Barren

I come from a family of very fertile women. In fact, all of my female cousins in my age range became pregnant in the same year. Once at a family barbecue one of my uncles joked, "Yeah, it was in the water and Kim drank sodas that month." His statement elicited many laughs. I laughed, too; however, a nagging thought loomed in the back of my mind: can I actually conceive and bear a child? When I expressed concerns to an aunt, she laughed and assured me that I was needlessly worrying; every woman in our family was made for this, in fact, her mother (my grandmother) had her last child in her late thirties; I would be no exception, according to her.

Nearly a decade later, I was married and loving life. It seemed each of our families could not wait for us to start our family. My husband (DH) and I were in our early thirties; we had plenty of time, or so I thought. The wife of one of my husband's college friends pulled me aside and told me we should start right away because fertility decreases the older we women get. She had two beautiful children just before she turned forty and she also attempted to school me on complications associated with being of "advanced maternal age." I probably gave her a look as if she'd parked her saucer and naively told her what my aunt told me. She smiled sweetly, then told me she hoped my aunt was right.

Soon, DH and I stopped using contraceptives, figuring I would be pregnant in a month's time. Four months passed, then six, then twelve. I expressed concern to my Ob-Gyn, who pretty much echoed what my (now deceased) aunt said all those years ago. My Ob-Gyn declared something had to be wrong with my husband. I persisted; she relented and ordered a round of blood tests. Turns out I had extremely elevated prolactin (hormone needed to produce breastmilk) levels, which could have kept me from conceiving; I also had some fibroids, nothing invasive enough to hinder conception. I was treated for the elevated prolactin and we continued trying. Year two came, no baby.

After three years with nil success, I began seeing a Reproductive Endocrinologist (RE). I had been tracking my cycles religiously, using ovulation predictors and taking all kinds of vitamins and anything rumored to help a woman conceive--by the way do not take liquid Geritol! It's nasty stuff! If I was a day late, I took a pregnancy test; it was negative, of course. The RE ordered all kinds of invasive, sometimes painful tests (transvaginal sonograms, blood drawn each visit, endometrial biopsy, hysterosalpingogram, aka the evil HSG); all results came back normal. I pleaded with my husband to get checked out; we learned he had anti-sperm antibodies (literally killing his own sperm), which severely lessened our chances to conceive.

The RE suggested in vitro fertilization with intracytoplasmic injection (IVF-ICSI) immediately. However, the procedure cost tens of thousands of dollars we did not have. Also, I read somewhere that children born using that technique had a greater risk of birth defects or autism; plus, we were uncomfortable with having fertilized embryos in storage. We opted for the more economical Intrauterine Insemination (IUI). Our chances were the same (50-50) either way. The Clomid, Tamoxifen and HCG shots ravaged my moods and weight; additionally, the Clomid gave me skull-splitting migraines and made me feel as if I were ovulating baseballs. At one point, I suspected I might have conceived and miscarried because I had all the symptoms of pregnancy. After three unsuccessful IUI rounds, I asked the RN who assisted me what she would do in my situation. She replied, "Get on the adoption waiting list." Encouragement was what I was seeking, not brutal honesty.

I accepted my aunt's opinion as gospel; she was wrong. How could she know? One in every four couples experience infertility. For a while, I felt like such a freak and failure. Women in the Bible who could not have children were considered barren and therefore, "cursed." My worth as a woman is not tied to my ability to conceive. I grieved not being able to have the whole pregnancy and breastfeeding experience; also knowing our children will never have my husband's kind hazel brown eyes, Roman nose, my dimples or buck teeth or any of our idiosyncrasies (maybe not such a bad thing?). I cried out to God, even cursed Him. All I wanted was one healthy pregnancy and baby; other women like my cousins effortlessly conceived and complained bitterly about it. Children were dying at the hands of abusive parents who were supposed to care for and protect them. It wasn't fair, damnit!

I could be a good parent if given the chance.