Re: Infertility-- this helped me keep my sanity (a little)
From: Carrin (anonymous@obgyn.net)
Mon, 17 Sep 2001 16:17:28 -0500 (CDT)
This really helped me to explain my feelings with a very close friend of
mine. I'm not sure how effective it was since she compared her feelings
after an abortion to the feelings I had after miscarriages... but it
helped me to say what I needed and wanted to say.
hope it helps you too! Better Grab a tissue.
--
Carrin
A GUIDE FOR FAMILY AND FRIENDS
I want to share my feelings about infertility with you, because I want
you to understand my struggle. I know that understanding infertility is
difficult; there are times when it seems even I don't understand. This
struggle has provoked intense and unfamiliar feelings in me and I fear
that my reactions to these feelings might be misunderstood. I hope my
ability to cope and your ability to understand will improve as I share
my feelings with you. I want you to understand.
You may describe me this way: obsessed, moody, helpless, depressed,
envious, too serious, obnoxious, aggressive, antagonistic, and cynical.
These aren't very admirable traits; no wonder your understanding of my
infertility is difficult. I prefer to describe me this way: confused,
rushed and impatient, afraid, isolated and alone, guilty and ashamed,
angry, sad and hopeless, and unsettled. My infertility makes me feel
confused. I always assumed I was fertile. I've spent years avoiding
pregnancy and now it seems ironic that I can't conceive. I hope this
will be a brief difficulty with a simple solution such as poor timing. I
feel confused about whether I want to be pregnant or whether I want to
be a parent. Surely if I try harder, try longer, try better and
smarter, I will have a baby.
My infertility makes me feel rushed and impatient. I learned of my
infertility only after I'd been trying to become pregnant for some time.
My life-plan suddenly is behind schedule. I waited to become a parent
and now I must wait again. I wait for medical appointments, wait for
tests, wait for treatments, wait for other treatments, wait for my
period not to come, wait for my partner not to be out of town and wait
for pregnancy. At best, I have only twelve opportunities each year. How
old will I be when I finish having my family?
My infertility makes me feel afraid. Infertility is full of unknowns,
and I'm frightened because I need some definite answers. How long will
this last? What if I'm never a parent? What humiliation must I endure?
What pain must I suffer? Why do drugs I take to help me, make me feel
worse? Why can't my body do the things that my mind wants it to do? Why
do I hurt so much? I'm afraid of my feelings, afraid of my undependable
body and afraid of my future.
My infertility makes me feel isolated and alone. Reminders of babies
are everywhere. I must be the only one enduring this invisible curse. I
stay away from others, because everything makes me hurt. No one knows
how horrible is my pain. Even though I'm usually a clear thinker, I
find myself being lured by superstitions and promises. I think I'm
losing perspective. I feel so alone and I wonder if I'll survive this.
My infertility makes me feel guilty and ashamed. Frequently I forget
that infertility is a medical problem and should be treated as one.
Infertility destroys my self esteem and I feel like a failure. Why am I
being punished? What did I do to deserve this? Am I not worthy of a
baby? Am I not a good sexual partner? Will my partner want to remain
with me? Is this the end of my family lineage? Will my family be ashamed
of me? It is easy to lose self-confidence and to feel ashamed.
My infertility makes me feel angry. Everything makes me angry, and I
know much of my anger is misdirected. I'm angry at my body because it
has betrayed me even though I've always taken care of it. I'm angry at
my partner because we can't seem to feel the same about infertility at
the same time. I want and need an advocate to help me. I'm angry at my
family because they've always sheltered and protected me from terrible
pain. My younger sibling is pregnant; my mother wants a family reunion
to show off her grandchildren and my grandparents want to pass down
family heirlooms. I'm angry at my medical caregivers, because it seems
that they control my future. They humiliate me, inflict pain on me, pry
into my privacy, patronize me, and sometimes forget who I am. How can I
impress on them how important parenting is to me? I'm angry at my
expenses; infertility treatment is extremely expensive. My financial
resources may determine my family size. My insurance company isn't
cooperative, and I must make so many sacrifices to pay the medical
bills. I can't miss any more work, or I'll lose my job. I can't go to
a specialist, because it means more travel time, more missed work, and
greater expenses. Finally, I'm angry at everyone else. Everyone has
opinions about my inability to become a parent. Everyone has easy
solutions. Everyone seems to know too little and say too much.
My infertility makes me feel sad and hopeless. Infertility feels like
I've lost my future, and no one knows of my sadness. I feel hopeless;
infertility robs me of my energy. I've never cried so much nor so
easily. I'm sad that my infertility places my marriage under so much
strain. I'm sad that my infertility requires me to be so self-centered.
I'm sad that I've ignored many friendships because this struggle hurts
so much and demands so much energy. Friends with children prefer the
company of other families with children. I'm surrounded by babies,
pregnant women, playgrounds, baby showers, birth stories, kids' movies,
birthday parties and much more. I feel so sad and hopeless.
My infertility makes me feel unsettled. My life is on hold. Making
decisions about my immediate and my long-term future seems impossible. I
can't decide about education, career, purchasing a home, pursuing a
hobby, getting a pet, vacations, business trips and houseguests. The
more I struggle with my infertility, the less control I have. This
struggle has no timetable; the treatments have no guarantees. The only
sure things are that I need to be near my partner at fertile times and
near my doctor at treatment times. Should I pursue adoption? Should I
take expensive drugs? Should I pursue more specialized and costly
medical intervention? It feels unsettling to have no clear, easy answers
or guarantees.
