This is the fourth in a series of posts about women’s bodies and consecration. Part I was about pregnancy, part II about single sisterhood, and part III about miscarriage. I am using the information gathered in these posts to write an article called “A Living Sacrifice,” which will be published in the fall/winter 2007 issue of Segullah. Comments posted may be quoted in the article. (I will use first names only, or quote anonymously.)
Let me say at the outset: This topic humbles me.
I have seven children, which came to me within the space of twelve years. Except for the last, these children were conceived with the greatest ease. All my husband and I had to do was say let’s have another baby and a month later I’d be showing him the positive pregnancy test. Instant gratification.
But after my seventh pregnancy, which ended in miscarriage, things changed. The miscarriage left me empty, hungry to conceive again as soon as possible. In anticipation I bought a pair of home pregnancy tests and waited for the good news, but it didn’t come. I began to have horribly painful periods–the cramps felt like the last stage of labor. With each passing month my fear increased: had my fertility come to an end? My ability to bear children was a central pillar of sense of self, my sense of control. And I had been so confident that we were meant to have another child. I felt broken, vulnerable, disconnected from everything I had felt sure about.
A year after the miscarriage, I stood in the baby aisle at Target, lusting. I picked up packages of tiny t-shirts and socks, wishing I had a reason to buy them. I stroked the little knit caps, remembering the hard, soft head of a newborn. I ran my fingers along the pastel-colored blankets. One of them was made of a french-looped fleece that was softer than anything I’d ever felt. Pink, with a satin binding.
I picked up the blanket and rested my cheek against it, suddenly taken by tears. I didn’t care if anyone noticed that a crazy crying lady was hugging a blanket in the middle of the baby aisle. I was overcome by longing so strong I could barely breathe.
Even in that moment I knew my year of waiting and worrying was nothing compared to what so many women endure. Here I was heartbroken over the prospect of the motherhood-fountain drying up, when I had already been showered with bounty. Knowing that my trial was relatively tiny didn’t lessen the pain, but it led me to imagine how much more pain others have suffered.
And so, it’s with humility that I ask you to share your experiences with infertility. I’ve come to see that women who experience infertility consecrate themselves in ways that are rarely acknowledged. Emotionally, as they endure disappointment and longing, rude questions, and separation from a central aspect of their womanhood. Physically, as they submit to testing and treatments and literal emptiness. Spiritually, as they strive to maintain faith and hope. And for those women whose infertility goes on and on, I imagine the sacrifice goes far beyond these name-able things, reaching into the deepest territory of the soul.
Please post any thoughts you are comfortable sharing. What do you wish people understood about the experience of infertility? What sacrifices has this situation required of you? What perspective have you gained as a result?
my husband & i were married for 5 years before we were able to conceive via IVF/ICSI. our baby girl is a literal/tangible miracle & i would love to give her another brother or sister, but i know this is most likely impossible (we’ve tried IVF & 3 frozen transfers since her birth to no avail). being a mother is my greatest joy & the perspective infertility has given me is to HOLD YOUR BABIES TIGHT. it’s difficult for me to hear parents complain about their children, or to see them take them (or getting pregnant) for granted. & it’s esp hard for me to see women who have no desire to have more children keep having them (& with that all the children who are abused or in foster care). sometimes that makes me wonder about Heavenly Father’s plan, because here we are, 2 temple worthy parents who are desperate for more children & we can’t have them, & yet there are many children being born to families where they won’t have married parents or the gospel to guide them as they stumble their way through life. but then again, i just need to have faith & know that the Lord has a perfect plan for all of his children & HE LOVES US completely & we are given trials to give us experience. thanks for this post.
We had 3 years of waiting before our first was conceived, and the most wearing, mundane part for us was dealing with the hypothetical babies. We had every intention of making sacrifices and adjusting our lives to accomodate babies…except there weren’t any, but we still had to make adjustments. I got a cold, but I couldn’t take cold medicine, because I _might_ be pregnant. We wanted to plan for the future, but we’d anticipated already having a baby, and the new job opportunity didn’t mesh well with having a baby. Do you take the job, because you don’t actually have a baby, or do you pass, because the baby _might_ come soon? You’re not supposed to sit around waiting and wishing, but it’s hard to “get on with life” when a hypothetical baby might finally materialize into a real one.
