When a new presence enters your life, you can never truly predict the depth of that relationship or the ways it will transform you. It’s a mystery whether that connection will flourish for years or if it will end in heartbreak shortly after it begins.
There wasn’t a specific moment I can recall when infertility made her entrance into my life. She slipped in quietly, taking a seat in the back of my mind, like a shy teenager with glossy lips and innocent eyes that lured me into believing she was harmless. I welcomed her with open arms, inviting her to join me in conversations with friends. But before long, her whispers would echo around me: “Just relax. You’ll conceive when you stop stressing about it.”
We quickly became inseparable, and I was unaware of just how tightly she would grip my life. During a difficult time, when my grandfather was lying in a hospital bed after his third heart attack, she accompanied me, and I will never forget his last words: “When are you going to have a baby?”
In my thirties, her reminders became a monthly ritual, driving me to fertility treatments like Clomid, which increased my egg production but also added extra weight. Acknowledging her impact in my life was inevitable, and the truth was, I found her presence deeply unsettling.
She didn’t care. We had become too familiar with one another. Even during moments of despair, like when I found myself in a mess on my living room floor, she persuaded me to pause the medication and take a break from the tension between us. As my body returned to a more comfortable state, I was left with reminders of what could have been — reminders that no child would nurse from my lush breasts and no child would nestle in my soft belly.
Eventually, a miracle arrived in the form of a healthy baby boy who made his entrance three days late. My mother brought a teddy bear twice his size, proudly tagged “Chosen.” As friends surrounded me to celebrate my bundle of joy, she whispered a new mantra for them to chant: “Now that you have a baby, you’ll get pregnant.”
Seventeen years later, that bear sits on a shelf, and my son, once a cuddly infant, is now on the brink of manhood. My heart swells with gratitude, but my body still yearns to nurture another life. Two years passed, and I welcomed another son, whose long eyelashes turned heads at the playground. Yet, she lingered, taunting me during playdates and as other mothers proudly displayed their baby bumps.
“Your boys are so fortunate to have you as their mom!” she reminded me, as if I needed that reminder of her presence. But despite my hope and counting the days on the calendar like my kids count down to holidays, our relationship only deepened. She mocked me, whispering to my friends at the after-school program, “At least pregnancy didn’t ruin your body!”
After years of her taunts, she settled into a routine, watching as I tried to reconnect with my husband. I begged for space, yearning to reignite the intimacy that had dimmed under her watchful gaze. “I’m not going anywhere,” she would reply slyly.
As the recession hit, our family faced financial struggles. My eldest son needed a tutor due to a challenging teacher, while my younger son buried himself in Harry Potter to escape the growing distance between his parents. My husband’s father passed away, further straining our relationship, leading to his acceptance of another woman’s offer to escape. The words that haunted me were uttered in the heat of our struggles: “I don’t want to have sex with you anymore.” “You can only hear ‘no’ so many times.” Even she, the ever-present shadow, allowed a tear to fall that day, knowing our bond would have to shift.
Since that moment, we’ve drifted apart. As I approach fifty, I rarely think of her anymore. It’s time to sever this connection. I invited her to sit with me in a circle of my sorrows, offering a cup of coffee to wash away the bitterness, and a stale donut as a reminder that she had also been part of joyous moments in my life.
We shared memories — a tree in the park that promised a child, the day my first son spent more time with me than with his birth mother, my 35th birthday gift of a second son, and countless other sweet moments filled with laughter. She had given me so much.
Holding her hands, tears filled both our eyes as we reminisced. The coffee went cold, and I realized that the bitterness she brought was as necessary as the sweetness. Here, at this moment, we chose to part ways. She is both my companion and adversary. She embodies my regrets and my joys, unrepentant and yet remorseful. This journey has given me strength, and her name is infertility.
For more resources on navigating the complexities of infertility and pregnancy, you can explore this helpful post on intracervical insemination or check out WebMD’s excellent guide. If you’re considering at-home options, visit Make a Mom for reputable insemination kits.
Summary
Infertility can take over your life, shaping relationships and experiences in unexpected ways. The journey is filled with pain, hope, and ultimately, the desire to break free from its grasp. In recognizing the bittersweet nature of this relationship, one can find closure and strength to move forward.