Limbo.
Writing about relationship problems in the midst of infertility is hard–though some are brave enough to do it. But it feels taboo, somehow, and as if judgement is sure to follow. Which is odd: couples therapists are fond of naming money and sex as the two primary causes of marriage problems, and infertility hits both head on. So why should it come as a surprise that not all infertiles spend evenings with their “DH” lovingly fondling one another in the doorway of an empty—but tastefully appointed—nursery?
I have thought a lot about that in the past week, and the answer I have come up with is that there exists an archetypical, acceptable “Infertility Patient” whose stats are as follows:
Age: 35-39. If you are older you are “unnatural.” If you are younger, why are you in such a hurry? You have plenty of time! You should enjoy these years with your husband! You should probably also get plenty of sleep, because once you have children you will NEVER SLEEP AGAIN! Ha Ha, Ha Ha Ha!
Home: Spacious house in safe neighborhood. Furnished nursery. Fenced yard. 3BR, 2BA, Frplc, Must See!
Attitude towards other people’s children: Adoration and tolerance. Never annoyed by child (precociously) kicking back of seat on airplane. Never ambivalent or unsure about own desire/ability to parent.
Financial situation: More than comfortable after 4.8 million dollar inheritance received last fall from hitherto unknown distant relation. Student loans paid off years ago.
Relationship with spouse: “Brock is not only my husband, he is my BFF!” Married for at least three years. Never fight because agree on everything.
As I said recently in the comments over at Akeeyu’s, it seems that because parenthood is harder for us to achieve, we are also required to want it more. And to be worthy of that desire as well. We must justify the lengths to which we go to become parents by being especially suited for parenthood.
Am I making this up? Am I merely oversensitive because the Nearly and I are having difficulties?
Yesterday I filled an old prescription for birth control pills. I will be starting them this weekend, when my cycle ends.
I need a way to normalize my hormonal profile and reduce the intermittent cramping that started the first week of this cycle and has continued since. So migraine-inducing hormonal contraception it is. It feels like a step backwards, but that is the direction I need to go, for the moment.
I have been ready for children for longer than the Nearly. Then, after we got pregnant, we miscarried. Our plan was to try again as soon as medically safe, but after six weeks, suddenly he was back to Not Ready, afraid to go through another loss. I decided to use that time to have some testing done—little knowing it would be six months between my initial RE appointment and a diagnosis. During the diagnostic process, the Nearly’s enthusiasm–and our timeline–varied week to week.
By the time the diagnostics starting winding down months later, we seemed to have reached a consensus—not the one I had initially hoped for, but one I could embrace. I knew* that we would not be pursuing IVF for at least a few years because of the prohibitive cost and the Nearly’s feelings about debt. I knew that if lesser treatments failed, I was looking at a long wait before we could try again.
After seeing me sick from the Metformin on that ruined Saturday two weeks ago, the Nearly told me he wasn’t sure he wanted this life—me sick from medications, using my vacations for doctor’s appointments, the possible horror of another miscarriage, more semen samples from him, insurance forms and medical bills, the unremitting preoccupation with having a child. He feels he is young—and he is, only 28—and he does not want to spend these young years embroiled in an infertility battle, watching me cry, listening to me talk about clinical studies, and worrying about his sperm count. He is certain that he wants children–luckily that has never been in question, for us (and, unlike myself, he actually does find strangers’ children beguiling). But if we are going to need help conceiving anyway, he reasons, why not enjoy ourselves for four or five years until we have the money for IVF? IVF is the most effective treatment available, after all. If the IVF fails, we will save again for a few years and move straight to adoption.
And why not? I wish I could say yes! Let’s do that! But I can’t yet. And he doesn’t really want me to—he is afraid that if I did and was then not able to have biological children, I would resent him, always wondering if those five years would have made a difference.
I have avoided talking about this with anyone, as the one friend I confided in looked at me as if I were crazy–So just wait, she said, What is the big deal?
I know that relationships involve compromise–I am the one who took a corporate position and worked overtime so the Nearly could quit his job and work on his thesis. The Nearly and I have talked endlessly about possible solutions to the gap between the life we have and the life we want: who would work what job, who would go to school, who would take time off to write, where we might live, and where children fit into it all. And our issues go deeper than infertility, as deep as what kind of lives we want to live, in many ways. This past year has dripped by in tiny increments while I was both a steward of his career and a patient patient–waiting to be diagnosed, waiting to start treatment, waiting for him to be ready with me–even though every part of me wanted to rush forward.
I cannot imagine a life without the Nearly’s kindness and humor and his calming presence at the end of the day. Unfortunately, what it boils down to is this: he has a very clear picture in his head of how he would ideally spend the next five years.
So do I.
Our pictures are not the same.
So where does this leave us (hopefully, close to the end of this post, you grumble)? Right now things are weirdly peaceful between the Nearly and me. Better than usual, even. Possibly because this is the first time we have seriously considered parting, we are uniquely aware of what we stand to lose in each other, and how dearly we hold those things. We are enjoying the present. And we are trying to draw up a picture of the future that is appealing to us both.
