I asked the doctor to give me a hypothetical idea of what to do if I wanted to get pregnant the following year. "Don’t wait till next year," he warned. "The lower your egg reserve, the higher your rate of miscarriage." I didn’t like the idea of a forced timeline. I was not emotionally ready to attempt a pregnancy, because even when someone tells you that you might not be able to get pregnant, there’s always that voice that asks, "But what if I can?"

We had been so in control up until that point. We never got caught on camera in a private fight or during an unguarded moment. But there we sat. Notoriously incapable of promptly processing emotions, I endured the bright lights as he went on to describe Sam’s bountiful egg supply. One might wonder why my infertility diagnosis mattered if I had a wife full of eggs, but it’s not as simple as that. I had always dreamed of carrying a child, and I wasn’t going to give that up so quickly. The emotions that eventually came to me were complicated, but I never once felt resentful toward my wife. If anything, her numerous eggs could be beneficial. As a same-sex couple, it’s easy to think about what’s missing — whether it’s sperm or a uterus — but Sam had enough eggs for the both of us if it came to that.

The producer sat with us as the crew was packing up. "I know this is a lot for you right now, but if you can wait to discuss your reactions we’ll be ready to film outside in a few minutes." As the crew set up the shot, Sam asked me if I was okay. "I’m fine," I told her coolly. As a writer, I’m often public about my experiences and I’m prone to sharing personal details — but only after I’ve processed my emotions and come to some conclusions. I didn’t want the cameras around for the unedited version.

The scene was tense, as we walked painstakingly slowly through throngs of staring Hasidic children in Brooklyn. I remained aloof, but Sam was clearly rattled. I didn’t want to think about this, so talking about it on camera had me squirming. "That was intense," we both agreed. Then I stopped talking. Sam reminded me that it was important for me to try to have a baby. "I would like to try," I said, "but I don’t wanna try next week." She turned to me in frustration, "You’re not gonna take his timetable even a little bit seriously, are you?" I raised my voice as the scene concluded, "Okay, go find some sperm if you’re in such a fucking rush."

We did find some sperm, but not for many months. After the filming, we agreed that, in spite of the news, we weren’t quite ready for motherhood. We agreed to start seriously exploring fertility options the following year. In the meantime, we decided against asking a friend or family member, and explored various cryobank websites to narrow down our sperm search. Buying sperm is a funny thing. Aside from the obvious absurdity of designing your baby via hair color and eye color selections, we were essentially guessing as to how much sperm we would need. To be safe, we purchased all six of our chosen donor’s vials, which were about $800 each. We started making storage payments and hoped that when the time came, six vials of sperm would be enough to impregnate both of us.