Guest Post by Laura A.
I am a 28-year-old woman who struggled with unexplained infertility. After two years of trying to get pregnant, I now have a daughter who is 9-months old. But as we begin to think about expanding our family, the fears of infertility creep ever closer back into my life.
While chatting with two other moms, they began to discuss how they were terribly disappointed with the genders of their babies. One has a boy and had wanted a girl, and the other has a girl and had desperately wanted a son. The latter even went on to describe how she had been devastated to come home from the ultrasound and have to inform her husband they were even having a girl.
All I could think was: “Wow, they really don’t get what I went through.” Both are friends of mine who knew about our struggles, but neither were present during our infertility. They both looked at me and said “What about you? What did you want?”
I paused, thought carefully, and said simply, “After two years of trying, all I wanted was a baby.”
I don’t think it occurred to me until that moment, standing in a driveway with two other moms and their babes, that people really don’t get what infertility is really like, what it really means.
I share my story whenever it comes up in conversation. I think that by telling people that I had trouble getting pregnant that it will give a face to infertility. I hope that by knowing someone who has experienced infertility that it will resonate a little closer to home. I imagine that I will provide some sort of enlightened moment of realization that they shouldn’t take any pregnancy for granted.
But in that moment it dawned on me – my journey is just a story. It’s just an uncomfortable moment when they don’t know how to react, and that’s not their fault. When I talk about my infertility it brings up memories of heartbreak, mourning, needles, ultrasounds, medications, and disappointment. It reminds me that my daughter is a blessing and that life doesn’t happen according to our plans. It brings back all of the emotions I felt every month I wasn’t pregnant, and it reminds me that it could happen all over again.
But in that moment, that moment in the driveway with two other moms and their babes – I knew that when I talk about our struggles I don’t conjure those same thoughts for others. It’s the same way a devastating car accident is just a roadside inconvenience to passersby on their way to their own destinations. I had fooled myself into thinking that my journey, my story somehow changed their lives for even a fraction of the amount that it had changed mine. I was wrong.
Suddenly I felt more alone in my infertility than I had in a very long time.
So, what’s the answer? How do I make infertility resonate with people who haven’t experienced it? How do I make my journey, my story mean something to those around me? I’m not really sure what the answer is.
I suppose all I can do is continue to tell my story and hope that it helps someone. Maybe it will make someone else feel not so alone. Maybe it will remind people that not everyone has an easy road to parenthood. Maybe it will result in one parent hugging their child a little closer.
Or maybe it won’t.
I have to tell my story because I own it, and because I refuse to pretend it didn’t happen.
About the Author
Laura works in social services for the public sector. She is mom to a daughter Hillary, who was conceived after two years of unexplained infertility. When she has any time to spare, she can probably be found taking a walk, or (re-)reading Pride & Prejudice.