The perspective I have gained, as an auntie looking in, is a more “eternal perspective.” Not to minimize the heartache that happens here, on the earth, when a family longs for a baby NOW (because I have seen how it’s difficult and I’ve had to wait at times for babies, too), but to maximize the notion that babies will be restored to families– and sacrifices made here will be rewarded tenfold over there.
And in the meantime, appreciate what I have…
Thank you, tina, Lee Ann, and Brooke. tina, I will hug my kids a little tighter today. I’m glad you shared your experience. Lee Ann, I had never considered the realities of being in limbo. Thanks for that insight. And Brooke, I appreciate the auntie viewpoint.
I never thought I would have problems getting pregnant. My husband and I tried for the first one for 8 months. I finally got pregnant and we were elated. Unfortunately that pregnancy ended in miscarriage at 12 weeks. Little did I know how long the subsequent journey would be. I thought I would get pregnant (just like the 3 women that said they were pregnant within a month or two) in a short time. When that didn’t happen and my cycles never regulated, I went to my midwife. Waited a while (tried to relax, like everyone told me to) and finally went to a fertility specialist. After almost a year after seeing him I finally got pregnant!! It had been 4 years since I was pregnant and I could not believe that the line was there on the pregnancy test.(I don’t think I can even count how many I have taken over the years.) After just a couple of weeks though, I knew that that pregnancy was also not going to work out. I then had a d and c in October, exactly 4 years since my last miscarriage, which I had passed naturally. After many more tests and more rounds of fertility, we just barely had a positive pregnancy test, actually yesterday. I don’t know if it is wise to be shouting it out to all who may read this, but oh well.(I doubt anyone knows who I am.) I will go in on Monday for my first of 3 blood tests and hopefully this will be the ONE! We have been married over six years and trying for children for 5 1/2. It has been the hardest thing I have ever faced and there have been times when I thought that I could NOT go on. I have learned an incredible amount, but one thing I had to learn the hard way was that just because a friend had told me how things happened for them or for someone they knew, that WAS NOT the way it was going to happen to me. One other thing I learned was something that a friend who had also struggled with infertility told me. She said, “If a couple can get thru infertility, they can get thru anything.” It is amazing looking back at the whole process and how it has all played out and I just hope that others who face these same kind of problems know that there is a plan and that with the help from Father in Heaven, they can make it thru whatever challenges they might face.
Like many women who experience infertility, I could write a book about the many aspects of this trial. I experienced secondary infertility. My first two children came so easy that I took the blessing of procreation completely for granted. My third child came after five years of trying, two miscarriages, 8 or 9 artificial inseminations, two IVF’s, dozens of fertility drugs, including shots for months on end, and three trips to Maui so we could “just relax”. Amazingly, all of this effort to get pregnant never actually worked. My third child was a complete natural conception.
I suppose that in and of itself proves that Heavenly Father is truly in charge and things happen on his time table. My biggest struggle with infertility was what it did to my self-esteem. What was wrong with me that I couldn’t get pregnant? Was it my diet, my weight, my lifestyle, my testimony, my ability to live the covenants I made? Was I worthy enough, thin enough, drinking too much diet coke? My infertility was “unexplained” and therefore completely out of my control. It was so difficult for me to finally acknowledge that I wasn’t in charge…that I could do everything I knew, seek every treatment, see several specialists and I still could not control my ability to get pregnant. Turning the whole matter over to the Lord was extremely difficult for me and a true test of my faith.
Not knowing how or when this trial would be resolved also weighed heavily on my mind. For as much as I recognized this as a trial sent to me by my Heavenly Father, I so much needed to know that one way or another it would end. This was hard because I could not reconcile in my mind ever getting over wanting another baby. For me, it was more than being baby hungry, I genuinely craved a specific spirit in my home. Not so surprising to me is that same personality I knew was missing is ever so evident in my six month old. Now I know that it was him pushing so hard to come to earth.
