Walking with the Pain of Infertility

This week is National Infertility Awareness Week in Canada.

Infertility is a special sort of pain…

…and it’s often minimized and misunderstood.  When a parent has a child who dies, there is a funeral, and public mourning, and a collective grief that surrounds the family.  We know as a community that the death of a child is agonizingly painful.

With infertility, the grief is about a baby that has long existed in the hearts of a couple…the grief is hidden, minimized, and frequently downplayed or misunderstood…and that creates it’s own layer of added pain.

It is a week in which those who are in pain 52 weeks of the year have a fighting chance of hearing their pain heard, of hopefully having slivers of understanding extended through the media, and an opportunity to share their pain with those who will listen.

It might seem ironic or painful for those who struggle with infertility to have someone write on the topic who has children.

I do have children…but barely…

I have known the fear and agony and longing of one who is desperately wants children…who feels that having a child is as necessary to one’s well being as breathing, and the unrequited longing creates a feeling rather like that of being suffocated.

When I was a teen, I had medical issues that cast a shadow on my ability to be a mother.  Through my teens and twenties, I had lingering doubts…

When the time was right, and life circumstances meant it took far longer than I wanted for it to be right, I found out I was expecting a child.

Joy. Relief. Excitement. Planning…with a diaper bag and stroller and teddy bears, and hugs from family and friends…

And then I discovered, in the most painful way possible, that my body wasn’t really meant for carrying children. 

Sucker punched.         Ouch      (…there is no word strong enough here. There is no word that would do justice.)

After months of grief, uncertainty, difficult decisions, risky procedures, agonizingly careful living, and anxious waiting, I became a mother.

If I had been born a hundred years earlier, I would not be a mother.  If I had been born a hundred years earlier, my children, well…my children would not have been born at all.

My children, are, quite simply, miracles. There is a doctor to whom I will be eternally grateful…a physician who literally made motherhood possible for me. Motherhood is something I treasure incredibly…knowing it so very nearly wasn’t something that happened for me.

But, the fact is, I was able to become a mother, and so I need be careful to not speak for those struggling with infertility…why don’t we let those who know it from the inside out speak:

Infertility hurts…a lot.

Empathy for another doesn’t arise from experiencing that which they have experienced.

Empathy for another comes from drawing on one’s own emotional experiences to understand and sit with another. You may not have suffered from infertility yourself, but who hasn’t struggled with feelings of:

• Anger.  Have you had times of wanting something so bad it hurts…and others have it, got it easily, and take it for granted?
• Despair. There have been times when you thought you might “lose it” because all hope seemed lost?
• Guilt. When have you felt that you or a loved one are suffering and somehow, real or imagined, it feels like your fault?
• Lonely.  When have you faced a struggle that is hard to talk about, and would be misunderstood if you tried?
• Violated and exposed. Have you had your house broken into, or been victim of a crime? Has there been a time when someone intruded on your personal space big time in a way that felt awful?

Let me be clear…because you have felt these emotions does not mean you understand someone who is experiencing infertility.  But it does give you important information about what life is like for them, and it does shape your response.

• When you are pissed about the cards life has dealt you, how well do you do with platitudes like, “Just wait, your time will come.” or “Don’t get so upset…you’re making it worse.” or “It’ll be fine.” Those sorts of lines generally have the effect of increasing rage…at least for me, and I suspect I’m not the only one.
• When you are feeling depressed and guilty and lonely, how much do you appreciate people telling you what to do to make it better? That often has the effect of implying the one suffering is not too bright.  If it was as easy as “looking on the bright side”, or “trying this tea or that potion” or “just go for adoption”…don’t you think that would have already been done?

A few things to be aware of:

A Message from us to you, someone with infertility:

To men, women and couples who are struggling with infertility:

Please know that most of the unhelpful, offensive, off-the-wall contributions from friends and family make are made out of misguided love and caring.

When we see you in pain, it hurts us…and without even being aware of it, we have this enormous pull to make things better for you because the distress of seeing you in pain is hard on us.  That means that something we open our mouths and stick our foot in it, without thinking.  Not cool. We’re sorry.

Please know that you have the right to teach us how to be helpful to you…tell us how you want support…and we give you permission to need support by talking about it one day, and not mentioning it the next.  We can’t read your minds, so that more you give us input about how to sit with you in the pain, the better. Even if we get ticked off, you have a right to tell us what would work for you.

When we say inane, insensitive, and hurtful things, could you tell us…maybe do it in a way that let’s us know how to do better next time?

We want you to know that we hurt for you…our pain will be different than yours to be certain, and your pain may be so big you can’t see past it to ours…that’s OK.  We don’t expect you to take care of us.  There are times when we feel badly enjoying our children when you are still desperately hoping to have one

…because your pain matters to us.