Breaking the Silence

Breaking the Silence

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In the UK this week it’s National Infertility Awareness Week (I think our one is in April), so I thought it would be a good time to continue ‘breaking the silence.’

In Australia, it’s estimated that one in six couples suffer from infertility, which is a heck-load when you think about it, yet no one really wants to talk about it. And trust me – I completely understand why. When you first decide you would like to bring a bundle of joy into the world you tend to keep it fairly private. You imagine breaking the news to your elated parents and friends, and there being hugs and kisses and joy and rainbows all round.

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Image courtesy of Giphy http://gph.is/XL2weq

If the people around you already know that you’re trying some of that magic will just disappear.

So what happens when it doesn’t happen? This is where it gets tricky. As you get slammed down each month (rather inhumanely by a Carrie-style blood bath) your anxiety and depression levels grow. I remember I spent our entire first year wedding anniversary sobbing. We had been trying for six months and I had hoped it would be a day to celebrate the new life our love had created. It wasn’t. It was a day where a new, unperceived darkening reality was beginning to envelop us.

There are so many misconceptions about infertility it’s hard to know where to start. The reality is if someone shares with you their struggle to conceive they have probably already been trying for quite some time, and they’ve probably read every solution Google has to offer.

While (most) people don’t have bad intentions – trust me, there are some that just love to stick the knife in – many of the things that people say reinforce messages of blame or shame back to the couple who are already heavy with feelings of failure.

I was planning on including a big list of all the comments I find hurtful but then I came across an article that did it a lot more sensitively than I ever could. The “Infertility Etiquette” guide on the National Infertility Association’s website is a really helpful tool if you are struggling to know how to respond to a friend’s infertility. It spells out what not to say, but also explains why not in great detail.

Believe it or not people do actually feel entitled to say things like: “Maybe you are just not meant to be parents” to which my response would be more likely to involve slapping the fertile, smugness off their self-righteous faces than the well-reasoned response given in the article, so I do really encourage reading it.

In the meantime I guess I’ll get back to “Just relaxing until it happens.”

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Image courtesy of Giphy http://giphy.com/gifs/AFjfPUJ0mjWJG/

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Reality Hits You Hard

Well after the last heavy post I thought it might be good to backtrack a bit and share a little snippet of our story. If you can’t be bothered reading you could just watch the clip from ‘Up’ which basically tells the first half of our story in heart-wrenchingly beautiful detail.

Mr. Lady Breaks (who coincidentally doesn’t exactly like being referred to as “Mr. Lady Breaks” because apparently it a) “sounds like he’s a lady-man”; and b) “sounds like he breaks ladies”) started dating me back in 1999. I was 14 and he had just turned 15. I’m not going to bore you with too many soppy recollections of high-school romance, but to say it felt like the most normal and natural thing in the world.

So we dated and dreamed about our future. There was going to be retro cars, murals on the walls, and two studios (one for music and the other for art, obviously). We would own a weatherboard cottage and a café and together we would change the world. We picked out songs for our wedding and names for our children. We couldn’t wait for our adult life to begin.

At my 16th Birthday in 2001

At my 16th Birthday in 2001

Needless to say, most of these things didn’t happen (well, my first car was a 1967 HR Holden but we – ironically – sold it to buy a “family car” when we started trying). We did get married, but finance and reality limited life and dreams – as it seems to do to everyone.

Man, I loved that car

Man, I loved that car

What was never expected though was infertility. We were young, really young, and healthy. In fact the doctors refused to even test us at first. Then, after eighteen months of trying, we were referred to reproductive specialists who told us that there would be a very long ladder of options available to us before we would need to consider something as serious as IVF. They were wrong. After the results came back it was clear that IVF would be our only option to ever conceive.

I realise at this point of the story it might be handy to say what the problem actually is, but I’m choosing not to. It’s not that it’s a closely guarded secret at all; it’s just that it doesn’t really matter. The thing about struggling with infertility as a couple is that you struggle as a couple. Infertility is a shared disease – if one person is diagnosed, both are diagnosed. Yes, one may be technically fully able to procreate, but, as we know, it takes two to tango. Also, there is a big, burdensome load of blame and inadequacy that comes with being The Infertile One (read: the reason behind all the pain and sadness), which I’m sure I will discuss some other day. So suffice it to say that “we are infertile.”

Anyway, I won’t get into the nitty-gritty of deciding to do IVF today either, as it was quite a huge decision that took over us a year, but just know for now that we tried and failed. Of course it’s something that we could keep trying but for that damn ‘finance and reality’ thing again.

The thing I really wanted to share today was how brutally unfair the whole thing felt/ feels. Having grown up in a broken home, I really longed for that stable family unit. Part of the reason I loved Mr. Lady Breaks so much was that I knew he would make a great dad, and I doubted he would ever walk out on his children. I could give my children something I never had, and I could finally experience the much-lauded nuclear family thing. But, of course, life had other plans.

Mr. Lady Breaks (the name is sticking, so get over it) and my story isn’t over, but we just have no idea the direction it will go. We have come to so many closed doors and dead-ends after almost eight years of fighting and struggling that we hardly know how to dream anymore.

But the story isn’t over, and we have to keep dreaming. We need to fill our own Adventure Book (‘Up’ reference) and I love the fact that you are now along for the ride. Thank you.

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