When Hope Comes with a Price Tag

It was a hot day — the kind where the air feels heavy and everything slows a little. We were back at the clinic, this time for a quick chat with someone from the admin team. Not a consultation or a medical update — just a conversation to help us understand the costs involved.

We’d seen some of the numbers before, but having everything printed out in front of us made a real difference. Line by line, it all started to feel more real. We were shown what we’d absolutely need, what was optional, and what might give us the best chance — particularly if we wanted to pursue multiple rounds of egg collection to gather as many eggs as possible.

One round cost a little less than I had expected, which was a small relief. But the idea of doing two or even three rounds — which we might need if we want to build the family we’ve dreamed of — was far more than I had anticipated.

That part hit hard.

I’ve always imagined having a big family. I’ve carried that hope quietly, tenderly, for so long — and in that moment, it felt like that dream began to float away. I would be lucky to have one child. I know that. But still, it hurt. It’s not easy to let go of something you’ve held in your heart for years.

My initial reaction was calm. We’ll figure it out, I thought. My husband, who usually worries about money, was surprisingly steady and reassuring. His confidence helped ground me. Still, I felt the edges of disappointment, of frustration.

I was surprised, too, by how much medication would be involved. Another layer to the process. Another reminder of how different our path is from others. It felt unfair — that some people get pregnant so easily, and for us, there is so much to consider. So much to carry.

When Hope Comes with a Price Tag

The printout laid it all out — not just the basics, but every element we might need to consider. IVF and ICSI for one round of egg collection. A surprisingly long list of medications. PGT-A testing, which screens embryos for genetic issues and helps identify the ones most likely to become successful pregnancies. One year of egg freezing.

It was helpful to see it all in black and white — but also overwhelming. There are still unknowns: medication costs if I become pregnant, extra testing fees depending on how many embryos we retrieve. It’s anxiety-inducing not knowing the final total. So much depends on how things go.

And it’s strange, this idea of looking at a baby — a family — through the lens of line items and invoices. It feels like something deeply emotional has been converted into financial terms. I know it’s necessary, but it makes it all feel less tender. Less sacred, somehow.

Still, I’m good with planning and figures, and that side of me kicked in. I started thinking practically, mapping out possibilities. It helped me focus — even if the reality is hard.

The hardest part is realising that, financially, we may only have one go at this. We’re not in a position to do multiple rounds. That’s a heavy truth to sit with. We’ll give it everything we can — but we might not get more than this one chance.

Right now, I feel mostly determined. Ready to try. But the fear still flickers beneath the surface, appearing when I least expect it.

Carrying the Weight, Keeping the Hope

Later that day, I found myself sitting with everything we’d seen and heard — the figures, the options, the unknowns. I felt more determined, somehow, like I finally understood what we needed to do. But I was also intimidated. The cost felt like a stretch — just about doable, but not without sacrifice. It reminded me of the physical journey ahead, too: taxing, but possible. Hard, but not impossible.

I wouldn’t call myself particularly spiritual, but lately, I’ve felt a quiet pull — like I’m leaning into God, or the universe, or whatever it is that calls us toward something bigger. I feel guided. Like this is the path we’re meant to take, even if it isn’t easy. Even when the doubts creep in, they don’t stay long. Underneath it all, I still feel sure: we’re doing the right thing.

What better thing could we spend our money on than the chance to grow our family?

Talking things through with my husband helped anchor me. He reminded me — as he often does — that we’ll figure it out. That we’re in this together. And hearing that, I started to feel a flicker of something I hadn’t let myself feel in a while.

A quiet kind of excitement.

This journey asks a lot. But we keep showing up. We keep believing. And we keep moving forward — with open hearts, careful plans, and more love than fear.