Making the decision to adopt was not difficult. After two summers of failed attempts to grow a suitable uterine lining, I realized that I had to make a choice. I could try either more aggressive, entirely experimental, shot-in-the-dark treatments to get my unresponsive lining to grow,, or I could move toward adoption. Infertility is extraordinarily expensive to address; adoption is extraordinarily expensive to pursue. If I had to take that gamble, adoption seemed the option most likely to lead to success; my body, in so many ways throughout my life, had shown me that it just can’t be made to understand what it needs to do. And so I shifted seamlessly from doctor’s visits to agency research and home study paperwork. My hope was renewed.
And yet… There exists a certain duality in this experience, the bursts of effervescent optimism tipped by periods of startling grief. I have moments –