ONCE UPON A TIME

There was a girl who had an enviable life -- an amazing husband, a beautiful bungalow-style house, two loving cats, a vibrant career, even a recent promotion! She was in good health, except for one problem: After trying for two and a half years to conceive, she was still barren.

All around her were reminders of the life of motherhood she wasn't living. Pregnant bellies, strollers and babies were everywhere she turned, from the grocery store to the hotel pool. Anniversaries and annual events reminded her of how long she'd been fruitlessly trying. Future plans were made with ambivalence: Should she go on that trip/buy that car/accept that responsibility, or make a different choice on the small chance that she could be pregnant by then? And of course, friends and acquaintances were regularly announcing pregnancies, as it was that season of life.

Summer was winding down -- another season passed and still, no child -- and the weekend had been emotional: Two pregnancy announcements on Facebook had thrown the girl into a private tailspin. Not only did she feel pain at the news, but she also felt guilty for being upset at another's joy.

But she bore the heartache quietly. She didn't want to weary her husband with fertility obsessions. And indeed, what was there to say that hadn't been said a thousand times?

In her mind, she counted the days. She and her husband had undergone an insemination, their third, and were awaiting the results. They had agreed the insemination would be their last; the statistics didn't show much success beyond three attempts. They also agreed that neither felt particularly hopeful about this treatment cycle. They had swallowed every pill, administered every injection, and showed up at every appointment, but robotically.

It was also true that they hadn't made any attempts at reducing stress. Work had been intense for both of them, long-term household responsibilities had piled up, and they had gotten into several nasty arguments over the previous weeks. The girl had fallen far from her routine of yoga, massage and healthy eating.

Nevertheless, she knew every day where she stood: eight days past ovulation; nine days; ten. In a few short days, they would have their answer, and what if it was negative? Always a planner, she considered the next steps. Ostensibly, they would meet with their reproductive endocrinologist to discuss in vitro fertilization.

But it seemed impossible that they were already on the doorstep of IVF. How could they have tried everything else already? How could it be that nothing worked? Her RE had said most of his patients got pregnant without needing IVF, and the girl had seen the proof: The simple ovulatory drugs had worked for that friend of a friend; the progesterone supplements for the old work acquaintance. But not this girl. She needed the full $12,000 last resort, reserved for the extremely infertile and the extremely desperate.

It was hard to accept. The failed inseminations made her angry -- the wasted money and the wasted months. The checked-out nurses made her angry, and the RE made her the angriest of all -- that mirage with whom they had talked only three times. THREE TIMES, in a full year.

All of this she mulled silently in her head. Finally she spoke to her husband: "I think I will call tomorrow to make an appointment with the RE. If it turns out we're pregnant, we can just cancel it, and if we're not, we'll get in to see him that much sooner."

Her husband affirmed it was a fine idea, but then said, "I don't want to pay for it."

Suddenly all the emotions boiled over the surface. The disappointment, the anger, the loneliness fused into an accusatory arrow that she threw at his heart: "You care more about money than you care about having a baby!"

A long discussion followed. They sat on the bed facing each other, trying to understand. First it was about the money: She didn't want to talk to the clinic about pricing, because it's always stressful and never straightforward. He didn't want to pay $200 for an IVF marketing pitch. She didn't know what else to do other than talk to the RE. He wanted to research other doctors to see if there may be a better overall value and fit for them. She was overwhelmed at the thought of leading that new charge. He felt that if they're going to spend that much money, they need to be sure it's with the best possible doctor. She said it's not like buying a car! He said it's absolutely like buying a car!

Finally the girl started weeping. "I will pay whatever it costs!" she cried, choking out words through her sobs. "Why don't you feel that way? I want you to feel that way! I will do anything! This desire is overwhelming! It's always with me, always! I just want it to go away, but it won't. I see Brittany's pregnancy announcement on Facebook, and I just feel so behind. And helpless. And BROKEN. Everywhere I look there's some glassy-eyed parent pushing a stroller, and they have NO IDEA what a blessing it is that they have that child! Starting a family is the most natural thing in the world for people, it's so easy, and I CAN'T DO IT! No matter what I try, I can't make it happen, and I wonder if it will ever happen. I see a family of four sitting around a table, and I wonder, will that ever be us? Will we ever get there?! Or in ten years, will we just be that couple who never had kids, living some totally other life, one that I never imagined would be our life?"

Her husband listened attentively and compassionately, feeding her tissues. Always a fixer, he looked for ways he could participate more fully in the quest for a family. He should give her more opportunities to share her feelings; he should encourage a more relaxing lifestyle, he said. He volunteered to call the fertility clinic to ask about the cost of the IVF consultation. He confessed that he didn't feel how she did -- he felt good about their life: They were trying everything they knew to conceive, and in the meantime, they were still living fully -- traveling, having fun, and eating leftover flautas at 10 p.m. He didn't constantly long for a child, but he didn't want her to feel alone.

She said she felt that way sometimes, and she certainly tried to live that way: making the most of the current life season. She acknowledged that the desire for a baby was completely illogical, that a child would seriously interfere with all the freedom they enjoy now. But in a way she was thankful for the misery of her constant overwhelming desire, because it drove her forward; it kept her pushing through a merciless process that would otherwise defeat her.

The next day, she felt a little better. The outburst had been cathartic, and she put on her face and her work clothes and functioned effectively the entire day in her Normal Person disguise. She saw on her calendar that her husband had added an IVF consultation appointment four weeks from the day, and he had also added information about a local Resolve support-group meeting.

She said a prayer of thanks for her husband, and she counted on her fingers: eleven days past ovulation.