At the start of 2014, five months before I began HRT, I made a very expensive choice to cryogenically freeze my sperm. At the time, I knew how testosterone blockers and oral estrogen pills were projected to change my body, but the only real certainty was that I would become sterile after a couple of months. Regardless of the choice I was making to move forward with my transition, I also knew that there was a chance I could one day end up in a loving relationship with a cis female who, like me, would still want to have a child with me. Knowing this, I took a very long drive to Pennsylvania (twice) – once to fill out the paperwork for a 2-year storage and another to actually do it.
Truth is, I figured I foresaw where things were headed for me career-wise. I was confident that my future self would be able to achieve financial stability before the two years ended. As this was my last major financial investment, recouping it, given my job experience, wouldn’t be that difficult.
Sadly, my life has never been so easy.
Two years passed and at the start of 2016, I was immediately plagued by the thought of not being able to maintain my storage. My lifestyle and body had shifted dramatically for the better. However, my financial health had plunged; I was wrought with debt just trying to keep myself afloat in a seemingly unfair and unwilling job market that no longer wanted to hire me. There was no way I was in any position to maintain my storage, but I pretended that I had somehow dodged a bullet and paid for much longer than two years or they had just trashed my storage because I hadn’t paid. Both would be preferable than having to take any action.
And then I finally received my first notice of due payment.
Neither of my imagined possibilities had occurred; they were still keeping my storage, but billing me monthly. Again, the worst possibility.
As I had more pressing matters to deal with – one of them being creditors harassing me; another being figuring out where I could possibly live in late May after my mother decided to kick me out of her nest – I ignored the payments. No, I wasn’t simply running away from reality, but had hope that somehow, some way, a proper job opportunity larger than my current part-time job would enable me to pay it off and keep the possibility of having a child alive. Just before I was to move out, an opportunity did arise, but was short-lived unfortunately.
And the billings kept coming…
End of July arrives and the impending bill about to total $200 is breathing down my neck. I had received a notice in the mail about how I could either extend my storage or terminate it. I had been holding on to this notice for some time, mulling it over as I hustled to obtain a second job according to my projected timing. Managing my funds well and actually succeeding in my goal to land an awesome second job a few days into August were wonderful pluses. However, they were not enough to justify me paying monthly, clinging to a hope that my life and luck would lead me to a cis female who would want to have a child.
So, to stop the bleeding, I made a call to the cryo center to begin paying a portion of my bill on a monthly basis. I also mailed my notarized form – yes, it’s that big of a deal that they make you have that done – for the formal termination of my would-be children. Logically and strategically, the core basis of all of my thought processes, this made sense to me. Emotionally, however, not as much.
Last Saturday, I received the notice in the mail stating that the termination had been completed. Truthfully, due to the lack of physical interaction with said sperm, I didn’t break down crying or anything. I did, however, feel a sense of loss. Almost like I had let someone down who had put their faith in me. In this case, it was my biological unborn child(ren) that I will never be able to have.
Many people will say “oh just adopt” or “trust me you really don’t want a child”. To that, I say: Yeah, you’re [probably] right. Yes, I had hopes to carry on my genes that I know are quite good. To see the miracle of life in action as a mother caring for a child who I could clearly see had parts of me and the woman I’d love. I did romanticize the idea of it all, but to actually choose to end all possibility of it…Well…despite how calmly I’m taking it, my actions prove that I wanted to fight for my right regardless of me also paying money to take hormones.
Just like junking my car, which I actually took tons harder, this was the necessary thing to do. For me. Right now. There’s still a lot I’m figuring out about myself as a woman and what I want on multiple levels. As I continue to cull the excessive fat from my life, l have no desire to feel any regrets. I would much rather truly live freely within my controllable certainty than chain myself down for the sake of an uncertain probability.