My heartfelt prayers and well wishes to anyone who struggles with infertility. I wouldn’t wish this on anybody…it is simply gut wrenching.
Becca and Jill, thank you so much. I can’t imagine going through the experiences you’ve described. What strength you have shown. Thank you for teaching us. And congratulations to both of you–Jill, for finally being able to hold that child you knew was yours, and Becca, for this new beginning. I know I speak on behalf of all our blog readers when I say we wish you the very very best.
It took us two years to get that elusive first baby. After that we’ve had several children easily. During the long two years, it was the all-consuming problem. But when it came to an end, we moved on and don’t dwell on it any more. Similarly, all our friends and family who have struggled with infertilty have eventually gotten a happy resolution. I can sit here and think of thirteen couples I’ve known who’ve put this problem behind them through adoption or childbearing, or both.
Only one couple I have known remained childless for life. They were in their 70’s when I met them. (They had tried to adopt several times, but each time the adoption “fell through” at the last moment –completely devastating.) The saddest thing she said was, “I never had any chidren, and the older I get, the worse I feel about it.” They had no relatives in the church, no children, and now, no grandchildren. Picture your grandma with no grandchildren. Such a void!
But there is always some grace somewhere. With no posterity and no LDS family, they threw themselves into geneology. They did thousands of names, whole towns of their relatives in Eastern Europe. These dear ones were literally their family, and in that way, they knew they weren’t alone.
I know this subject was posted a couple of weeks ago, but I just barely found it Saturday morning. I appreciate the thoughts and insights of this post and the comments that have been made. I’ve been trying to whittle my own thoughts down to a digestible comment . . . this is as close as I can get and still answer Kathryn’s questions. I am one of those still struggling with childlessness. My husband and I have been married for six years. While that is not as long as some, being 39 and without children brings additional worries (It’s very hard to believe my age doesn’t matter!). We have tried adopting, and have had three failed adoptions (two failed and one fraud, actually). The fraud has left us hesitant to jump on the adoption band-wagon again, so we are now regrouping to see what to do next.
Somebody once told me that trying to adopt has the same emotional upheavals as pregnancy does. I have also heard that a failed adoption feels like a miscarriage. If these are true, it means I’ve felt pregnant for 5 years and have had the emotional equivalent of three miscarriages! Yikes!
Thinking of your questions, Kathryn, I have a few thoughts. What do I wish people understood about infertility?
On a rather superficial level, I wish people understood that stories of others’ successes have rarely been comforting. What has been more helpful are words such as, “You’ll be in my prayers” or “I hope something works out soon.”
On a practical level, I want people to know that sometimes, no matter what they say or don’t say, I might be having “a moment” and my sad feelings are probably not their fault. I find my level of sensitivity/pain or peace on the subject changes. Sometimes I feel pretty peaceful for months at a time, and other times I find myself randomly vulnerable, “wracked with grief,” uncomfortably close to tears, or even downright depressed. I don’t like those times, but they seem to be a part of the grieving process, or admittedly, sometimes evidence of my own lack of faith, trust, and self-care.
With all of these emotions, it becomes a strange walk on the tight-rope of interpersonal relations: hoping others will be sensitive, yet not wanting them to feel like they can’t talk naturally about things in my presence. Or wanting mother-friends to treat me like I’m no different from them, yet still be aware that I sometimes feel painfully different. Or hoping beyond hope that nobody asks, “How are you DOING?” in a public place when I’m feeling vulnerable, as well as hoping they won’t mind hearing once again, “I wish I were a mom. This is so hard.”
Add juggling my own emotions to this awkwardly balanced position, and it’s no wonder sometimes I falter or fumble, lose perspective and faith. I hope people will be patient with my emotions and weak times, as I try to be patient with some of the less sensitive things unwittingly said/done to me.
What sacrifices has this required of me? I have never thought of this question in this context. The most obvious sacrifice I can think of is putting my own pains aside while I try to listen sincerely to another’s excitement (or lamentation) about pregnancy and children. I’d have to think more on this one.
