There is a part of me that’s more than a decade old now, a part of me I hardly even think about anymore, though at the time it seemed impossible that I could ever have another identity or idle thought, ever feel truly happy or whole again.
I was one of the ten percent of American women who struggle with infertility. (How about that statistic.)
It took us two very long years from saying “let’s do this” to actually holding our child. Two years of trying, crying, testing, finding nothing, hoping for two weeks, despairing for two weeks, hoping again.
I don’t talk about it much because, as people have actually reminded me, that’s not so very long. It’s true. I have friends who have had to wait years, endure a half-dozen IVFs and miscarriages and stillbirths. I feel fortunate every day to be the mother of three with all that in my distant past.
But when I was in it I didn’t know how it would end. When I was in it I thought I might never be a parent at all. Infertility sucks; whether it lasts six months or six years, its pain is real. I had the good kind of infertility, kind of like how Larry David (the character) claimed Hodgkins lymphoma is “the good cancer.” (I have enough experience with “the good cancer” to say that statement is obviously also BS.) I know that now, but I didn’t always have faith in the outcome back then.
And so I am very proud to be part of this story on sheknows.com this week, in which fourteen moms who “beat infertility” share their paths to motherhood. There are all kinds of ways to become a parent, of course; I’m so grateful to live in an age where all of this is possible.
I hope you get a chance to click over and read all the amazing stories.