My Struggles with Infertility

Last week Brene Brown began to accompany me throughout my daily chores once more with her latest book, “Braving the Wilderness.”   It was through her description of her parent’s divorce that gave me pause and birthed the idea for this post.  She spoke about their marriage falling apart while she struggled to belong in school.  Their muffled fights became more and more prominent which led her to feel like an outsider among her peers.  You see, at that time, it was culturally unacceptable for people to speak about their struggles.  So many people assumed perfection about other people’s lives while lamenting their own in secrecy. Nowadays we find people not only sharing, but some even consider oversharing, every aspect of their lives.  At that time, that was not the norm.  It is hard for me to think that such a time existed.  Just a few decades ago, people did not speak about their health struggles, marriage woes or financial burdens.  They kept all these secrets to themselves while playing the part of a perfect family, in a perfect house, with a perfect dog, and a perfectly white picket fence.  In attempt to fake normalcy, they were actually creating a reality that was traumatic to those living in it.

Creating an alternate reality of the everyday life is harmful to one’s health.  In the case of Brown, it led her into a spiral of addiction and other negative behaviors.  So today I intend to share some of my struggles with you in an attempt to give you a perspective different than the one you may be harboring about me, although at no fault of your own.  In regards to our infertility, I have only shared my joy living with it.  Not only joy, but I have shared my confidence and advocacy in response to those who view it as something that should be hushed and disliked in life.  And so the blame of faking normalcy can only be shifted towards me should I fail to share with you what led me to be the way that I am about our situation. Today, I am going to ensure that does not happen.

Growing up, there was this certain dream that I always had:  I would enter our home wearing a white lab coat with a “Dr.” somewhere in my title.  My husband would join me after his day of work and we would share a meal with our kids, asking them about their day in school.   Unknown to my pre-teen self, I would change my career path that did not include medical school, my husband would not hold a traditional 9-5 job, and there were no kids to be picked up from school.  Today, if you were to ask me about these unexpected results, I would speak gleefully about all of them.  Studying Psychology was one of the best decisions of my life, my husband’s unconventional hours allow me to explore different interests that I would not have otherwise, and life without kids have turned out to be wonderful for us.  Just a couple of years ago, however, my attitude about it was entirely different.  I want to take you back in time to those moments when I did not smile while standing in the kid’s section in the store, but felt a wave of sadness at not having the need to purchase any of the items, and when I whipped out the pregnancy test just to go to my husband to tell him how there was not going to be a need to plan for a child yet.  Those moments were not happy, they did not bring me joy, but they existed.  They were felt.

Perhaps I can share with you the time when my body was acting strange and I knew, just knew, that there was good news to share.  My husband casted doubts while I ignored them, lost in my dreams of playing with baby feet.  We would have to convert our office into a bedroom.  The room would be decorated in neutrals, not too extravagant, with hints of childish touches.  That banner I have been eyeing on Etsy would be perfect on that wall.  I did not have the layout of the room planned, but I knew where the crib would go and what kind I wanted.  Together we went and got the pregnancy test on our way back from the grocery store.  A few minutes later, the news was unfathomable to me.  I knew it.  I was pregnant.  How can this little plastic thing tell me I am not?  Do I not know my body?

Or I can share with you the times when I went to the doctor’s office.  “Is there a chance you might be pregnant?” they asked. Is there that chance? There could be, but it never does seem to be.  After the usual tests, I waited for them to tell me the results.  I would be so surprised! We were pregnant and I didn’t even know, I would imagine.  I would drive home and break the news to my husband in the most creative way.  Perhaps he would find a card under the pillow, or my handwritten letter in the mail would deliver him the news.  But they came back and I, again, was not pregnant.  Over and over, every single time.  I was not pregnant. I was never pregnant.

Another time I went to my gynecologist who gave me all the tips to ensure we increased our chances.  She said when during the cycle the chances were high, to reduce stress, to take it easy every day.  There was no good news.  “Don’t work out too much”, she said the next time, “gain some weight, it helps.”  There was no good news still.  And so it continued.

Me and my husband would find ourselves talking about the possibility of being unable to conceive.  What steps would we take? Were we willing to try IVF? No, we decided.  That is not something we wanted to do.  “Let’s just wait”, we said to each other, “let’s remain hopeful.  You never know” we said once more.  As days went on, the certainty in those words began to fade.  Slowly every month when my menstruation announced the failure of pregnancy, our sadness turned into humor.  That humor only covered the disappointment.  I no longer purchased the pregnancy tests.  Just the idea of it was devastating.

Working before marriage, I was the only one among my coworkers who wanted a child.  I was adamant in my decision.  “I want to become a mother,” I said numerous times.  “You would be a good mother,” they would respond.  Over and over again, every one said it: I would be a good mother.  Wasn’t that enough?  I would be good.  There were others who were not good, and yet their arms kept holding a child.  And then there was me, ready and willing, yet nothing changed.  There was no baby, no need to buy a crib, no need to think of houses big enough for a family, no need to hold off plans because “we might need this space for the kids.”  It was sinking in and it was painful.

“Would you still be happy with me if we don’t have kids?”  I asked my husband once during such moments.  He must have dreamt of kids just like I had, I thought to myself.  We had the conversation before marriage and both had wanted kids, I recalled.  He interrupted my inner dialogue. “Of course,” he replied. “I did not marry you to have kids. I married you to be with you.”  I am not sure how many times I asked him the same question since then, afraid that his response would be different.  But alhumdulillah that never happened.

Throughout the entire process, I did not forget to ask Allah.  Of course, isn’t that only natural?  I recited all of the duas (supplications) and said unspoken words during sujood (prostrations).  It was during those moments of asking and trusting in Allah’s Will that I asked, “Oh Allah, please give us a child if it will be good for us, and if not, then remove even the desire of it from my heart.”  As difficult as those words were, they became a usual occurrence in my prayers.

And then something began to change.

Slowly I began to enjoy the companionship of just my husband.  We began joking at the very thought of being pregnant and laughed all conversations of it off.  When buying gifts for other kids, we began to feel overwhelmed in the store aisles.  “Why are there so many things?” we asked each other.  “Imagine we won’t be able to do anything if we had kids,” I found myself saying one day.  And just like that, it was gone.  The feelings of sadness, of hopelessness, of loss, turned into feelings of acceptance and gratitude.  I started working on my hobbies, playing around with different ideas, and creating a life without little kids in mind.

This is where I am now.   I accept and appreciate my life, and I am beyond grateful for having the wonderful relationship we have in our marriage.  It took many frustrated nights and averted gazes for me to be comfortable with our childless life.  Now, being completely content, I speak about it here on my blog and on my instagram with any one who is willing to listen.

What was once difficult, now has become the greatest thing for me.  So no, I am not creating an alternate reality, rather, I am sharing with you my current state which is in complete contentment with Allah’s choice for my life.  Is there anything better than that?