The End of Infertility?

As I've reflected about mothers and motherhood, I've had other thoughts swirling in my head as well. Among them is compassion and sorrow for so many who are still in the throes of infertility. It's a grueling place to be.

There's the guilt that perhaps you're not relaxed enough, not trying hard enough, not in impeccable health, not young enough, not being aggressive enough with your doctor, and not confident about whether medical intervention or adoption is the path you should pursue.

For me, the guilt and self-doubt has been the worst part.

And I have to acknowledge that the struggle isn't necessarily over for me yet.

I attended an adoption conference last summer, which was a mandatory step to get qualified through our agency. I was skeptical about the title of one class I attended, called "The Joy of Infertility." But so much of what was shared has lodged permanently in my soul.

I needed that class more than I knew. The instructor was named Laurieann Thorpe, and as soon as she started speaking, sharing quotes from author Anna Quindlen and poems that I found unbearably beautiful, I wished she lived next door to me. This is someone I would be friends with for sure.

From her, a woman with one son via adoption, I learned that adoption does not cure infertility. It cures childlessness. This was a revelation.

Don't get me wrong; having my childnessess cured was certainly wonderful. For so many years, I just knew deep down that I was meant to be a mom, but I was terrified of how long I'd have to wait. I did try (and succeed) to live a happy and fulfilled life in the meantime, but there were some things I was putting on hold—certain projects I wouldn't commit to "just in case." The would-be nursery just sat there as an extra room that we never did anything with, because I couldn't bear to devote it to another purpose. And I couldn't bear to turn it into an official nursery quite yet either. And there were other things too. I was perpetually trying not to plan vacations or other things too far in advance, just in case. It's an unsettling spot to be in.

And then, when Keira Jane came along, I finally felt complete, like this is the life I was supposed to be living all along. Yes, I can most assuredly say that having my childlessness cured has been wonderful.

But in that class, I was warned (or prepared, I should say) that sorrow over infertility will rear its ugly head again at some point in the future. For me, it might be sorrow about not being able to give Keira another sibling, or the sorrow of never passing my genes on to another person, of being a genetic dead end.

I learned that infertility can be grouped in with miscarraige and even the loss birthmoms feel in something called "disenfranchised grief" or "ambiguous loss" or "the continuous presence of an absence."(That last phrase was from Anna Quindlen, and it's the perfect description.) You're not mourning for a loved one you had grown to love over years and years. You're mourning the loss of the dream you had of someone. And it's still real grief, although it's not publicly acknowledged or widely understood.

For the last couple of years before Keira arrived, I'd been waiting to "get over" infertility and make my peace with it before I pursued adoption. But I've realized that I'll never be over it all the way. It's a sadness that will hit me now and then, all throughout my life. Now that I know to expect that, I can stop thinking there's something wrong with me for still being sad sometimes, and I'm more prepared for what will come.

Laurieann Thorpe shared a hilarious video that I think many of us, whether infertile or not, can relate to. Feeling sad about not being able to start your family? Well stop it! Get over it! Isn't that what you feel like the world is telling you to do? It's not that simple.

For those of you going through this right now, I want to share two more quotes that were shared that day that helped me so much. I hope they help you.

A quote by Anna Quindlen, from her essay collection, Loud and Clear:

"Grief remains one of the few things that has the power to silence us. It is a whisper in the world and a clamor within. More than sex, more than faith, even more than its usher death, grief is unspoken, publicly ignored except for those moments at the funeral that are over too quickly, or the conversations among the cognoscenti, those of us who recognize in one another a kindred chasm deep in the center of who we are.

"Maybe we do not speak of it because death will mark all of us, sooner or later. Or maybe it is unspoken because grief is only the first part of it. After a time it becomes something less sharp but larger, too, a more enduring thing called loss.

