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Have you ever been in a difficult situation and expected a friend to be there for you? And how disappointing is it when that friend not only doesn’t step up to support you, but completely ignores you? It’s hard to deal with when you’ve been supportive to that friend through her tough times, but when the shoe is on the other foot, communication practically ceases. It’s an added stress that is definitely not appreciated when already dealing with the stress and emotions of infertility. How disappointing.
This weekend the inevitable happened…one of our friends asked me if I was pregnant. I knew that people were probably suspicious since I haven’t had a drink in over two months and I usually have a drink or two when we get together socially. Well, this weekend we went to a local brewery and then to a vineyard with another couple. I don’t drink beer because I can’t stand the taste of it, so I don’t think that they were too suspicious that I wasn’t beer tasting with them at the brewery tour, but then we went to lunch and everyone else got a beer for lunch and the bartender asked me if I wanted anything and I told her no.So then my friend Tracy turns to me and says “Jess, are you pregnant?” I quickly replied “no” since I’m not, and she said “I just had to ask since you haven’t been drinking lately.” I told her that I’ve been feeling like I’m losing my mind lately, that I can’t remember anything anymore and I used to have a great memory so it’s kind of freaking me out (which is all true, by the way). I need to keep all of the brain cells that I do have. I’m sure she probably thought that was a pretty lame excuse, but she just shocked me the way she asked it just flat out like that. But that was pretty much it, and I was relieved that we didn’t have to get into a more in depth conversation about it right then.
So after lunch, we drove out to the winery. The guy serving up the wine asked how many would be tasting and I said “three” right away and explained that I would sample from Mark’s glass. After sampling a couple of wines, Kyle turns to me and said something to the effect of “So Tracy was wondering if there was a reason why you weren’t drinking.” Obviously he had not heard our conversation earlier at lunch. I told him that she had already asked me and no I’m not pregnant. Of course he couldn’t leave well enough alone and asked if we were trying. I kind of avoided the direct answer and just explained the same thing to him that I did to Tracy, that I feel like I’ve been losing a lot of my mental acuity lately and it’s bothering me, especially since my grandfather died from Alzheimer’s. They responded to that since a couple people in Tracy’s family have the disease, and mentioned that they both kind of felt the same thing when they hit 30. So that effectively killed of any further pregnancy or trying to get pregnant conversation, which was fine by me.
In hindsight, I kind of wished that I would have just told them. It would have put all speculation to rest, and I know that we could trust them with our secret. I think that I might have told them if the question had come up a little more gradually, instead of out of thin air like it did. We have had conversations with this couple in the past regarding kids, and we’ve just kind of lied and said that we’re just enjoying being married right now and avoided committing to any particular time frames. I think part of their curiosity is maybe driven by the fact that they’re trying to decide if they want to have kids. I get the feeling that they may be more inclined to decide one way or another if they knew that any of their friends were either definitely going to have kids, or definitely not going to have kids.
There are times when I wish that we would have told a various people, but then when I think about actually telling people, I am immediately uncomfortable. I still have not come to terms with the fact that us not being pregnant is my fault. And I know that whose is “at fault” for us not being pregnant is completely irrelevant, but it still bothers me. I can imagine how ashamed I would feel telling people that we’re having difficulties and then of course they would assume that it was a problem on Mark’s side. I would have to jump in and defend him and say that things are great in those regards, the problem is that I’m running short of eggs and I may have a wonky uterus that is preventing implantation. It really is like a dirty little secret to me and my face gets hot and flushed just thinking about telling anyone about it.
There have been times that I’ve thought of telling my parents, because I’m sure that they would be willing to help us out financially if we ever needed it, not to mention the fact that my mom would probably love to do Reiki on me. The thing that keeps me from telling them is the pity that they would feel for us. I can just imagine my mom’s face and knowing how painful it would be for her to know that her daughter is struggling to get the one thing that she wants to the most. My mom has this amazingly pitiful face she gets when she knows that you’re hurting, and it just makes me feel even more miserable than I already do. I know that my news would solicit that face, and thinking about that just makes me not want to tell her. I don’t want to be pitied and I know that she can’t help it; it’s just her natural reaction, but it’s still not what I want.
