What I would like fertiles (and the world at large) to know. . . part 2

After a few weeks of sickness, failed fertility treatments, “vacation” (don’t ask and I won’t tell) and utter exhaustion, I’m back.  Just when I thought I had told the world what I wanted them to know about infertility—-well, let’s just say I never cease to be amazed or inspired.  Here we go:

1.  Staring at my stomach won’t make a baby magically appear inside of it. (believe me, I’ve tried)

I want me to be pregnant. You want me to be pregnant.   I know this because you stare at my mid-section, because gosh darn it, it sure looks rounder than it did since last time you saw me (thanks for pointing this out; it’s what every woman wants to hear, ya moron!)  So logically, I must be witholding the fact that I have got a bun tucked away neatly inside because that’s the only reason a woman gains weight, right?  Newsflash!!  My “bump” is actually fat caused by consuming large amounts of sugar and not exercising because I spend too much time on the internet trying to find a cause for my infertility. . . And for looking cool comebacks to your insensitive infertility remarks!  Back off!  I have an excuse for my big ole tummy, what’s your excuse for yours?

Related to this. . .

2.  No, I am not “pregnant yet.”

Nor, do I have any special news for you.  We spoke one week ago.  Can I share some ground-breaking medical knowledge with you?  If I didn’t tell you I was pregnant a week ago, I probably won’t know if I am pregnant now.  Here in the real world, I have to wait to have sex a week or more after my period begins, wait another several days for any signs of implantation, and  allow another two weeks for a pregnancy to show up on a urine test (by the way, it never does). When you ask me if I have any news yet, you make me feel like a child who has failed to turn in his homework on time. 

I hope this makes you realize. . .

3. My conception abilities are nothing like yours.

I’m going to be honest:  your ability to conceive a baby with relative ease blows my mind.  Since you have reminded me that it took you a whopping three months to get pregnant, I’m going to assume conception is a no-brainer for you.   Sure, you possibly had to plan a romantic evening with candles and flowers.  Maybe you even had to convince hubby to take a night off from work. Well, it doesn’t work that way for me.  I am not wined.  I am not dined.  I am not relaxed.  I am planned.  I am pokedprodded, and examined (no, not by my husband).  I am scheduled.  I am medicated, diagnosed, and perfomed on.     Yep, I’m taking the road less traveled and let me tell you, it sucks. So next time you complain about your busy life, please, just once, go play in traffic.

I hate to even have to go there but. . .

4.  My sex life is nothing like yours.

I only bring this up because you have made it clear in obvious, passive-agressive ways that a good sex life leads to conception.    I guess you should know.  You have three kids.  Here’s a good guess as to what goes on in your little head during lovemaking:

‘Oh….that’s nice.  (Moan) Yes!   Oooh… yes. (stretching in ecstasy)   Mmmmm…oooh (Moan).  I am one lucky fertile!”

Here’s what goes on in mine:

“Did I make him do this?  I hope not.  (slight sensational feeling).  He’s not really into this.  I can tell.  No, wait!  Maybe he is.  (subtle, yet exhilarating sigh) Uh-oh, is he even inside of me? (repositioning hips) I think maybe I ovulated yesterday instead of today.  Should I bring that up now (slight moan)? Maybe I should be on top (re-elevating legs) Wait-no!! Then it will all fall out  (lofty sigh)!  Oh crap–did I call the RE back?’

5.  No, I cannot accept the idea that it may not be “meant to be.”

It’s funny how the most ordinary of you can turn in to astute philosophers when it comes to fertility.  Of course it’s easy to spout such garbage when you already have children of your own.  Honestly, when you say “If it’s meant to be, it will be” I only hear “I have absolutely no idea what I’m talking about, so I will use a trite cliche to make myself seem wise.”  Don’t talk to me about what is meant to be.  If we are being honest with one another, do you and I even know each other beyond this single conversation? If certain things were truly not meant to be, you and I would have never met.  

