You have an infertile person in your life. In fact, you probably know several. It might be your neighbor, your coworker or even your best friend. True, you may not be aware of them, but trust me, they are there. And they need your support.
Now.
If I may be forthright, infertility is misery. In fact, if infertility had a Yelp review, it would have 0 stars: 10 out of 10 women and/or men HIGHLY DO NOT RECOMMEND.
I first discovered my infertility at the age of 30. I had been trying to get pregnant for over a year, and despite his having two daughters from a previous relationship, my husband’s and my baby juju weren’t working. (Side note, did you know you can’t conquer infertility by being stubborn and wishing it away? It’s an actual disease. Write that down and repeat it.) After a lot of denial on my side, the truth was ultimately unavoidable: We needed help.
Over the course of the next three years we, like many others before us, underwent a very long and drawn out process to get (and stay) pregnant. There were tears, curse words, fights, even worse curse words, doubt, failure, made up curse words and frustration. Thankfully, through the absolute miracle of in vitro, we welcomed our son in 2015.
As I write that amazing previous sentence, I feel my hands begin to shake. Because even though my son is at this second just a few miles away at daycare, blissfully playing with toys and blowing bubbles in his chocolate milk, I still question if he’s really here. Nearly four years after his birth, I wonder if it was all a dream. My stomach clenches with fear as I picture waking up, soaked in sweat from the endless hormone injections, full of anxiety about our latest failed round of treatments. I still catch myself wondering whether it’s real.
For a long time, I didn’t talk about my struggles with anyone but my closest inner circle. After all, being told you are infertile is an isolating and humiliating experience. The diagnosis of “infertile” brings with it a high tide of new insecurities and emotions to swim through. You feel broken and inadequate and ... wrong. And that’s all before you even leave the doctor’s office. The idea of telling anyone about the struggle seems impossible. Where would you even begin? It should be no surprise those who suffer infertility often choose to suffer in silence.
For me, the secrecy around my struggles started to bother me pretty quickly. Friends and family were itching for us to get pregnant, and the questions had started ad nauseum. When were we going to have a baby? When would the pitter patter of feet be resounding through our hallways?
The idea of plastering on a smile and lying, “Oh, we’re having a great time trying, so stay tuned!” was too much. I couldn’t live that lie. We weren’t having a great time. I was irritable, angry, tired and, more importantly, I felt misunderstood. I started to selectively let people in. Eventually, I let the floodgates open, made my anonymous infertility blog public and posted about our struggles on Instagram.
However, I am not the common tale. So many thousands of women and men keep their lips sealed about their struggles. One in eight couples will experience infertility. One in eight. And because so many of those one in eight choose to keep their journey private, that means you can help by knowing what to say and knowing what not to say. Here are my top tips:
- Never ask whether a woman or couple is “working on a baby.” Never. Ever. It’s absolutely none of your business. The only scenario in which you can ask about a pregnancy or infertility journey is when they have been public about their experiences. Even then, only inquire privately to offer support. This also goes for asking about a second child.
- Don’t take it personally. There’s a lot going on when infertility is at play. Those who suffer are grappling with a lot of information, options and emotions. If you’re one of the few people who have been let in on an infertility journey, be honored, and then be ready. An infertile might love you one minute and hate you the next. Know that it isn’t you. Stay the course and be a good friend and confidant. Just be there … an apology will come later.
- Check your humor. People experiencing infertility are fragile. They want nothing more than to hold a baby in their arms. It’s tempting to lighten the mood by throwing out a joke like, “Hey, no worries. If you can’t get pregnant, you can have my kids!” No. Just no. Humor around infertility really isn’t a thing. Although jokes like this are told with the best intentions, the chances of their doing more harm than good are high. You simply cannot know what headspace an infertile is in.
As with any disease, knowledge is power. Talk to those in your life who have been open with their struggles. I can tell you that even though we may have been successful in having a child, the infertility status is never lifted. It’s always there, following us. Our children are walking, talking reminders of what we experienced. But that can be and should be a good thing. It’s a reminder that there can be a light at the end of the tunnel. There can be joy and happiness at the end of that seemingly dark hole of infertility—and that’s worth fighting for.
Kim Antisdel is a freelance writer, sales rep and complete know it all. She documents the ups and downs of her life (including infertility) on her personal blog, Salt in the Womb. Kim lives in Liberty with her husband, son, and two stepdaughters.
As always, please consult your health care provider with any questions or concerns.