How the Other Half Lives

It's interesting . . . since August of last year, I have been a hesitant member of a "club" I have wanted to join for a long, long time: the Future Mommies of the World club.  I use the word "hesitant" because when you've been struggling with infertility for any length of time ( I would say at least a year), it still doesn't feel quite real when your dream finally comes true.  At least that has been my experience. 

I have felt, until very recently, that this precious little person growing inside of me could be cruelly taken away at any time.  And I know this is still a possibility-that is the nature of life.  He is not "mine" to grasp with desperate hands, although desperate would be a good word to describe how I have felt many times along this path to baby.  I try to think of it more along the lines that he has been given into my care for a time, but that he is his own person and will exert his independence more and more as he grows.  My job will be to love him with all my heart, but at the same time to step back more and more and become more of a guide and less of an "I-am-here-to-meet-all-of-your-needs" caretaker.  I do admit, however, that I will cherish these first few years when Michael and I will be the apples of his eye. 

Now that we are truly in the home stretch of meeting our little one, I find myself to be much more relaxed than I have been at any other time during my pregnancy.  I finally feel like a genuine pregnant lady and not like the good imitation of one that I felt I more closely ressembled earlier on.  Strangers ask me when I am due, if we know what we're having, how I've been feeling, etc., and it feels right to tell them: one more month, a boy, mostly just the normal pregnancy aches and pains.  To them, I am just another pregnant lady whom I am sure they assume became pregnant naturally.  In a way it feels good to "pass" in that respect, but in a stronger, more honest way, I always want to tell them: "You have no idea how much we have done to get to this point." 

I want to tell them about IVF and what that involves: the huge decision to take the risk of investing a whole lot of money with no guaranteed baby at the end, the fertility drugs and the havoc they wreak with most women's emotions, the strain it puts on your relationship with your partner--and not just financially.  At least for us, I was the one going to all of the appointments, waiting to be called back, dealing with the uncertainty of how my body was or was not performing, etc.  Many times it felt like I was ploughing through IVF Land on my own, even though I had people around me for support if I needed it.  The thing was that, again at least for me, the only person who would have a chance of understanding was another woman who had experienced an IVF cycle. 

That's the reason that Eileen and I have become close.  She is really the only person in my circle who "gets it" when I talk about how I still feel like that girl with fertility challenges--even though my baby is due to be here in only a few more weeks.  She knows why I hear someone's story about their struggle to have a baby and I cry.  She understands why I am already thinking about when and how to plan for our next child.  For us, as much as we want to be "normal" pregnant women, we are not.  And this is something that I really want people to understand.  That experience, those memories of whatever you did and however long it took to get you where you are now don't just fall away once you become  pregnant.  They remain a part of you and I'm sure influence the type of parent you become.

But back to the idea of people assuming a pregnant woman became that way naturally . . . I realize now that I have been guilty of that assumption plenty of times in the past.  And even if I allowed for the possibility that a woman may once have been in my shoes but had since achieved her goal, I wouldn't say I was happy for her.  Extremely jealous would be a more true description of how I felt.  Many times I was so caught up  in my own pain, anger and frustration that it truly didn't matter to me how a woman got pregnant.  The fact remained that she was and I wasn't.  Period.  Granted, I could read books about other women who overcame infertility, and I did, but again, instead of feeling genuinely happy for them, I just tried to figure out what they did that I wasn't doing.  How could I emulate their journey and make it my own?  Of course, I could not.  We are all different and I really believe that different approaches and combinations of things work for different people.  The trick is to find out what works for you, and that takes time and usually money.  Oh and also a healthy dose of luck.

I began this blog post wanting to talk about a woman who works in my building.  I would be willing to bet that she is experiencing infertility.  The way I know is in how she looks at me--or how she looks and then quickly averts her eyes.  I used to do this same thing when I saw a pregnant belly.  She has never said hello or smiled at me.  The only time we've spoken is when we nearly ran into each other in the restroom.  And then it was just "sorry," and "excuse me."

 I was tempted one day to talk to her and  let her know that I understand her position (if indeed I'm right and she's in the midst of a battle with infertility.)  I wanted her to know that I am not like those "other" women who likely got pregnant with very little (or no) effort.  I wanted her to know that I understand.  In the end I decided against it.  I remembered how I felt when it was me who seemed to see pregnant women everywhere she went.  I knew she would likely start crying if I tried to talk about it with her and I also knew that as much as I think I understand her situation, I do not.  How can I?  I am not her and I don't know anything about her.  I might understand pieces of what she's feeling, but it would be presumptious of me to approach her as if I completely understand where she is coming from. 

And so instead I just wished her well, silently, in my heart and in my head.  I still think of her and hope things are working in the direction she wants.  Mostly, I hope she finds peace, no matter the outcome of her struggle. 

And I find it simultaneously wonderful and strange to be on the other side now . . . looking back at a place I know intimately (Infertility World) but to which I can never again belong (not that I would want to).  And at the same time, I can never fully be a part of this new world of soon-to-be parenthood because of what I have experienced to get here. 

I guess I am in a sort of No Man's Land between the two, and maybe that is okay.  It helps me see where people on both sides of the coin are coming from.  A couple of days ago, I spent at least a half hour talking with a co-worker about IVF.  He was really interested to know what the process involves and what our experience had been.  Not only was I surprised that he wanted to know just because most people don't want a lot of details, but I was surprised because he was male and wanted to know.  It's the first time I've come across a guy who was truly curious about infertility and IVF. 

He shared with me that he feels guilty because he and his wife have gotten pregnant so easily in the past.  They have two kids now and another on the way.  That was news to me: that someone on the "other side" might feel guilty about how easily they became pregnant.  And then I felt badly for all the times I have judged those I know who have kids.  "Don't feel guilty," I told him, "it's just life.  And life isn't fair."  In that moment I felt like I healed a little bit of that angry part of me that still exists in my heart.  And it continues to be healed as I watch a friend who basically planned which weekend she would get pregnant become a mom to a little boy who was just born eleven weeks early.  No, life is certainly not fair and we get the cards we are dealt.

I realize more and more that what matters most in the end is how we play them.