Occasionally I feel my panic subside. I'm learning some helpful ways to
cope; I'm now convinced I'm not crazy, and I believe I'll survive. I'm
learning to listen to my body and to be assertive, not aggressive, about
my needs. I'm realizing that good medical care and good emotional care
are not necessarily found in the same place. I'm trying to be more than
an infertile person gaining enthusiasm, joyfulness, and zest for life.
You can help me. I know you care about me and I know my infertility
affects our relationship. My sadness causes you sadness; what hurts me,
hurts you, too. I believe we can help each other through this sadness.
Individually we both seem quite powerless, but together we can be
stronger. Maybe some of these hints will help us to better understand
infertility.
I need you to be a listener. Talking about my struggle helps me to make
decisions. Let me know you are available for me. It's difficult for me
to expose my private thoughts if you are rushed or have a deadline for
the end of our conversation. Please don't tell me of all the worse
things that have happened to others or how easily someone else's
infertility was solved. Every case is individual. Please don't just
give advice; instead, guide me with your questions. Assure me that you
respect my confidences, and then be certain that you deserve my trust.
While listening try to maintain an open mind.
I need you to be supportive. Understand that my decisions aren't made
casually, I've agonized over them. Remind me that you respect these
decisions even if you disagree with them, because you know they are made
carefully. Don't ask me, "Are you sure?" Repeatedly remind me that you
love me no matter what. I need to hear it so badly. Let me know you
understand that this is very hard work. Help me realize that I may need
additional support from professional caregivers and appropriate
organizations. Perhaps you can suggest resources. You might also need
support for yourself, and I fear I'm unable to provide it for you;
please don't expect me to do so. Help me to keep sight of my goal.
I need you to be comfortable with me, and then I also will feel more
comfortable. Talking about infertility sometimes feels awkward. Are
you worried you might say the wrong thing? Share those feelings with me.
Ask me if I want to talk. Sometimes I will want to, and sometimes I
won't, but it will remind me that you care.
I need you to be sensitive. Although I may joke about infertility to
help myself cope, it doesn't seem as funny when others joke about it.
Please don't tease me with remarks like, "You don't seem to know how to
do it." Don't trivialize my struggle by saying, "I'd be glad to give you
one of my kids." It's no comfort to hear empty reassurances like,
"You'll be a parent by this time next year." Don't minimize my feelings
with, "You shouldn't be so unhappy." For now, don't push me into
uncomfortable situations like baby showers or family reunions. I
already feel sad and guilty; please don't also make me feel guilty for
disappointing you.
I need you to be honest with me. Let me know that you may need time to
adjust to some of my decisions. I also needed adjustment time. If
there are things you don't understand, say so. Please be gentle when
you guide me to be realistic about things I can't change such as my age,
some medical conditions, financial resources, and employment
obligations. Don't hide information about others' pregnancies from me.
Although such news makes me feel very sad, it feels worse when you leave
me out.
I need you to be informed. Your advice and suggestions are only
frustrating to me if they aren't based on fact. Be well informed so you
can educate others when they make remarks based on myths. Don't let
anyone tell you that my infertility will be cured if I relax and adopt.
Don't tell me this is God's will. Don't ask me to justify my need to
parent. Don't criticize my course of action or my choice of physician
even though I may do that myself. Reassure yourself that I am also
searching for plenty of information which helps me make more
knowledgeable decisions about my options.
I need you to be patient. Remember that working through infertility is
a process. It takes time. There are no guarantees, no package deals,
no complete kits, no one right answer, and no "quickie" choices. My
needs change; my choices change. Yesterday I demanded privacy, but
today I need you for strength. You have many feelings about
infertility, and I do too. Please allow me to have anger, joy, sadness,
and hope. Don't minimize or evaluate my feelings. Just allow me to
have them, and give me time.
I need you to be strengthening by boosting my self esteem. My sense of
worthlessness hampers my ability to take charge. My personal privacy
has repeatedly been invaded. I've been subjected to postcoital exams,
semen collection in waiting room bathrooms, and tests in rooms next to
labor rooms. Enjoyable experiences with you such as a lunch date, a
shopping trip, or a visit to a museum help me feel normal.
Encourage me to maintain my sense of humor; guide me to find joys.
Celebrate with me my successes, even ones as small as making it through
a medical appointment without crying. Remind me that I am more than an
infertile person. Help me by sharing your strength.
Eventually I will be beyond the struggle of infertility. I know my
infertility will never completely go away because it will change my
life. I won't be able to return to the person I was before infertility,
but I also will no longer be controlled by this struggle. I will leave
the struggle behind me, and from that I will have improved my skills for
empathy, patience, resilience, forgiveness, decision-making and
self-assessment. I feel grateful that you are trying to ease my journey
through this infertility struggle by giving me your understanding.
The author, Jody Earle, frequently felt the need for a brochure like
this one during her own eleven-year infertility struggle. She
experienced three prgnancy losses, one in each trimester and eventually,
the premature births of her two sons. She continues to be a peer
counselor for those working through infertility.
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