6.  No, I cannot just get over it.

Believe me, if I could get over desperately wanting to be a mother, I wouldn’t be spending thousands of dollars at the fertility doctor nor would I spend hours upon hours gathering the information that might lead to making my dreams come true.  The need to be a mother is so great and so consuming I have no words to describe it.  It drives every decision I make and affects every relationship I have, whether I intend it to or not.  Your suggestion that I placate myself with material goods and vacations is just plain insulting.

7.  You say infertility teaches me about character.  Oh really?

The only thing that infertility has taught me about character is that character is irrevelant.  A woman may make all the right choices, love everyone she meets, and give endlessly to others and still be painfully childless.  On the flip slide, a woman can abuse her body with drugs, treat others like trash, and care less about having a baby and still be “blessed” with multiple children.  I can honestly say being infertile has only taught me how unfair the world truly is.  If all I’m lacking is character, I can think of a million less heartbreaking ways to discover it than through infertilty. 

8.  Thank you, but I already know how old I am.

I realize that once upon a time it was the norm to establish your own family before the age of 21.  Heck, maybe it’s still done.  I don’t know.  But that’s not the underlying issue here and we both know it.  Numbers are important to you; I get that (well, not really) but do you realize that the tone of voice you use to call my husband and I “too old” to have children is the same one you use to scold your dogs when they have soiled the floor?  Maybe you think you’re being funny or merely expressing your opinion but you are certainly “old enough” to know better.  My RE did not roll his eyes in disgust when I told him I was 35 so maybe you shouldn’t either.

  9.  I can’t “not try” to get pregnant.

Despite my hundreds (maybe thousands) of hours reading about infertility and medical treatments, I am no expert.  I have no medical degree.  Yet, I am fairly certain that “not trying” will result in “no baby.”  By the way, this contradicts your earlier advice, “You have to have sex to get pregnant.”  Trust me, I have “tried” just about everything, including disregarding your medical expertise.  Please stick to your day job and leave me alone. 

and finally

10.  I hurt more than you can ever imagine.

On a good day, when you ask me why I don’t have kids, you will likely get blank stare from me (let’s face it, thinking on my feet has never been my strong suit).  On an even better day, I am able to put on a stoic face, maybe make some lame joke, and act like it is no big deal.   A bad day?  Well, I hope you never see one of those, but I bet you already have.  Underneath the indifferent expression, behind my laughing eyes,  there is a lump in my throat that never goes away.  I can’t tell you the number of times when I have stared off into space for a few minutes to just think about ordinary things (taking my medicine, paying my bills, wondering what’s for dinner) when I discovered tears on my face or welling in my eyes.  I feel robbed; I feel grieved–even though I have never carried a baby in my body. 

So, I guess this is what I could say to the world, if I had the chance.  I think it reflects my experiences quite well and I suspect it does the same for others out there as well.  If I had any “advice” for others, I’d tell them to just allow themselves to experience the spectrum of their emotions without fear or guilt.  Maybe, just maybe, if I express my bitterness to the nth degree, I can allow whatever healing that exists to come into my life.


7 responses to this post.

  1. […] navigation ← What makes God decide who gets a baby? What I would like fertiles (and the world at large) to know. . . part 2 → Dec 10 […]


  2. Posted by nothingifnotoptimistic on December 27, 2011 at 2:56 am

    You know what I like (read: loathe) the most? When they tell me I just need to have sex every day and try every possible position.
    I finally broke down the other day while in a small group of coworkers who decided to question my pregnancy status (a combo of item 1 and item 2 on this list) and announced that I could become a sexual contortionist and have sex every day but until I can also start ovulating on my own, I still won’t get pregnant. This quieted them for a minute, until one of the girls told me that I shouldn’t be so worried because it would happen when it was the right time. It’s funny now, heart wrenching then. lol.


  3. […] What I would like fertiles (and the world at large) to know. . . part 2 (thestorkdiaries.wordpress.com) […]


  4. I get it! I understand. I have a cyber shoulder for you.


  5. […] great blogs that address this very thing, including Theresa and the Stork Whisperer‘s blogs (Both of those posts). But what struck the deepest chord with me was reading the comments on […]


  6. Posted by Yoka on January 18, 2012 at 2:58 pm

    I so hear you! Thanks for sharing.


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