I resented God. Chris had been through two full craniotomies and we were very aware of the delicate balance that the fulcrum of life can teeter from one direction to the next. After spending weeks of being in and out of hospitals and watching my husband in the ICU it was then that it was clear to me that I wanted to start a family. What if the tumor came back? What if he couldn’t fight this battle next time? I wanted my husband’s legacy to pass on. Selfish maybe, more so I think it is that primal sense of procreation. So we started trying to conceive. Two years later I was not pregnant and I could not bear my husband a child. I was grateful that God (or for those of different religious beliefs insert your higher power) saved Chris. We both had a new start on life, together again and tumor free. Funny, how quickly you can lose sight of those gifts. I had started to laser focus on what we didn’t have which was a baby for our empty nursery.
I shut out my faith. I couldn’t understand how so many who in my opinion were undeserving could have a family. It seemed that every news channel had been reporting cases of parents for lack of a better word drowning their babies, abandoning them in bathrooms and selling them into pornography. Yet, Chris and I have a house busting at the foundation with love to give a child and it was not happening. Perhaps I was being punished for the many bad decisions I made in my past, those skeletons in my closet I dare not release. I even thought that I had used up all of my prayers, wishes, and genie lamp rubs on Chris when he fighting his fight. It took a few years for me to find my way back into a church. It took some shopping of the church variety. We are not a hell-fire and brimstone kind of couple. We needed to find the right fit, a place where we can walk in as damaged goods and leave with hope, not judgment. Through suggestion by a friend we stumbled across our church. Now, this is not a post to convince those reading it to be all churchy and for me to tell you will burn if you drop the f-bomb or wear a skirt that is 1 inch above finger tip length. If that was the case I would be a walking ball of fire.
This past month our pastor hit on some heavy topics that really resonated to what we all experience with infertility. The series was called Masquerade with the premise that everyone wore some kind of mask to cover an issue that they battle with. Over the many years of our struggle and even now our infertility presents a melting pot of raw emotions. Allow Chris and I to touch on the masks we wear, the shrouds of our struggle.
Candace-Envy
I could rival the Incredible Hulk (for green-ness) with the envy I had for those who never had to spend their life savings on infertility procedures, surgeries, adoption costs and surrogacy fees. I envy those moments that Chris and I were robbed of. We will never lay in bed with his hand on my 25-week along belly anticipating feeling our baby kick. Instead we wonder from a distance, envious of the moments we do not have.
Chris- Anger
Anger is certainly something that I have had my fair share of as it relates to our infertility. I have been angry that Candace is crying uncontrollably on the couch and there is nothing that I can do about it. Angry that for some masochistic reason I let myself lower my security walls and believe again that “this time it would be different.” Angry that those around us were popping out babies with no apparent difficulty at all. I was angry that I was angry; that infertility had caused me to lose my even-keeled temperament.
Candace-Control Freak
I am a self-admitted control freak. Ironically, I do not have control here. It is my own personal hell. I would be eating every damn super food that existed. I would have done pregnancy yoga, I actually still have the book and videos. I would have been tempted to adorn bubble wrap on all of my clothes to help protect the little miracle I would have carried. The key word here is “I WOULD”. I cannot though, I have absolutely no control.
Chris-Pride
Us guys are known for several things, bragging is damn near the top. Unlike what women believe, us men-folk are complex as is our pride. If we are proud of our ability to get women pregnant, we would say things like “My sperm are like finely sharpened arrows,” or “My boys are like embryo snipers.” Certainly, as many other men can testify to, I didn’t want any negative results for my sperm evaluation-testicular pride. Although we would never brag about knocking up a one-night-stand, being responsible for unprecedented speed of family growth, a.k.a. Mr. Super Fertile Groin, would certainly be worth mentioning to the boys at the gym. That cannot happen for me and thus, I feel the need to feign my infertility to protect my very fragile pride-fertility pride. It could also be conceived that there is something to be said for showing off how incredibly pregnant your wife is … man that must have been some seed you planted in her-preggo trophy wife pride. My pride regarding fertility has taken a huge beating and in all honesty, I think it left me entirely. Maybe that is a good thing though.
