National Infertility Awareness Week

It was the summer of 1983, Dave had just graduated from college and gotten his first job in the grain industry.  We were living in western Kansas and had our first house.  It was just a one bedroom, one bath rental, but it had a yard and a dining room and we felt all grown up.  We were on our way to the American Dream:  college (check), marriage (check), jobs (check), dog (check), new car (stupid move, but check), house (check), children...   That crash you heard was our perfect plan falling apart.

This week is National Infertility Awareness Week.  RESOLVE, the National Infertility Association, is encouraging infertility survivors to share their stories.  I know what you're thinking... "Survivor?  Infertility is not a disease that can take your life, like cancer."  And you're right - infertility is not life-threatening, not in the physical sense - but it is a disease to be fought.   Infertility may not directly threaten lives, but it threatens marriages, it threatens self-worth, it threatens hopes and dreams.  That day in the summer of 1983, when we made the decision to begin our family, was the beginning of a battle that would last six years and eight months.  

At first we weren't terribly concerned, lots of couples don't conceive in the first year.  I had been on birth control pills.  Maybe they were just taking a while to clear my system.  But two years passed.  Medical exams divulged no reason I wasn't conceiving.   I felt the beginning of panic.  

More years passed with no babies and no concrete explanations.  A list of issues made conception unlikely, but not impossible.  My irregular cycles, one of the contributing factors, made every month a roller-coaster of counting days, taking my temperature, being "late", then being disappointed again.  Sex became a scheduled event.  I stopped attending baby showers or going to church on Mother's Day.  I hated meeting new people because it inevitably led to the question "Do you have a family?"  I always wanted to answer, "Yes, I have a husband, parents, siblings and tons of aunts, uncles and cousins."   When people questioned our childless state I pretended it was by choice.  There were always "helpful" comments.

• If you just relax, you'll get pregnant.  
• I can get pregnant just by passing my husband in the hallway.
• You're so lucky not to be tied down with kids.
• What do you do with all your free time since you don't have kids?
• Try putting a pillow under your butt following sex.  That worked for my husband's third-cousin's best friend.

The list of uninformed and downright hurtful comments was endless.  Sitting in a bar one evening (since we had no family to go home to), Dave and I got into a conversation with  total strangers at the next table.  Predictably, the topic turned to children.  We listened in rising anger as this couple bemoaned every aspect of raising children.  The camel's back broke when one of them said "My cousin just paid $5,000 to adopt a baby.  Can you imagine someone PAYING to get a kid?"  My response, "We would pay double that in a heartbeat for the chance of having a child," was pretty much the end of the conversation.

In fact, while we would gladly have given everything we had, several options were out of our reach financially.  Many of the medical procedures available today were not common twenty-five years ago and certainly weren't covered by insurance.  We made the decision to pursue adoption.  This was pre-internet, so finding options wasn't easy.  We sent letters to several agencies but the responses were not encouraging.  The number of perspective parents greatly outnumbered the newborns being placed for adoption.  In some cases, expectant mothers were treated like athletic recruits, with childless couples offering financial packages and perks to procure a signed contract.  We couldn't possibly compete.

For me, this was the low point.  We had now been fighting this battle for over five years. Lying on the bed, clutching a hope-crushing letter from an adoption agency, I realized it was over.  There was no chance I would be a mother.  If it hadn't happened physically by now, it wasn't going to.  Even my doctor didn't hold out hope any more.  And, based on the letter in my hand, adoption was a fantasy as well.  I cried - painful, wracking sobs - for our loss, for the end of our dream and, mostly, for my failure.  Women are created to bear children, to nurture them, but I couldn't do that.  I was a failure!

Through all the doctor visits, calendar watching, and monthly let-downs, Dave was with me.  He never criticized, he never gave up and he never let it come between us.  He held my hand when he knew I was fighting tears over someone's careless remark.  He did his portion of the medical testing.  He helped research adoption possibilities.  But, even when the tests showed that he also had factors that contributed to our infertility, I still felt it was my failure.  I had let him down.

Then we were blessed by three miracles.  First, we found the Nebraska Children's Home Society.   This fantastic group of people gave us hope again.  They didn't place children to the highest bidder.  They worked with us, educated us, and exposed us to options we hadn't considered.  We began adoption classes and for the first time in six years, I felt hope!  We met other couples sharing our experiences.  We met expectant girls who were facing their own pain.  We even met the Grandmother of a child who had been placed for adoption.  She would never know her first grandchild except through occasional pictures, but she supported the choice her child had made.  Our case worker came for our home visit and we were approved and placed on the waiting list.  Now began the nervous jump at every phone call.  What we didn't know was that miracle #2 was already on the way. 

I was pregnant.  The doctor had no explanation.  Somehow all the "contributing factors" had finally aligned perfectly and we were expecting.  Since I had long since stopped counting days, it took us a couple of months to catch on.  Mitchell was born in 1990, more than eight years after we got married, and over seven years since our quest for parenthood began.  He was followed, just eighteen months later, by miracle #3, Amanda.

Even twenty years later, I still cringe when I hear someone make an insensitive comment about a childless couple, or when a pastor preaches a thoughtless Mother's Day sermon.  I still tear up when I see women oohing and aaahing over a baby while one woman stands apart and feigns disinterest.  My heart still feels the stab just like it did all those years ago.  Infertility is part of our story and we will always have a special compassion for anyone experiencing it.  If you are one of them, we offer you our love and support.  However infertility may be touching your life - personally, through your child, or through a friend - I am available to listen, console, answer questions and encourage.  You can contact me at hcl_tami@yahoo.com.  God bless you with your own miracle - in whatever form that may be. 

Find out more about the myths of infertility and how you can get (and give) support by visiting the RESOLVE website.  If you are considering adoption or placing a child for adoption, please visit the Nebraska Children's Home.  A financial contribution to either of these organizations would make a beautiful Mother's Day gift!