TW: “So, when did my infertility first start to impact you?”
Mom: “When I realized you were trying to get pregnant and months started to pass, I became concerned. I offered to purchase you a fertility monitor.”
TW: “What did you think was the problem back then?”
Mom: “I honestly thought it was your spouse. I had no clue what was wrong.”
TW: “I’m trying to think if you offered me any advice back then. Do you remember giving any?”
Mom: “Not really. I might have told you that it can take time. However, I never told you to relax.”
TW: “Did you ever feel guilty that it happened so easily for you and not for me?”
Mom: “All the time. I was confused too, because we had no idea anything was wrong. I truly thought it was your husband. I never even imagined it had anything to do with you. Oooh, I remember the first time I was really beyond irritated about the situation. I was in the grocery store with a friend around Easter time. I saw these super soft bunny rabbits, and I told my friend I couldn’t wait until I bought one for my future grandchild. My friend responded that she couldn’t care less if she ever became a grandmother. It wasn’t much later that the friend told me that she was going to be one. She had zero enthusiasm. I managed to respond, “Oh, great how exciting!” Inside I felt like she didn’t deserve to be a grandmother. However, yet, voila, you get to be one. The baby is now three. I’m still waiting, and it breaks my heart. It feels like a knife in the heart, because I would give anything for you to have a child. That’s when it hit me that your infertility is mine too.”
TW: “Did you share our troubles with any friends or family? Who did you turn to for support?”
Mom: “I shared my concerns with your aunt. She was really good about it. She asked a bunch of questions, and mostly wanted to know if we had done any testing and where we were supposed to go from here? Most people were a bit shocked, because you are the only person in the family who has had difficulties getting pregnant.”
TW: “How did you feel about their responses.”
Mom: “Good, they let me rant and rave for a while.”
TW: “How did you feel when I announced my first pregnancy?”
Mom: “The first time was over sooo quickly. There was sadness and hurt. The second time, I went to visit you. I was so excited. It was the first time I got to see you pregnant. I attached to the pregnancy. I was beyond excited. The day you called me to let me hear the heartbeats, I was jumping up and down excited inside K.ohl’s. They must have thought I was crazy. I immediately went and looked in the baby section. I then called Justin and starting laughing and getting excited all over again. I was over the moon.”
TW: “Then it all went south…”
Mom: “Yeah. Then the pain hit. The crying and more crying. I wasn’t able to be there to help you. I was angry with your work. Everything should have been different. I never knew something could hurt so much. I couldn’t have imagined how much you hurt. I guess since we are so close, I felt like somebody ran me over with a truck. Then, I met with people who we had told. Then, I was going to lose it about the second time I heard somebody say it was God’s will. Then came the crappy stuff, “Maybe she wasn’t ready,” “It wasn’t the right time,” “It’s for the best,” “She can try again.” Yeah, like it was so easy to get that way in the first place. They made it sound like you could just go…poof…look I’m pregnant again…all better. So clueless. That’s when the crappy advice started. Like I want other people to tell me how to tell my daughter how to get pregnant. Seriously. Although I secretly harbored hope that since it happened once, perhaps it could happen again. After that, I wondered if there could be something going on with you. Somebody at Dad’s work was going through IVF, and she had a hormonal imbalance. Then, I started to want some answers for you.”
TW: “How did you feel when we started testing?”
Mom: “Nervous, excited. I totally thought they would find something insignificant. Something easy to fix, and then you could be on your way. It’s better to know than not know. However, I thought my mind could make up something worse than what it really is.”
TW: “Then you got the diagnosis. How did you feel about that?”
Mom: “To be honest the day she said it, I was numb. I was more worried about you. I tried to follow your emotional lead. I didn’t want to hurt you more than you were. I tried to keep it as light as possible. We didn’t talk much about it. I don’t think either of us knew what to say. Then, when I got home, I went straight to the computer. I researched and researched. Then, I got really angry. Then, I found out it happened when I was pregnant. I felt so guilty. I felt it was all my fault. I did this. If I was part of the problem, then I need to be part of the solution.”
TW: “You know this wasn’t your fault though, right?”
Mom: “It will always feel that way though. There’s nothing you can do to change that. It happened when you were inside me. I made and created you.”
TW: “In ten words or less how did you feel about my diagnosis?”
Mom: “Devastated as tears fell.” Both your dad and I. Although this would be a good back up one, “This sucks, no fair. She doesn’t deserve this! Why her?”
TW: “What did you tell your support system after the diagnosis?”
Mom: “I sent everybody an email with a scanned image of what your uterus looks like. I also sent and explanation. Family was more supportive than our friends were. Then, we got more advice. “Maybe she’s just not meant to be a mom.” Oh, was I torqued. More of God’s will comments mixed with “Everything happens for a reason.” (She scrunches up her face in irritation.) Then they say, “Maybe she’s trying to hard.” “A friend of mine got pregnant after adoption….” (She shakes her head.) Then, one stupid person said, “You have another child, right?” As if your brother having children would erase the hurt of your situation. Oh, then the one from another friend, “It’s not the end of the world. She can be happy without kids.” From that point forward when people asked if you were going to have kids, I began saying, “Not yet.” That worked for a while, but then I got more stupid advice.”
