This line from Dante’s Inferno is, in effect, my fertility story in a nutshell. It is my personal mantra for the ups and downs that are, for some of us, the road to becoming (or trying to become) parents. While it may seem a little dramatic or even dark, it is ultimately hopeful. Let me explain.
First, let me just say that I am lucky, and I know that I am. My infertility story didn’t start with years of trying, heartbreak, doctors visits or procedures. In fact, it didn’t start with infertility at all. It started quite happily, if not somewhat ill-timed, my senior year of college, when my husband and I found out we were pregnant… and due right after I was suppose to be starting medical school. I loved being pregnant. I felt invigorated and feminine and powerful all at the same time. Thankfully (and in blissful ignorance), we had a relatively straight forward pregnancy, followed by the birth of a slightly preterm but overall very healthy beautiful baby girl. We were young and over the moon, absolutely certain that our little brood of three (or four) would happen easily, just as we had dreamed, and our family would be complete by the time we turned 30. Turns out, it was. But not in the way we had planned.
Fast forward ten years. Our daughter is a decade old, and we are 10 long years of heartbreak, mystified doctors, early miscarriages and a failed adoption into our infertility journey. Needless to say, we were completely blindsided. We had never fathomed that we would be unable to conceive or grow our family again. We started to realize, even if by some miracle we were able to have another child, at this point, they would be more than a decade apart; essentially two only children. I am the oldest of five children, and there is a significant age gap between myself and my four siblings. I know how hard those relationships can be. I also started to realize that I was spending so much time thinking about and preparing and planning for the child we didn’t have, I was missing out on important time with the child we did have. Every month was an insane emotional rollercoaster, riding the ups and downs of every symptom, every cramp and flutter, every day after a missed period. I know it sounds crazy, but there were times I legitimately thought I was going insane. Finally, after our second early miscarriage in the span of a year, and with our daughter approaching her milestone doubIe-digit birthday, we knew that somehow, we would have to find peace. I would have to find peace. For us, that meant letting go of the dream.
Years before I reached my final fertility breaking point, we had been deep in the process of adding to our family through adoption. We had been so insanely excited to adopt. We felt strongly that everything in our lives was leading to this point, that this was the family we were building, the family we were always meant to be. Anyone who has gone through the adoption process knows how particular and anxiety provoking and even intrusive it can be. It was a harrowing process and also a beautiful process for our family. At first, we were optimistic but guarded. Eventually we were matched with a wonderful birth mother. She was heartfelt and earnest and we communicated throughout her pregnancy. As we prepared for this new human being to enter our lives, to become part of our family, we had to let our guard down. We had to leave ourselves vulnerable and allow ourselves to truly hope, to truly love this new person, to fully embrace what it meant to be an adoptive family. We were so close to being that family. Another beautiful baby girl was born, but this time, things were different. Our birth mother changed her mind. I don’t blame her, and I can honestly say I carry no ill will toward her to this day. She was a wonderful person in a very difficult situation. We knew this was always a possibility, but we had reached that point of fully opening up, we were vulnerable and in love, and now we were devastated. Everything we had been preparing our family for, our hopes and dreams and plans, all gone in a moment. Our daughter stopped eating at school, stopped sleeping through the night, stopped smiling for awhile. We realized that for our family, our small family of three, we could not go through that again. And we were lucky, so incredibly lucky. We did have a child. A wonderful child, who was smart, and funny and caring and joyful. I don’t know what we would have done if we had had no children. Perhaps we would have tried again. I simply do not know.
I still think about our birth mother and that little girl almost every day. Even still, on her birthday, I think about how old she would be now, I wonder what she might be doing to celebrate. I have come to realize that once you have opened your heart, a mother’s heart never stops caring.
Over the years, we have met other families that have navigated the adoption waters, many of whom now have beautiful, happy families born from the process. All of whom experienced hardship and heartache along the way.
We also have become close with couples enduring the agony of infertility. Each time we listen and each time we share our family story, we inevitably come to the point where we have to admit that, no, things did not work out the way we had thought or hoped they would. Our amazing daughter is now in her twenties. We did not have more children. No matter what we did, it just simply did not happen.
But we are also okay. We are more than okay. We are happy, we are content, we are thriving as a family of three. We did not experience the miracle of childbirth or adoption again, but now, because of found family and relationships and the journey of life, our family continues to grow. I think about the friends and loved ones that supported us during those dark and difficult times. I think about my husband’s unwavering love, I think about our daughter’s strength and resilience, and alongside the hurt and heartache I feel immense gratitude and pride. What we share with couples just starting out on their journey or friends coming to grips with infertility, is that you are already a family. You might be a small family of two, or even one, but you are still a family. It doesn’t take children to make you a family. No matter what happens, even if your dream never comes true, even if somewhere down the road you have to abandon hope like we did, you are still going to be okay. You will still have meaning and purpose and family. Sometimes we have to abandon hope so that we can move forward, renew hope for the future, and make ourselves beautiful and whole again.
Leave a comment