "get it." Oh, was I wrong. I started explaining about in-vitro fertilization and how it all works, and she interrupted to ask, "Oh, you mean IVF?" She knew all about it. And when I talked about wishing I could go to a certain clinic with very high success rates (and very high prices), she basically said, "You only live once, and this is important to you. Go for it!"

I stuck with my old clinic in the end, but I loved her attitude. This is a woman who lives in a small cabin in the woods and knows all about simplicity. Yet she was the one whose warm heart made me rethink what I really want to put first: frugality for its own sake, or generosity in service of my values (as Carolyn Hax describes so well), even when it scares me a bit. Talking with my aunt reminded me that I can never truly be self-contained, even if I try. And why try? There are things I can give to and things that I need from this world―not lots of material things, true, but sincere relationships, expansiveness, hope.

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So I'm taking a leap of faith. Meanwhile, I'm realizing that what keeps me up at night is not so much worries about the future―although they're certainly there, too―but brooding about the past and how my IVF money "should" have been spent. It should have helped me buy a home. I should be in that home right now with my partner and our child. Then I wake up all the way and look around. And here I am.

I heard someone say once that acceptance means giving up all hope of a better past. Clearly, there's no other choice, is there? So count me in. Whatever the outcome, count me in all the way.