The Worst Part of Infertility

                                                                                                         Photo credit: Pixabay 

Just like pregnancy, infertility affects everyone differently.

There are plenty of shared pains and frustrations, but it’s a very individual experience, even when you’re facing it as a couple. That can make it really lonely. Maybe one of you wants to be around kids as much as possible, while the other sees it as a constant reminder of what you don’t have. One might still be in denial, while the other is eager to take the next step, whatever that might be. Or one has accepted it and would rather focus on enjoying life in other ways, while the other isn’t ready to give up.

My husband and I have been trying to have a baby for the past four years.

We got married in our early 20s and waited until I was 30 to start trying, which seemed reasonable at the time. We didn’t worry much about it until it had been well over a year. We tried fertility treatments and when that didn’t work, I had a diagnostic laparoscopy which showed several problems—ovarian cysts, fibroids and scar tissue due to endometriosis. A specialist told me my odds of getting pregnant naturally were about 5–10 percent.

I wasn’t sure what to do with that information at the time, and six months later, I’m still not sure. If I’m being honest, my first instinct was to sell our house and move somewhere—anywhere—warmer and more exciting than Sandusky, Ohio. We’ve built our life here over the past 10 years because we wanted our kids to grow up close to their grandparents and cousins. We’ve loved being the fun aunt and uncle and watching our nieces and nephews grow up. We bought a house because we saw the potential to grow into it. Now we have an art studio, a guest bedroom my husband uses as a spare closet and a nursery that’s decorated beautifully but sitting empty.

So yes, I have regrets.

I regret that we didn’t start trying sooner—whether or not that would have made any difference.

I regret buying a house we may never grow into.

I don’t regret living near family, but I regret that we played it safe.

But the regret isn’t the worst part.

The worst part of infertility for me is having to decide how far we’re willing to go to have a child.

Deciding to have a child is in itself the first of 10,000 decisions.

These are tough decisions even in the best of circumstances. Will I breastfeed or bottle feed? Do we circumcise him, or not? Will one of us work part-time? Will we baptize him or her, or not?

And that’s assuming the child is planned and healthy. Add in an unexpected pregnancy, a strained relationship, or birth defects, and the decisions become even more complicated.

As difficult as they are, those decisions are all made after you’ve become pregnant. Once that happens, there’s no turning back—you just have to let the momentum carry you forward and do what you believe is best for your child.

Before the positive pregnancy test, the only decision most couples have to make is, “Are we willing to have unprotected sex at this moment and accept the consequences?”

For couples struggling with infertility, the decision tree may look more like this:

Are we willing to allow our sex life to be dictated by a doctor’s advice?

Have sex even when one of us doesn’t feel like it?

Get tested and answer personal questions about drinking and masturbation habits?

Make lifestyle changes to improve our chances?

Are we willing to accept the hormonal rollercoaster of fertility drugs?

Make time for monthly blood tests and ultrasounds?

Undergo surgery to investigate further?

Should we get a second opinion because a specialist at one of the best hospitals in the country told us something that was hard to hear?

Should we start going back to church?

Can laptops cause infertility?

Should my husband stop keeping his phone in his pocket?

Can eating too many Hot Pockets lower your sperm count?

Drinking too many energy drinks?

Drinking too much in general?

Are we willing to go $20,000 in debt for a 1-in-3 chance of having a baby with IVF?

Should we sell our house so we can save up for the procedure?

Raid our 401(k)?

Ask other people for help?

Are we willing to adopt?

Should we go through the state system or a private adoption agency?

Do we want an open adoption or a closed adoption?

Would we consider fostering a child first?

Are we open to adopting a child of any age, race or ethnicity? (Many of the children who have been waiting for the longest to be adopted are older teens.)

Should we adopt within the U.S. or internationally?

Would we be strong enough as first-time parents to help a child who may have serious behavioral issues?

Are we able to care for a child with medical issues? Mental health issues?

Many of these questions are important ones to consider in the decision-making process, yet there’s an implicit and uncomfortable theme:

How far are we willing to go to have a child?

It feels like being asked repeatedly, “What are the limits of our love?”

And if we ultimately decide not to pursue IVF or foster or adopt, what does that say about us?

If you’re not able to have a child naturally, your life can start to feel like a quest to prove you’re worthy of being a parent.

And if after all that you decide this whole parenting thing must not be for you, you better have big plans to do something really amazing with your life instead.

credit: Here