"Perhaps that is why this is the least explored passage: because it has no end. The world loves closure, loves a thing that can, as they say, be gotten through. This is why it comes as a great surprise to find that loss is forever, that two decades after the event there are those occasions when something in you cries out at the continuous presence of an absence, 'An awful leisure,' Emily Dickinson once called what the living have after death."

And a poem by Billy Collins:

"She stopped at a page of clouds aloft in a pale sky, tinged with red and gold. This one is my favorite, she said, even though it was only a detail, a corner of a larger painting which she had never seen. Nor did she want to see the countryside below or the portrayal of some myth in order for the billowing clouds to seem complete.

''This was enough, this fraction of the whole, just as the leafy scene in the windows was enough now that the light was growing dim, as was she enough, perfectly by herself somewhere in the enormous mural of the world.''

You are enough. Perfectly by yourself. As I am. As we all are. And you're not alone.

p.s. Just now, I found a note written in the adoption conference program, while I was trying to decide if adoption was really truly right for us. It says "Something I need to get over: the feeling that I don't want to share." After what I wrote on Saturday, I'm happy to say that I have.

Comments

[Tamara]

As another couple who have struggled with infertility (issues on both sides, both my husband and myself) I think you learn to live each day with it, but it never 'goes away'. We have good days, we have bad days, there are days that we forget it and there are days where it is frontmost in our minds.

Thank you for being so upfront in discussing your feelings and journey, I think that it is one of the most important things we can do. I think it helps provide support to all out there that are looking for some comfort and to know that they are not alone.

You have a gorgeous daughter and I'm so happy for you and your husband that you get the opportunity to be her parents, but I think that you are right in saying that your infertility will never 'end'. Your journey has helped you make who you are, including the parent that you are and it is something that will always be a part of you.

Thank you for sharing all that you do.

Tamara
(all the way from Northern Australia!)

[Cindy deRosier]

I was one of the lucky ones who got pregnant the first month we tried, which made it all the more difficult for my sister who was dealing with 10 years of infertility. Congrats on your daughter and the end of your childlessness. I agree that your openness about this topic is so valuable for others. Thank you for that.

And thank you for adding the Mad TV- I love it! It started my day off with a huge smile.

[MarieP]

I don't feel like enough. I feel broken. And tired. And like somehow God knew I wasn't right for motherhood. And tired again. But that's just right now. Usually, I'm way more ok than this. I think, Angie, that I will come back to this post again and again. But right now, right at this very second, I don't feel like enough. I feel very, very small. I think I'll allow myself to feel small just a little while longer and then I'll get back to my regular life.

[Angie]

Marie, Ive felt alone, empty, and broken too. I cant say anything to take it away, but I can say that you have the right to feel what you feel. You dont have to feel better until youre ready to. (Not that you need my permission.)I pray for a miracle for you...

Sent from my iPhone

[Debra]

Hi Angie,

You and I have talked about this before via email. Just wanted to tell you that I needed this today. I've printed your blog entry out and I'll be reading it again. And with my husband too. It's all a journey for sure. A really hard one. Thanks for posting what you did and giving a voice to things I feel, but am sure are right? Or normal? Or what other people feel too.

Debra in Australia

[Debra]

Sorry, that last bit doesn't make much sense, but you know what I mean. I hope so! Thanks, Angie, you're a gem.

[Tina Cockburn]

As an infertile adoptive mom of three, that infertility thing breaks my heart again and again. I love my children beyond measure and I know that I am living God's plan in my life, but that heartache of not having carried a child that is part me and part my husband is constantly in the background. Sure, the hustle and bustle of my daily, crazy life helps to deafen my heart to that pain, but it's there. And now that I'm in my early 40s and I know that any window of opportunity I have to bear a child is pretty well closed, I find that I have moments of even more profound sadness.

It's my cross to bear in this lifetime. And it's always helpful to know that there are others out there who share in this.

Thanks for sharing, Angie.