TW: “Really?”
Mom: “Then, when I would talk to people, and they would say they were going to call you. I felt like I had to screen your phone calls. They were going to say things in such a stupid manor, and I knew it was going to hurt you. I would tell them, “You really don’t want to say that. Or, you really don’t want to say it that way.” Then came the people who thought your childless state, at the moment, meant that you should be willing to take any child brought your way. Uggghh. So frustrating!”
Mom: “I have a question for the world out there. Do other future grandmothers get advice from family, friends, etc on how their child should go about having a child, and how far they should or shouldn’t go to get one?…….It’s crazy, everybody has an opinion. They feel like they know better than the rest of us. What made them an expert?”
TW: “How has my infertility changed you, dad, etc.?”
Mom: “I avoid baby departments. I avoid all places with babies. It makes us sad and we hurt. You dread the grandparent question. You have to pretend to be happy for friends when their children get pregnant. We’re a bit bitter. We get the pregnancy announcements, and we think, “Yay, for them.” Where are people’s sensitivity chips? When people give advice, now I know that the advice isn’t about you or us, it’s all about them. They aren’t thinking about what we are all going through. They just say things based on themselves. They aren’t putting themselves in your shoes. They don’t have to have answers. They could just say, “I’m sorry to hear that.” We’ve become more sensitive to other people. I don’t give advice as much. I try to think about what they are going through. I don’t base it on my own experience. I listen more. I think it has brought you and your dad closer. I think he’s had to go outside of his comfort zone a lot more. He hugs you more now. He’s learning not to say stupid things. He works harder now to let you know how special you are.”
TW: “I’ve noticed. Are you nervous about my laparoscopy?”
Mom: “Nope. The doctors are really great doctors. Hopefully it can help. I’m trying to stay positive. I’ll be sad if they say there isn’t anything they can do though.”
TW: “How do you feel about infertiles who feel they can’t talk to their family about this?”
Mom: “Sad. I wish their family knew how much they need them, and how much easier it would be for them if they were supportive. As a mom, I couldn’t imagine not being there to lend you an ear, hug, or support. I couldn’t imagine you feeling like were out there all alone with just your husband. Family isn’t about just being there during the good times. You are our kids, and you need us now more than you ever have before.”
TW: “How do you feel about the infertile women out there in Blog Land? I know you read their stories.”
Mom: “They are some phenomenal women. They are kind, compassionate, and they get so hurt by some of the stupid things people out there say and do. When I read their stories, I can’t believe how strong they are. These aren’t women who would take motherhood for granted. I pull for each and every one of them. Their stories touch me. I want to be a mom to all of them, hug them, and make things better. I’m thankful that you have them out there to support you. The rest of us do our best, but we aren’t infertile and don’t know “exactly” how it feels (even if I do feel infertile by association.) I’m glad they are there to support you, and you to support them. Those are some special women, and I cry with them when things don’t work out. I’ve never “met” a more deserving group of women.”
TW: “Anything else you want to add?”
Mom: “Let’s talk about advice. I can’t even begin to imagine how much advice you and the rest of the infertiles out there have to put up with. Most of what I get is unsolicited, unhelpful, and hurtful. Do the people giving this advice think before they speak? Instead of asking how they can help they decide they are experts and tell you what to do. It’s as if motherhood makes them the expert, they are the all knowing. Last I checked they didn’t have a medical degree. They aren’t reproductive specialists. Sometimes people should just stop talking.”
TW: “Need to get anything else off your chest?”
Mom: “Yes, to the woman at last weeks party. You are a moron. Please don’t tell me how to tell my daughter how to have sex. I’m sure she’s figured that one out. You are not the judge on whether she is worthy enough to be a mother. You shouldn’t judge women by their age, and whether that means they should or shouldn’t be reproducing. You are way out of line to tell me that I’m willing to go too far for my child. Don’t you dare tell me I caudal her too much. That’s what parents are for. This coming from a woman who had no problems getting pregnant. Talk about injustice. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not the perfect parent. Trust me, I’m not. I say things wrong from time to time, but c’mon! I feel much better now.”
TW: “In closing…”
Mom: “All infertiles welcome to come sunbathe by the pool this summer. I promise and advice free zone, plenty of non-alcoholic drinks for those who need them, and more than enough booze for those who need that too! All welcome. I have more than enough hugs to go around. Just bring your own sunblock. That’s all I ask. My house has enough bed space for ten to twelve. That sounds like a lot of fun! An infertile pool party! Hey, if you are close enough to Huntsville, Alabama, why not?!”
TW: “I love my mom.”
**Photo taken last year on a mother/daughter trip to Tunica, MS.
This is my mom…yup, she is beautiful inside and out!
