The Elephant in the Corner (Or: bending some rules)

As open as I am here, there has been one thing - from the outset - that I had firmly decided would not be a topic for posting. It's generally also a topic that doesn't get discussed in person. Some of it is simply that I'm a fairly private person when it comes to things that hurt me (and honestly, I'm fairly easily embarassed - I'm not one of those women who tell you every detail of their reproductive life. If I can make it through life without people knowing how my body functions, I'm a happy lady.) The rest relates to the fact that I don't want to turn this into "the infertile woman's blog" - because I'm so much more than that. Also, I don't know that I want platitudes, sympathy, or advice - at least not in quantities greater than what I've already experienced. See, when Tim and I first started trying to start a family, 8 years ago, it never crossed my mind that I should think twice about sharing that information with people. Because it was a foregone conclusion that children would be right around the bend. People have been doing it for centuries - in fact, it's one of the few things that has been the same since time began. (Seriously, you've got God's love, original sin, and procreation. Did I miss something?)

After a year with nothing - not even suspicions that might get your hopes up and dash them - I realized I should've kept my mouth shut. Because that's when people started making their helpful comments. If it took you even more than 3 months to conceive you've probably heard some of them. They tend to fall into two categories: well-meaning and so-freaking-clueless-as-to -require prior permission before speaking.

Well meaning examples include such things as "Oh, just relax and it'll happen. I (or my sister or someone close to me) had been trying for just as long and then when I/she/they quit worrying about it...well that's when we naturally conceived dodecatuplets." Inevitably, the well meaning comments are accompanied by a story of someone who went through either exactly what you've gone through or something much, much worse, with a bright shiny ending that usually includes multiples and some kind of comment about how they're not sure they really were cut out for it after all.

The clueless comments are generally so hurtful you can actually feel the breath leaving your body, your lung tissue starting to stick together as you attempt to gasp for air, and the development of a lump about the size of a watermelon in your throat as you attempt womanfully not to just burst into tears on the spot. My favorite of said, which was repeated to my by numerous good friends - mind you, these are my good friends - is: "Well, this is just God's way of letting you know that you'd be a terrible mother. So He's protecting you - and the children. You should look at it as a blessing, after all.." and then follows a littany of every flaw in your character that they've noticed but never been sure it was right to point out to you, but now they're feeling led to do so. So you'll understand the infertility, you know. They have your best interests at heart.

After the third repetition of the above, I started lying. And I started lying with a vengance. It became "Oh, we stopped trying after we decided that we didn't really want kids." To our friends with kids who had made hurtful comments, I would sometimes reply that it was the babysitting experiences with THEIR kids that had ultimately changed our minds. Or I would be slightly more subtle and insinuate that while they were busy with diapers and homework and worrying about college tuition, we'd be jetsetting around, footloose and fancy free. I even perfected the just slightly smug look and tone to drive it home with a little barb in the end. I'm not proud of who I became at that point, but it did get people off my back - to the point I could stop being "Mrs. Nasty."

And at home I would cry. And beg Tim for a dog. Something - anything - to love that could take the place of a child that I so desperately ached for. When we finally got a dog (and shortly thereafter a second) then I had something I could say when new people asked if we had kids, "Oh, no, just dogs." Because it implies that you're in the pre-child phase of your life.

And then, as time went on, the next set of nasty comments began. The ones that contrive to make you feel old, used up, selfish, and un-Christian all at the same time. You know the ones - most often not even addressed directly to you but said in conversation to ensure you overhear it (or said about a fictional "friend" so you don't know for sure it was aimed at you). "Gosh, kids these days just wait so long to have kids. Don't they know there'll never be 'enough money' and they should just start a family and trust God to provide?" Or "I'm glad we had kids while we were still young enough to keep up with them, I pity these women who are going to be in their late 30s while their kids are in elementary school." And so on and so on. By this time I was tired. I was tired of being ugly. I was tired of hurting at every barb. So mostly? I would just agree, "I know. It's tragic, isn't it?" Most of the time it would shut up the ones who were trying slide it in there without me knowing it was intended for me - but the braver ones would sputter, "But you don't have kids yet either!" And I was at the point now that, if pushed like this, I would simply arch a brow and ask, "Are you interested in knowing all the medical reasons why not, or do you just want to make uninformed judgements?"

Most people, it seems, preferred uninformed judgement.

So I have spent the better part of the last four years trying to not talk to anyone about it. Tim got to the point that he didn't even want to discuss it. I was tired of talking about it with my mother and sister. And there was no one else I felt I could trust to talk with. And, honestly, we just kind of shelved the whole thing. We half-heartedly looked into adoption, but I would get so irritated with sliding scales and the difference between what agencies charge and what adoption costs, and the bitter injustice of having to spend thousands and thousands of dollars I don't have (though it looks like we do on paper) for something that most people take for granted - and actively work to avoid and/or go out of their way to dispose of - well, I wasn't ready for that yet.

And throughout it all, I learned a great deal about the soverignty of God. And I have come to a point where I can rest in that. It's still hard. We're still struggling with our options. And there are days, like yesterday and today, where I feel like I'm walking around wearing clown makeup and I want to stand outside and shake my fist at the sky and scream at God and ask Him why -when I want to cry out like Job "I despise my life; I would not live forever. Let me alone; my days have no meaning. What is man that you make so much of him, that you give him so much attention, that you examine him every morning and test him every moment?" (Job 7:16-18)

And then I am reminded: "My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways My ways," declares the LORD. (Isaiah 55:8)