*After The Presentation
20 Comments
Oh my goodness,
This was the hardest post to read. I love your writing, you always make me feel like a friend you are confiding in.
As to your situation with the Nearly, men don’t seem to understand how time works when it comes to fertility treatments. It is so hard to explain to them that each cycle that doesn’t work could be several more months of waiting. Even if one eventually does work, it is still 9 months to get the kid.
Adoption could take years depending on so many factors completely out of your control.
What they don’t seem to ‘get’ is that if you want something you might need to work for it. Yes, it is hard and sometimes they will see you cry, but if you are not willing to give up how can they ask you to?
In most cases they see you as a strong capable woman, but cry about something out of your control and they seem to want to protect you like a china doll.
My H has said some of the same things, especially regarding adoption. He thinks we should do treatment for the next million years and then when we turn 40 begin the process for adoption. I would like to begin the process and we can always stop if we are (finally) successful.
Boy, I am chatty today.
You write so beautifully and effortlessly, even about a topic that I know causes you much pain.
Thank you for putting into words what all of us feel in the infertility process, the sense of urgency, the resignation of having to wait and step back and wait some more.
“We are enjoying the present. And we are trying to draw up a picture of the future that is appealing to us both.” That is the best you can do for yourselves. I wish you the best of luck in putting your feet onto a path that you can both walk, side by side, hand in hand.
Darling… that profile seems incomplete without mention of the lake-front vacation home, children’s charity work, and the DH who massages your feet every night.
I mean… could you IMAGINE trying to have a child any other way???
This was very hard to read. I am certain it was even harder to write, although probably somewhat cathartic as well.
I wish you the best. As TB said, I hope that you are able to come up with a shared vision of your future that will work for both of you.
Boy, that is so hard. A really difficult spot in your life to be in. But isn’t it better that you both are ready vs. one or the other giving in? I mean, the resentfulness can go both ways and that would just suck.
I hope that whatever decisions and/or compromises you both make, are ones that make you both happy in the end.
Because really, that’s one of the things relationships are built on - compromise.
I wish you much luck and resolution to this - and in the end - happiness.
There’s only a small part of me that appreciates it when the partner tells us “they hate to see us suffer,” but it also aggravates me to no end because I would suffer everything I have x infinity to achieve what I have been suffering for. I wish instead he would just try to make the suffering just a smidgeon better.
It is indeed sad to read posts on the existing relationship that reveal the aspects we rarely think about or realize how much impact they actually have. You’re in my thoughts.
I would go berserk if my husband would ask me to wait another few years. I keep telling him I don’t want to pursue ART forever, but I want to get it over and done with.
He would be happy if I decided to quit TTC here and now. He told me as much, but I can’t.
He hasn’t seen me suffer under the treatments yet, so I don’t know how he would respond to that.
The problem is, there is suffering involved no matter what. Quitting would cause me emotional suffering, continuing may cause physical suffering on top of emotional suffering. It’s a question of choosing the lesser of two evils.
I’m going to risk generalization here, but I think this desire to ’solve’ the most visible suffering is a typical male reaction.
I hope you find an acceptable middle ground.
Oh that is just so difficult. I think putting treatment off would be almost impossible- I for one would always be thinking about it, wondering. I’d never be able to put it aside until I felt I had tried my hardest.
The thing about the under 35 over 35 thing that drives me absolutely batshit insane is that up until that birthday, it’s all smiles and chocolate, and the day afterwards the Drs start talking about amnios and egg quality. Why the fuck did they say it was OK to go slowly then???? (Can you tell I’ve had experience with this?)
I hope you can work all of this out.
Dear Alexa, thank you for sharing that. I’m very sad that your plans don’t seem to be matching up at the moment. On another level, I am glad that you two are talking about this so well. It’s such a tough conversation to have, and to know that you’re both expressing your needs and talking about them so maturely is very reassuring. This IF stuff starts small, but it gradually becomes so frightening and all-engulfing (I call it “infertility creep”) that it puts an incredible strain a relationship, making both partners feel afraid of ending up in a future they never thought possible. I hope you two come out of this stronger than ever.
The Nearly is making his decision based on his emotions and not on medical facts, and that is a big problem. I could be wrong, but I get the impression that he really doesn’t understand some basic aspects of infertility, and that waiting a few years could mean “never” in terms of his desire to have children. While docs will say that 35 seems to be the turning point age in going from fertility to infertility, this is just a number. There is nothing magical about it. Some women lose their fertility potential before that — I was one of those women. Having 3 miscarriages between 28 and 32 was not normal, and all signs point toward chromosomal abnormality as the cause in each case. Perhaps if I had done IVF and PGD back then, I would have been able to overcome that problem and get a baby or two. Probably by 35, there was no hope of anything working for me.
The Nearly needs to decide if he wants to revisit the issue from a medically factual standpoint, and then re-evaluate his decision.