[Colleen]

Lovely post. I think no matter what kind of sorrows we have to bear in this life, it's important to acknowledge our griefs and those of others. "Stop it!" just doesn't work!

[Angie]

Tina, thanks for sharing your story as well. It does help to know Im not alone. Watching you with your darling children did help me open my heart to adoption, and Im grateful youve been so open about the blessings it has brought into your life.

Sent from my iPhone

[Angie]

I do know what you mean, Debra, and i think you said it well. Thanks for all the great e-talks! Writing to you, long ago as it was, helped me collect my thoughts and organize this post. :)

Sent from my iPhone

[Monika Wright]

Having a child at 28, which was late in life in 1991, never had me thinking that I would have issues trying to have more children. But I did. My second husband I were able to have 2 adorable girls through IUI's and the help of fertility professionals. I have endured several miscarriages, one through IVF, which made me feel guilty because it's so darn expensive. Imagine it...me feeling guilty. My last miscarriage was just last year {at 46} and came through God's grace. No fertility drugs, just a miracle. We thought. But, I do not question as I know in my heart that the fetus must not have been healthy enough to survive. But, wow, pregnant on our own after 12 years of marriage. And after all this, my heart does ache for those babies that I didn't know, but I don't allow it to consume me, but I can't help but wonder if one of those little babes might have been a boy. I am lucky to have 3 healthy kids who wrap their arms around me and tell me that they love me. And for that I am thankful, grateful and blessed...I could have easily been the one to not have had the miracle of motherhood come true.

Bless you for being honest and learning to accept your feelings. It's all good.

[Linda]

I can honestly say I'm so glad I was never able to get pregnant, because if I had I wouldn't have my two kids from adoption. That being said, there's a part of me who still gets very sad when I think about how I'll never feel a baby move inside me. Thanks for the message that it's okay to feel that way!

[Amy]

Its so hard sharing your story- because others you know read your blog. . . but I know I searched out others online struggling with the same things I did and I've tried to blog about it myself. Folks I know haven't always gotten that- I got lots of interesting comments after I posted about how being childless sucks- a post entirely for those out there in the same struggle- not so much for my family and friends.

Having been through the cycles of infertility and then not adopting when we were so close, I know it's so tough. . . . and just as you noted, it's not something you ever really get over- you just have to move on.

In moving on. . . I've decided to shed that infertile label. Because I'm not infertile- reproductively yeah- but me I'm not. Lately, I've felt the need to make that distinction- because me, I can be fertile- I do create, I do things, etc.

I think somewhere in the depressed state that is all the struggle, you begin to live as if you entire life is infertile.

PS There are still times you can "have fun with it". My primary care physician seems to need a huge note across my file that says HYSTERECTOMY. I hate it when he grills me about whether I could be pregnant. It drives me nuts. Last week, he simply took a different approach as he got ready to send me to the hospital to have my appendix it out. . . He asked when my last period was. . . I told him several years ago. The look on his face- I took such delight in that one! All he could say is "ok, have I missed something".

[Angie]

Wow, Monika, Im so sorry to hear about the pain youve had to endure. One of the things Ive been grateful for is that Ive never had to go through the devastation of a miscarriage. Blessings to you for your beautiful perspective.

[Angie]

Amy, I love this! Youre so right. It is very easy to let the infertile label color other parts of our lives too, but we all can create and care for many beautiful things...

[Hayley Shaver]

I have a lovely adopted boy I truly care for and love. That being said, I too feel a wide chasm of grief. My husband made it quite clear he did not want to try IUI, IVF or any other thing to get another child because of this child. This child made us have some hardship, but I want to try to feel a baby move inside me. I feel much grief and try to stop it, but it's like I'm swimming in a neverending sea of grief.

[Angie]

Im so sorry for your grief, and I understand it, too. At least know youre not alone. Thank you for writing.

~Angie

[Sara]

I know you wrote this a couple years ago but it helped me today. Thank you for sharing so openly about your infertility.