What perspective have I gained as a result of all of this? I wish I could say this trial has made me a stronger person. I do not feel stronger for it yet. I think that will come, is coming, as I turn to the Lord with greater consistency. I do believe I have gained a great deal of empathy for others–aren’t trials in general supposed to teach us that? I think I have become more patient with people, more able to recognize others’ good intentions and, in turn, curb my own emotional responses. I hope I am learning to count my blessings and live in the moment, rather than pining away after the one big blessing I long for. With the future still feeling a bit unknown, I am grateful to be feeling an increase of trust in the Lord’s timing lately–a “tender mercy” for certain. Fairly recently I have begun to see on a deeper level how completely and utterly dependent I am on the Lord for strength, support, courage, perspective, etc., and how I truly cannot afford to neglect my relationship with Deity. I see more than ever that I really CAN’T do this without His help. I suspect this is the most important lesson of all.
I think that’s it . . . no flowery wrap-up, and I couldn’t leave anything else out. It has been very therapeutic for me to write this, btw. I hope this is helpful for your article and not overwhelmingly long. Thank you for bringing up the subject and for handling it so well.
Rebecca and Wendy, thank you so much. You’re blessing many by sharing your perspectives, especially me.
Wendy, in a few days I’m doing one more post in this series, about adoption. I hope you’ll share more of your adoption experiences.
my husband and i tried for years to make a baby. it seemed that each month i was a failure–that i was less of a woman. it was heartbreaking. i couldn’t go to any baby showers. i didn’t want to hear people testify in sacrament meeting, “how blessed they were to be a mother.” i silently shed tears when each baby was blessed in our overly fertile BYU student ward, each time grateful that everyone around me that their eyes closed. i would bawl to my husband in private every time we heard that another one of our friends were expecting …again.
feeling in my gut that something was wrong, we bravely decided to undergo some testing. it turns out that there is no sperm in our marriage. zero.
crushing.
in a daze, i just went through the motions for several weeks. i taught third grade. i remember the day after we found out that we were together infertile, that i looked into the face of each one of my little darlings as we were doing some one on one reading testing, and thought, “i bet you look like your parents.”
i felt totally alone. defeated. i will never experience that part of mortality. my husband and i will never be co-creators of life with God. it isn’t fair. wasn’t this a righteous desire?
every time i was in the car by myself i would weep, wonder why and lose a part of my spirit.
searching for answers, comfort and peace, i sought priesthood blessings, we had meetings with our bishop and we spent countless hours in prayer. finally our path was clear. we were always meant to adopt. we were created in the exact way Heavenly Father had intended. we would “be fruitful” in the exact way He wanted.
several months later, we were contacted by a beautiful and scared 17 year old. she was pregnant. she needed help and we needed her. our souls connected as soon as we met her. my husband and i made a sacred covenant with her. we would raise her baby. we would love him and teach him as if we were our own flesh and blood. she would always be our angel.
and she gave birth to a gorgeous little boy on may 2nd. when i held him in my arms, i realized that it never was a sacrifice. all the heartbreak and wondering and millions and millions of tears i shed were all worth it. there was something in his eyes that was familiar. it was his spirit. he may not be biologically ours, but he is spiritually.
we took him home as our adopted son two days later. words cannot express how her sacrifice has blessed our life. i do not think of myself as someone who has sacrificed–that i have been asked to give something up or am missing out, but rather someone who has been blessed my the selfless sacrifice of a young woman. she is the real hero. birthmothers are incredible people with eternal perspectives far beyond my own.
the lyrics from “delivered” by cherie call taken from the “chosen” cd express my feelings the best:
We don’t know how to thank you
There are things that words can’t say
He’s the sunshine and the happiness that brightens all our days
And we couldn’t live without him, and we love him as our own
He has filled the empty spaces in our family and our home
*i documented our journey and the journey of those around us via my blog. http://www.therhoue.blogspot.com
visit and share any time. thanks for the opportunity to share. this is my very favorite subject.
oops.
http://www.therhouse.blogspot.com