I have reached a point where I accept that no matter what our eventual decision, no matter what our eventual outcome... there is no possible future in which I do not always carry with me some sadness and some resentment regarding my experience of infertility and my perceptions of the fertile world at large. I'm not saying I will be mired in grief and depression for the rest of my life, but this sadness and resentment is part of me now, sort of a household item. I'm looking forward to the time when it's packed in a trunk in the basement, rather out on the coffee table in the living room though.
If someone could wave a magic wand and guarantee that if I had sex with my husband, there would be a baby... I would do it. So why am I debating whether or not I still want to pursue further assisted reproduction, when I know that the treatments aren't my hang-up? Good question.