Infertility is scary.
Not only because of the struggles currently being endured such as IVF, recurring negative pregnancy tests, retrieval days, and the horrendous bill that comes along with treatment. But the long-term aspect and the final results that last for years to come. Living child free when it wasn’t in your life plan is terrifying. There are so many questions you won’t get answers to until [too] much time has passed.
- Fear of losing your other half. We know we didn’t choose this path for ourselves. But your partner that has no issues with reproducing REALLY didn’t sign up for it. The further you get into the Infertility journey, the more worry can creep up on your once confident outlook on your marriage or relationship. It would be unfair to take something so important away from the person you love more than anything in the world. All you can do is pray that they continue this trek with you, because your bond and love is worth the loss.
- Life long guilt. On the other hand, the guilt you feel from knowing you are taking something of this magnitude away from someone you love SO much is enough to drive you crazy. Mike has never [ever] made me feel this way, he is in it for the long run regardless of how we end up becoming parents. But the guilt I feel on my own is a pain that is in-explainable.
- Growing old and lonely. My mother is one of six children. Every holiday, birthday, barbecue, or get together is an absolute blast. With all of the Aunts, Uncles, Cousins, Nieces; the rooms are full. Full of laughter, smiles, and love. At any given moment you can look at my Memere or Pepere’s face and just see pure joy as they glimpse around the room. The feeling that they created this family that is surrounding them with nothing more than their love, is a feeling that I am terrified we will never experience. If you erase the Aunts, Uncles, Cousins, and nieces… what is left? What will we be doing when we are 85 years old on Christmas Day?
- Losing similar interests with close friends. This is something I have already begun to experience. When everyone around you begins their journey to parenthood, it seems as though the things you once had in common begin to dissipate. Friends with children prefer to socialize with other parents, which is understandable, but hurtful. The last thing we want is to be isolated. Just because we can’t have kids does not mean we don’t want to enjoy yours. (I know life gets busy, but you can still invite us to the BBQ or birthday party)
- Always feeling like something is missing/empty. Nothing scares me more than thinking that the pain I feel now, will be the same in 30 years. Does it ever get easier? Or will I always feel an empty hole in my heart that was saved for my son or daughter. I hope to god at some point acceptance and closure to the idea of having children occurs. But what if it doesn’t?
- Feeling regret for giving up, wondering if you made the wrong choice once it’s too late. What if when I turn 40 I realize I made a huge mistake by giving up on trying for something I wanted so bad. At that point it may be too late, and I have missed out on an opportunity that I will never get again. Feeling regret for the rest of my life is not something I am willing to endure.
- Will an adopted child be loved the same as if it were my own? I really [hope] and expect that if we decide adoption is the route to take, that the child will be loved no differently than if I gave birth to him or her myself. But I can’t help but wonder if everyone else will feel the same way. Will my parents, sister, or aunts and uncles be able to bond with this child the same way as my blood relatives? Will they love them differently, or less? I’m sure that isn’t the case, but it is always something that is thought about.
Failure. That’s what Infertility feels like. Failure.
Will I forever feel like I failed at the one thing that women were put on this Earth to do? Will I always beat myself up for being known as the one who couldn’t get pregnant, or the one who couldn’t provide a child for my husband? At times, its unbearable.
And some days, I feel powerful. Powerful for being able to share my story, and in a way bringing others who are struggling together to bond. I know there is more to me than becoming a mother, and there are always other options that will be considered if needed. I am blessed, because I have a wonderful man who has my back until the very end. And I am grateful, that I am strong enough to make it through this rough, rocky journey with my loved ones.
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