We didn’t think our infertility was Brian’s problem. He’s one of six children and had been party to two accidental pregnancies before I met him. But it’s easier and less invasive to rule out men’s fertility issues, so they’re tested first. We figured once we had gone through the motions with him, we could see what might be wrong on my end.

Cut to the scene of my boyish, typically upbeat husband looking stunned and crestfallen upon the news of his staggeringly low sperm count. Brian surprised us both by going wobbly and collapsing into the nearest chair. He’s not a terribly macho guy, and yet he was devastated by this news.

It also scared me. Did Brian’s response mean he really wanted children after all? I was afraid to ask. But he had always been more inclined to engage with other people’s children, and now and then he would say, “I can sort of see myself being a dad.”

I had never expressed thoughts like that. I was just moving along the path I thought we were supposed to be on.

And if he did really want children, what then?

Next came the most unlikely scene in our little montage: Our visit to a fertility specialist to find out what our options were. Yes, us, the couple who had been content to outsource this major life decision to whoever is in charge of the universe.

The day we drove to Northern Dutchess Hospital to meet Brian’s new grandnephew (the trip I wept through), we were grappling with what we had learned hours earlier at the clinic: Fertility treatments were a serious long-shot for us. And our health insurance wouldn’t pay for them anyway. The doctor there suggested we put one $15,000 round of in vitro fertilization on our home equity line of credit.