I’m sorry you are at a crossroads. Hopefully he will change his mind. If you are open to it, you could also explore alternative medicine, which is far less stressful than ART and has a pretty good success rate as long as you aren’t dealing with mechanical problems (tubes) or uterine anomalies or male factor.
I read this post, then went for a run to think about how I felt about it.
In an abstract way, what The Nearly proposes appeals to me; wait it out and then proceed down the path of infertility treatment. Yet, that is reflective of my current experiences of hurry up and wait and the way it removes your sense of control from the process. I think I deeply mourn the loss of control and the thought that maybe if I put it off life might return to normal is an extension of that sense of loss.
The desire to become pregnant , carry and deliver a child instead comes from a deeper level, however. It is a pervasive want; one that encompasses my being and one that refuses to succumb to an abstract notion.
Consequently, the primal emotion drives me and forces me forward into this land of discomforting unpredictability.
I shared your post with Himself, and of course, he quickly identified with The Nearly. He cited the loss of innocence as the reason that he, himself, entertained thoughts of waiting; rationalizing that IVF would be an option later down the road. He felt that what changed his perspective was the medical facts that Wessel cites. He has educated himself now and knows that if we are going to tread this path, we should do so now - the success factors hit a point of diminishing returns further along.
I hope that the picture you and The Nearly draw for youselves leaves you both happy and fufilled. Crossroads are never easy. Thank you for a very thought-provoking and honest look at where you are. You have my support - how ever the picture comes together.
You’re such a wonderful writer…thank you for such a candid, honest post. It can be so difficult to discover you hold a vision of the future that differs from your partner’s. Good luck with everything.
“the Nearly told me he wasn’t sure he wanted this life”
I understand that. But it’s not the life you would have chosen, either, if you’d been able to avoid it and still have children. I hope he understands that, too.
I’m sorry to read of your troubles. It seems like staying in Limbo is harder in some ways than making a decision– any decision. But I know why you both need to wait.
I hope everything works out for you. I’ll keep you in my thoughts.
I’m going to say something controversial, but I hope to redeem myself later. You DO have time. Probably not as much as the nearly thinks, but it will not be the end of the world if you don’t go on to treatment immediately. Inded there is probably some theoretical limit to be calculated between the inevitable medical breakthroughs that will happen in the next few years, and the decline in your fertility.
Having said that, I know that when you want a family, you want it NOW. So I imagine that where you are is a sad and difficult place, and I wish that you weren’t there. I think you need to keep talking. The thought of losing you may be what he needs so that he can understand how important modifying his world view is. But that may also take time.
Good luck sweetie. I wish this wasn’t true.
Yes, yes, and yes about this post. While Hal and I are not in exactly the same position that you and the Nearly are in, we clearly are being held away from what we want by financial difficulties. And that just makes me mad at everything — insurance companies, politicians, the fact that that things that you are truly passionate about studiying are worthless (monetarily) after you graduate from college, etc. So we just keep on keepin’ on and cross our fingers for a good tax refund. It’s kind of a sucky way to live, but what the hell else can you do?
I wish I had a way to show you how awful I feel for what you’re going through right now - with work, with well, just everything.
You’re a brave, resilient and incredibly strong woman.
You’re in my thoughts.
I understand what you are going through. My husband and I went through this a couple of years ago. It was about getting married and having children. I was ready he was not. We split up. We are now married. Things are good, but could always be inproved. You need to follow your heart and your mind you know what it is that you want and need. Good luck.
xoxox lex
I actually read this post a couple days ago, but was at a loss for words. You write so beautifully about such a painful and difficult topic. I just didn’t feel that any response I could give would do your post justice.
In some ways, your relationship with the Nearly is the reciprocal of mine several years ago. My husband is several years older than me and has been longing for children way before we even met. I, too, wanted kids but was reluctant at first to receive extensive medical intervention. Of course, because it was my body that was getting doped up and constantly prodded by needles in the arm and ass, there wasn’t much that he could do to persuade me to keep going. But there was definitely tension, a lot of awkwardness, and a lot of guilt on both sides. I think what got us through it was very open, honest, and sometimes painful communication.
Your situation and mine are by no means identical, but I do think I understand what both of you are feeling. Despite your different 5 year plans, I think the fact that you’ve been able to communicate so openly on this subject matter is a very big deal, and is a promising sign that you will hopefully be able to work things out.
As I have only recently discovered your site recently and have been trying to play catch up I have only my heart to offer and my envy of your beautiful writing, as thick as sponge cake.
Wouldn’t Nearly rather get through all this hard stuff and have more quality years to spend with children? I don’t see the point in waiting, especially since treatment can take years (3 for me) and adoption is at least a year.
In my case, my husband didn’t want to deal with the pain and frustration because he didn’t know how to comfort me. He also (like most men I think) just cannot fathom what the drugs and dr. appointments and all that do to you. He took each failure very well…like, so what, we’ll try again. Although it was difficult, these issues forced us to examine our selves, our marriage & our future. We’re finally on the same page (adoption) and we’re happier than ever, but it was a long road. You need to get on the same page, and you will, when it is right for both of you. It will only help to make you great parents. Good Luck to you!