The Infertile Feminist

I hope one day, we will live in a society where women are finally buoyed for pursuing their dreams in life, whether that includes motherhood or not. And we finally outgrow the archaic view that a natural pregnancy is our highest achievement in life. An imperfect womb is not a pitiable offense.

The Infertile Feminist

Working in medicine, pregnancies are common. Whether that be treating a pregnant patient, ruling out pregnancy, or informing someone of a positive pregnancy test. One day while working as a PA in urgent care, and I had a patient coming in for UTI symptoms. Typically a simple visit but this time, while her urine was normal, she had a positive pregnancy test. I remember looking at the results and my medical assistant confirming that the patient did not know yet. As my patient was only 21 years old, I knew this might not be positive news to deliver. She immediately started crying upon hearing news of her pregnancy. She already had two children and had no idea how she could take care of a third.

I held her hand while she cried, consoled her as best I could, and informed her of her resources and next steps in care. I left that room feeling such heart wrenching sympathy for this woman. That morning I had yet another negative pregnancy test myself after my most recent fertility treatment. I remember thinking that I could have felt jealous or resentful of this woman, yet I felt nothing of the sort.

The realm of fertility is filled with so many emotions. Whether you are blessed with easy fertility, or are the ones that have to struggle their way through; emotions run high. Fertility was never something I thought I would struggle with. As with so many other women, I based my success upon the ample fertility and babies produced by the women in my family. If anything, the accidentally pregnancy was my worst fear in life. Until it wasn’t.

Like so many other modern women of today, education, career, and financial security were central in my life goals. Of course I was cognizant of an eventual desire for family and motherhood, but I followed the mantra that there would always be time for those things later.

I was raised to be a strong, independent woman. A woman who could support herself, never dependent on a partner for her livelihood. And I still stand by these principles as they have made me into the person I am today. They have afforded me the opportunities and life I now enjoy. But now in hindsight, I see the sacrifices I made for education and career in a whole new light. I see the depth of these sacrifices. I paid them willingly, but now payment is due.

My husband and I have been together for over ten years, married nearly four, and trying to conceive for two and a half years. We are now in our early thirties. Early in our relationship, my worst fear was an unplanned pregnancy. I went to far as to always use two forms of protection for years. When I learned I was accepted into my graduate program to become a physician assistant, I made an appointment for an IUD that month. I had seen too many women’s dreams thwarted, and I was determined that my path would be different. And I did succeed.

At the age of 29, those biological clock ticks started to chime. Working in medicine, I knew the risks of ‘geriatric pregnancies’ and thought it was the right time to start a family. IUD was removed, and nothing happened. It was shocking.

In high school we are told if we sneezed wrong we could get pregnant. I was told to use protection even when menstruating “just in case.” How could this simple thing just not happen? I had been so terrified of this thing happening at the wrong time, and now when the timing was right, it didn’t happen.

I had planned and prepped everything. I knew what vitamins to take, what to eat, and how to plan for a healthy pregnancy. But emotionally, I didn’t know how to process this.

I think those first months were the hardest. I hadn’t yet accepted the fact that I could not control this aspect of my life. Each month I would convince myself I was feeling nausea, fatigue, cramping, breast pain, etc, and each month my period would arrive. After a year of this I knew it was time for the evaluation.

The infertility workup was routine. Likely PCOS, maybe one blocked tube, and some mild sperm issues. But the pieces were there. Some suboptimal, but natural pregnancy was still very much in the realm of possibilities. Three failed IUIs later, were we looking into IVF.

IVF. Such a weighted acronym. As soon as the words are said, the tone in any conversation changes. It almost felt like saying cancer. People’s faces change and look at you with pity. While there were diagnoses on both sides, the woman mainly gets the brunt of these gestures. The poor you, can’t conceive, can’t perform the task women were put on this earth for. And for a while, I let these notions infiltrate me. I let myself cry and feel the self-pity. I felt isolated and alone most of all. My partner was extremely supportive, but he didn’t have to go to all the appointment, lab draws, and ultrasounds. He didn’t have to buy the period products begrudgingly when that menses returned. And when I turned to others, people were sweet and offered prayers. What else could they do? But I wasn’t dying. I didn’t have cancer. My life was otherwise blessed and was everything I had dreamt it would be.

I let the emotions and pity of others infiltrate my own view of myself. Society said that an infertile woman had less value. Just as women try to hide the signs of aging, we hide any signs of infertility. It is some shameful secret if we cannot perform this god given right. We have hushed conversations with other women going through the same process, but not loud enough for men to hear. Women would pull me aside to ask “how it was going?”

While I understand that this is the society we live in, thus these women were following the right protocol, I hate it. I hate that it is assumed I will be an emotional wreck because my body has other plans for me. I hate that people don’t want to share their joys with me in case it would hurt me. I had a friend ask if I was upset or jealous that my sister-in-law became pregnant so easily. It hurt me deeply that she even needed to ask. That anyone would assume I could begrudge another woman happiness because I hadn’t yet experienced that life event. Why would I ever wish for there to be less babies in this world?

It was around the time I started the IVF medications that I finally saw my ‘self-pity’ for what it was: society’s pity. It was the age-old implication that women were made to stay home and raise babies. This was never my belief in life and through my education, but why did I let if infiltrate now? My worth did not lessen. My brain did not suddenly lose its education. My body did not become inferior. As soon as I came to this realization, the emotional rollercoaster in my mind stopped.

I happily completed the process of injectable medication and egg retrieval. Yes, it sucks. It was not something that I would enjoy doing again, but I’ve survived worse things. We were lucky to have embryos that are now on ice, and we will try an embryo transfer next month. Maybe we will get lucky, maybe we won’t. But at this moment in time, I have peace with either direction.

While I am optimistic that I will become a mother at some point in my life whether that is through IVF, natural pregnancy, surrogacy, embryo adoption, standard adoption, or fostering; I know that it does not define me. We are not defined by our ability to have children.

While life is an utter miracle, and children are blessings, it isn’t that way for everyone. I’ve seen when a pregnancy is more devastating than positive. It is not for the faint of heart. But I hope one day, we will live in a society where women are finally buoyed for pursuing their dreams in life, whether that includes motherhood or not. And we finally outgrow the archaic view that a natural pregnancy is our highest achievement in life. An imperfect womb is not a pitiable offense.

-Anonymous Submission

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