People often ask me, “are you going to have more children?” with the implication that because we have children, future children are a given. I sort of thought that too. Despite being able to successfully conceive twice with the aid of fertility treatments, I have now been diagnosed with “unexplained infertility.” The precise need for such an imprecise diagnosis is both hilarious and maddening. Over the years, and yes, it’s been years, my responses and patience with this question have worn thin.
“are you going to have more children?”
Me: “We plan to!”
“are you going to have more children?”
Me: “We hope to!”
“are you going to have more children?”
Me: “We’ll see…”
“are you going to have more children?”
Me: “That’s not 100% up to us.”
“are you going to have more children?”
Me: “Waiting on God’s timing.”
“are you going to have more children?”
Me: “We’ll see if it’s in the cards for us.”
“are you going to have more children?”
Me: “Who knows?!”
Now, don’t get me wrong, it’s not a crime to ask people about their families; after all, there was no ill intent. But even a slight shift of language to “do you want to have more children?” or avoiding the topic altogether sometimes seems safer territory.
“Loss” is a word rarely used to describe infertility because, after all, in order to lose something, one must have something to begin with. The fact of the matter is that my uterus has remained utterly vacant, as vacant as my undergraduate bank account. And yet, there is really no other word to describe this feeling. It is loss.
Loss of intimacy with your partner because sex has become prescribed, a detail that loses its luster after the first few cycles.
Loss of interest in other people’s pregnancies and
loss of respect for myself for losing interest in others.
Loss of opportunities for recreation. Oh, the amusement park rides, foods, and drinks I’ve avoided all for the sake that I *might* be pregnant. In truth, sometimes it was a rollercoaster ride with my kids or that glass of wine and conversation with dear friends that I needed most in that moment.
Loss of income because, let’s face it, infertility treatments aren’t cheap and insurance covers very little.
Loss of self care. Minnesota winters do a number on my rheumatoid arthritis but treatment options are extremely limited when {supposedly} pregnant. Instead of bringing relief to my chronic pain, I’ve aired on the side of caution to protect potential pregnancies, a choice I’d make again in a heartbeat but painful nonetheless.
Loss of hope - in modern medicine and in my body -- the latter actually being more daunting than the former.
Loss of dialogue and connection. There are few loved ones who’ve been aware of this ongoing struggle but often times, discussing infertility can be uncomfortable for both parties. The listener quickly runs out of things to say and ask and words of encouragement slowly disappear from vocabulary. Likewise, going through the same conversations cycle after cycle is both mentally and emotionally taxing. Both sides and both feelings are completely valid and completely natural -- it just naturally shrinks the support system.
I have been told by many that I should just be content - “you already have two kids,” after all. And while those remarks are absolutely fair, there are so many couples who struggle to have a single child; those comments are short sighted for a number of reasons. Children are not a commodity: wanting more does not imply dissatisfaction with one’s current lot in life. Wanting a new car usually means there’s something wrong with the current make/model. Kids don’t work that way. If anything, our infertility struggles have made me more grateful for my blessings, my boys. Children are love; children are hope; children are future; children are adventure; children are joy. Who should be ashamed of wanting more of that? Those remarks from well-meaning loved ones have brought on unwarranted shame for wanting more - for seeing my family as “not enough.”
In a few days, Alex and I will take the first steps in our IVF journey. This is a path we’ve put off for awhile because there is no medical need for it. Anatomically, we are both in good reproductive health, so the invasiveness and cost of the procedure seem unnecessary. Imagine shelling out thousands of dollars for a new roof when your current one is in good repair - sounds asinine, right? But, after years of trying with countless medical inventions, there comes a point when a change in tactics must be made. Trying the same thing over and over and expecting a different result? Insanity. An apt word to describe this process.
We welcome thoughts and prayers in the coming weeks, months, years. We’re not ignorant to the fact that IVF might not be the answer. And we’re bracing ourselves for the battle(s) ahead. But
please don’t offer your
answers - “have you tried [insert oddly-personal and medically-unfounded old wive’s tale that supposedly worked for them]?” I’m sorry, acquaintance - I know you mean well but do you realize how dumb that sounds when we’ve tried almost everything under the sun?! If the number of medical professionals we’ve seen have yet to figure it out, your tips from watching Dr. Oz surely won’t be the ticket to success. Love you, though. ❤️ Please don’t pity us either. We
will be okay and we know that. God is in control, even when His plans aren’t entirely clear.