Chris-
So we all have masks, we all want to hide, we all want to put things in a mental closet with the intent of never showing them, our vulnerabilities, hidden agendas, and dark thoughts to anyone. If there is one thing that fighting infertility is, it is pervasive. Infertility will impact every aspect of your life. It will change you and force you to admit to the masks you have been wearing. And you know what, we all wear them. In one way or another, whether intentional or subliminally, we all acquire these masks as we seek to process new events in our lives or situations too raw to relate to what we have experienced before.
Once the mask is off, or at least you are aware of the mask itself, that is when you get to make a very important decision, now what. Do you take that mask, reinforce it with high tension steel wiring and tighten back over your face, heart, mind? Do you convince yourself that you don’t really have the mask? Or, do you take that opportunity to learn something about yourself, about your partner, and about your relationship? Once you can realize how infertility is affecting you and your partner, you can change it. You can redirect your envy at that future where you will have a family-it’s spelled a little different though-hope. You can acknowledge your anger, find constructive ways to get it out so you can re-center yourself. You can recognize that not everything is in your control in any facet of your life and identify the meaningful things that you do have control of. You can expose your flaws and embrace them as proud features that define who you are. In short, once you see the mask come down, it’s time to decide what you will do.
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I just came accross your blog and am inspired and feel connected. I struggle with secondary infertility and, although different from what you struggle with, I also know the disappointment of not being able to conceive. Thank you for writing and reaching out to others, like me.
Hey Leighann, thank you for sharing your story and your struggle with us. Although we have not experienced secondary infertility, we can certainly empathize with your journey. Please keep us updated on your progress and if you have any questions, feel free to e-mail us directly. Best wishes!
I have struggled with infertility for 12 years. I found out during my previous marriage that I was unable to concieve and bear a child. I am now married to a man who has three children from his previous marriage. I struggle with infertility (still) from time to time…. but right now, my biggest struggle is with God. Our family life had been shaken up recently, as the children’s mother is removing herself from their lives, only to show up every now and then to play Disney mom. I have coworkers who get pregnant out of the blue, complain every moment about it, and tell me that I should be glad that I can’t get pregnant, I would hate it. Twelve years of tears, frustration, and bitterness- I struggle with God. I have talked with my Pastor, who really doesn’t know what to tell me. I’m also the only woman in our church who hasn’t had a child. Now, I get told all the time that I am a mom- I have three children. Yes, and no. I am a step mom. I get tossed aside everytime their mother decides to waltz back into their lives. I feel as though it’s another cruel thing that God has done- I can parent someone else’s children, but not my own. Our Pastor told us last week that bitterness comes from feeling like God made a mistake. I know that that’s not the case, but how do you get over feeling like he did?
I’m sorry to vent. Thank you for your blog, and for your courage to share your story.
Certainly your situation is one where calling things into question must be an everyday occurrence. On one hand, you get to be involved with the lives of these 3 children, on the other hand you have had to deal with infertility for over a decade. On top of that, putting up with careless comments about why you should rejoice in your infertility and being surrounding by fertile Myrtles doesn’t help. What I do know is that, although the cliché that God has a plan doesn’t ring true, I can guarantee that God has given you the tools to weather any storm. As we both come from homes of divorced and remarried parents, we have experienced all facets of your interactions from the children’s perspective and, although they may be temporarily enamored with a “good show” from their birth mother, the truer relationship will be forged from stability, safety, reliability, and unending love. If you show that to your step-children, you will not have to worry about their reciprocation.
If you feel like God made a mistake, ask him. As we are to treat Him as our father, I think candid conversation is not only permissible, but wanted. I am sure that He will answer in a way that will help each following day seem a little less grey.