It’s Not About the Money – It’s the Business of Selling Hope

It’s no secret that IVF is not cheap. With all the additional extras we needed, our final bill rang in at well over seven thousand pounds. I can think of a lot of things that can be done with seven thousand pounds from holidays and family fun to home improvements and investments. Things that would benefit all of us – Thomas included. For me, though, it’s a price absolutely worth paying for another child. But before we started, I thought that if our IVF cycle didn’t work, I’d not only be devastated by the biological failure, but also angry about the money we’d have wasted. It’s a lot of money to spend only to have nothing to show for it.

Now that it has come down to it, however, I can honestly say that the financial hit pales in to insignificance in comparison to the pain of the failure. To have been pregnant, and then lost our much wanted, obsessively longed for, second child: No amount of monetary loss can come close to that feeling.

I’ve honestly barely thought about the money.

It’s true that we’re fortunate to have been in the position to afford to spend that amount of money. I cannot imagine the heartache of couples who long to have a shot at parenthood and are held back only by a lack of funds. That seems like a particularly cruel twist of fate. And perhaps it would hit me harder if we’d had to re-mortgage our home, or take out expensive loans that we would be paying off for months or years. In fact, the only moment that the cost dragged me down was the day we paid it off in full – having chosen to use a credit card for the cash-back bonus. That day happened to be the same day I began to miscarry.

The feeling was fleeting, though, for I cannot regret the money that we spent. I can’t regret it because I know it gave us a shot at something. A chance at a chance. A hope.

Where would we be had we not spent the money? I would still be sitting here with an empty uterus and a longing in my heart. I would still want a child just as much and no amount of money in the bank could change that. No amount of enjoyment in a snazzy new kitchen, or an exotic foreign holiday, could substitute for the joy of becoming parents again. If we still had the money to spend on other things, the crucial difference would be the sense that we had not tried everything, and given it our very best shot.

It turns out that it wasn’t money for nothing. We paid to know that we’d done everything possible to achieve our dream.

And I’ve come to realise that fertility clinics are not really in the business of making expensive babies at all. They’re in the business of selling hope to people like us.


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