So for this moment, we will go on as is…not telling anyone who doesn’t already know about our situation. I am sure that things will change for one reason or another eventually, but for now, this will remain our little secret.
Originally posted March 27th, 2008
There are very few people who know about our fertility struggle, in fact I have only told two of my friends what’s been going on. The fact that other people now know (5 women plus whomever they told), was not my choice, nor of my control. One of those 5 women knew that we wanted kids right away after we got married and said “Don’t you know they’ve been trying since they got married?” when someone asked me about it at dinner four months after we’d started trying. Since I am a terrible, horrible liar, I could do nothing but admit to it.
One of the women there tried to console me by saying “At least your husband is ready to have kids. Mine isn’t even ready yet.” As luck would have it, she must have gone home and conceived that very night because three months later she announced that they were 17 weeks pregnant. My husband and I were on vacation when she and her husband announced it at our work, so they told my husband when we came back because we had missed the news. My husband, God love him, for some reason thought it would be a great idea to send them over to my very-not-private cube to announce it to me. What was he thinking?!?
Her husband came up behind me an announced “We’re preggers!” What?!? I’m sure my face must have been priceless. Here in my little convoluted dream world I was thinking about how I was going to get pregnant any moment now and then I could pass my copy of “Taking Charge of Your Fertility” on to them to aid them in their journey. NOPE. No, as it was explained to me, she had just gone off of her birth control two weeks before our fateful dinner conversation and they weren’t even trying. She didn’t think that her body would be ready to get back to normal that soon off of birth control, so she used the “my husband’s not ready for kids” excuse to cover up for the fact that they were going to start trying soon. Sigh.
I swallowed the painful lump that was quickly rising in my throat and fought back the tears. How embarrassing to me for her to feel like she had to explain her pregnancy to me, and within ear shot of 10 different co-workers, nonetheless. After she and her husband left, I took 5 minutes of sitting at my desk so as not to appear devastated to anyone around me who might know how this would affect me. Then I took off for the bathroom and had a good cry.
I was amazingly embarrassed by the whole situation. Embarrassed by how easy it was for them and how difficult it continued to be for us. Embarrassed that she (and presumably he) knew that we were struggling and frustrated. Embarrassed that now 10 additional people may have figured out that we were trying from the way she explained it all.
I felt shamed.
And really, infertility is nothing to be ashamed of. It really isn’t. It isn’t anyone’s fault. It’s not a reflection of what kind of person you are. It’s not a reflection of the parent you hope to become. It’s not a reflection of your monetary or social status. It just is what it is.
But my fertility struggle does make me feel ashamed of myself. It makes me feel like I’m not good enough; that I don’t deserve what everyone else gets so easily. I can’t make my body do the one thing that it is supposed to just naturally do. And that makes me self-conscious.
Every time the subject of babies and kids comes up it’s as though there is a big, flashing neon arrow above my head pointing right at me saying “She’s infertile! She wants nothing more than to have kids but she can’t make her body cooperate!” When co-workers bring their babies in to work, I watch them from a safe distance and wish that I could have that, all the while hoping that no one notices that pesky arrow flashing above me telling all of the world that I can’t have the one thing I want most.
It’s hurtful, embarrassing, shameful and frustrating. As I walk the halls at work, I wonder who can see that arrow flashing away above my head. I wonder who feels pity for us and what we’re going through. I like to think that those 7 women who know that we’ve been trying for 16 months now have kept my business, that most of them weren’t even supposed to know in the first place, to themselves. I know that there’s a good chance that they may have told others, but I have to tell myself that they haven’t.
And in order to stay sane, I have to constantly remind myself that the arrow doesn’t exist outside my head.
