About 20 years ago, a nutritionist told me that if I didn't change my habits, I'd never be able to have children. Despite zero interest in having children (when I was little, I told my mom I wanted to be a teacher, an artist, and a writer, and wouldn't have time to be a mommy), that nutritionist's words scared me into making some significant changes in my life. Over time, my feelings about children changed from not wanting them to not knowing if I wanted them. When I met my husband, I was totally up front with him about it, as in, on our second date, I told him that although I wasn’t sure I even wanted kids, if we did have them, I’d want to raise them Jewish. For some reason, that didn’t terrify him (what person brings that up on the SECOND date?) and now we've been married for 11 years.
But I digress. Back to children. The first six years of our marriage, my husband was in school working toward his PhD. Our health insurance and financial well-being mostly came from my job. Having children was not an option at the time, even if we had wanted them. Then we moved 18 hours away from our families to southwest Georgia for my husband's job. Now our health insurance and financial well-being was being provided by him, as I ended up losing my DC job (the company went through multiple downsizings before eventually being bought by its competitor), went back to school, and started working for myself. Even though I was slowly starting to change my mind about children, the thought of (a) having kids so far away from any family support, (b) having kids in an area where we had very few friends, (c) having kids in a rural area where good ob-gyn access is difficult, and (d) having kids so far from any sort of Jewish community put the kibosh on any thought of having kids anytime soon.
I grew accustomed to answering the question “do you have any kids” with “no, but we have a large, loving Labrador,” and then nodding politely when people either told me about my biological clock or told me that it’s much better to not have kids because then you can travel and be free and whatever. As we grew older, and our siblings and cousins got married and had kids, it was assumed that kids were not in our future. We were (and hopefully still are) the fun Aunt and Uncle. And yes, it’s amazing to be able to play with our nieces and nephew, get them riled up or sugared up, and then hand them back to the grandparents or parents to deal with the aftermath or the poopy diaper. But one day I woke up and realized I really, really wanted kids. So we started trying. At first, we decided we’d let nature take its course … if it happened, that’s great, but if not, it was okay because we were still really far from our families, and we didn’t think that we’d ever like living in our current town, so maybe when we moved we’d really start to focus on things. Five years later, we feel at home here, and between having a fantastic group of friends and moving to a house that doesn’t make me, my husband, or our dog feel sick frequently, it was time to get down to business.
Doctors say that if you’re under 35 years old you should try to have kids naturally for a year before going to a doctor for help. After 35 years old, you're supposed to give it 6 months before seeing a doctor. I was 38 years old when we started trying. Let me tell you, that two week waiting period before you can take a pregnancy test is killer. And it was always negative, which, when you’re trying to get pregnant, never gets any less crushing. So after 6 months, I went to the doctor. We started the process of testing this and testing that. Almost a year after we started “really trying,” I was referred to a fertility clinic. The fertility doctor looked at all our tests and labs and ages and told us that we should get started with IVF immediately. Which meant more tests and waiting and anxiety. Oh, and have I mentioned that the fertility clinic recommended by my ob-gyn is located in Jacksonville, Florida? That’s 3.5 hours southeast of us, assuming I don’t stop at all on the drive over there. (Another downside of living in a rural area – fertility clinics are hard to come by). So what does IVF mean? The very (very) short version is that we pay a gazillion dollars, I get put on hormone medicines (best of luck to everyone around me who will be putting up with the effects of those increased hormones), they do some scientific magic, I have surgery to make my uterus friendly to a fetus, heal for 8 weeks, they do some more scientific magic, and hopefully I end up pregnant.
If you’ve made it this far, you’re probably wondering why in the world would I tell everyone about this? It’s very personal, and nobody ever talks about this stuff anyway. Here’s why:
- Nobody talks about infertility. Most people treat it like it’s something to be ashamed of, but it shouldn’t be. I can tell you as someone going through it, I would LOVE to talk with other people who have gone through the same thing. It’s terrifying (what will the medicines do to me, is it even going to work, did I wait until I was too old to start trying, will I even be able to carry a child to a live birth, are we doing the right thing, are we responsible enough to raise a child?). I’ve mentioned our struggle to a few people and heard stories of people they know who have gone through similar situations, but it’s usually discussed in a way that they’re not supposed to know about the other person’s struggle. Here’s what I’m telling you: people need to talk about it. The stigma attached to infertility will not go away unless people talk about it. So if you are going through it or know someone going through it, reach out to me or have them reach out to me. No person/couple should go through this alone.
- Infertility treatments are freaking expensive. Seriously. There is no way on this planet that this would even be an option if we did not have some amazing family members who are helping us make IVF a possibility. We pay for the “good” health insurance, but most insurance plans do not cover IVF or other infertility treatments. I haven’t researched the reasons, but I do not think it’s fair that infertility treatments are only available to those who can afford it. I recognize that raising a child is expensive, but not being able to afford to get treatment to become pregnant in the first place should not be the deciding factor. I also recognize that not everyone has the ability to drive several hours away to get to a fertility clinic once or twice a week, and often on very short notice. I work for myself and have amazingly understanding clients, but most other people probably do not have that luxury. I don’t have any solutions, but the disparity makes me mad.
- Be careful of what you say to people regarding children. There’s been a “story” floating around Facebook forever – the one where it reminds you not say things like “you must be so happy to be without kids because you’re free,” or “you know, your biological clock is ticking – you better get on with it,” or “Oh my gosh, you’re having ANOTHER kid? Wasn’t three enough?,” or “You’re missing out by not having kids,” and so forth. You get the idea. My point is this: everyone’s story is different. You do not know what is going on inside of a person’s head when you make those comments. Some people want kids. Fine. Some people do not want kids. Also fine. Some people want to wait until their careers are set before having kids. That is also fine. Do not judge other people’s choices related to children, and do not assume that a childless person does not want kids.
- Our lives are about to be turned upside down for the next several months (and hopefully for much longer after that). I’m going to driving the 3.5 hours out to Jacksonville frequently, or, if I’m lucky, to a satellite office 2 hours south of here. In two weeks, I’m going to start taking some serious hormonal medicine without any of my usual anxiety-relieving outlets available (no exercise, no alcohol, no herbal teas) and hope that my friends and family will be very understanding. We’re going to need help from our friends to watch our doggie when we have to go out of town at a moment’s notice, or to give rides to my husband when I take the car and leave him carless for 24 hours at a time. We’re going to say yes to invitations and then have to back out at the last minute, depending on what the doctors say about my next visit. If all goes well, I’m going to have surgery to remove some fibroid tumors in my uterus and will then spend 8 weeks healing (can’t wait). There is no way we can get through this without the support of our friends and family, which is why I’m sharing such personal information.
Thanks for listening.