Well-Meaning Friends

Like I mentioned earlier, I had kept pretty close wraps on our efforts to conceive the first two years, but once we moved to the base in our hometown, it was more difficult to keep quiet. At first, I was excited because I was Soooooooo confident that the fertility treatments would be successful, and I’d be pregnant soon, that I didn’t mind sharing the news of how things were going. It’s thrilling to imagine yourself as a first-time parent, and talk about the steps you are taking to bring that about. And it was encouraging to hear stories of others who had also struggled, and undergone the same thing, but had successful outcomes. Those made me feel better, at the beginning, when things were still shiny and fresh and new.

Later, however, the narratives about “my cousin’s sister’s daughter’s boss’s niece’s best friend’s 5th grade history teacher did THIS, and it worked for her!” began to bug the crap out of me. I started hating it whenever I would hear those words … “I know someone who had trouble getting pregnant ….” because their successful outcomes were a reminder that our outcome had been anything but successful. After awhile, I just wanted everyone to keep their stories and opinions to themselves. (I tend to get a little touchy when I get upset, have you guessed that yet?)

And every time someone asked, every time I had to respond with a “No, nothing yet” it would make me more discouraged. And even more than the well-intentioned comments, which usually managed just to depress me, I was bothered by the insanely asinine remarks and suggestions that were made to us on a regular basis. It’s not like you can be mad at people for caring, and being curious, when YOU’RE the one who put it out there. But there is definitely a missing chapter in the book of social etiquette when it comes to the subject of fertility.

So, to help everyone out, I will share with you some of the comments that inflamed me the most, even though I was usually too much of a tight-ass polite to whip out the response I *really* wanted to give. Bear in mind, though, that I was a hateful, vile, odious grump of a person during this phase of my life, so I might have been a teensy bit sensitive and defensive. (ahem)

1. “You just need to relax, and then you’ll get pregnant.”

{All comments usually followed closely by, “That’s what happened to my aunt/sister/cousin/whoever.”}

Hands down, in my opinion, it’s the second most insulting remark made to couples undergoing fertility treatment. Also? It seems to be the remark that is made most often. It’s so patronizing that I can’t believe anyone who doesn’t smoke a pipe and have elbow patches on their jacket is ever allowed to utter the words. And yet, I cannot begin to estimate how many times that phrase, or a variation of that phrase, was said to me and Blaine.

Obviously, I can’t speak for infertile women everywhere (although if you give me a big-enough megaphone I’d sure give it a go), but the implication that I took from it, was the fact that, if I was not pregnant, it was ALL. MY. FAULT. If *I* could just relax, I could get pregnant. Never mind that I had doctors who had been to thirty-seven hundred years of medical school specializing in this very field, and that their recommendations and treatments and high tech equipment and drugs and procedures couldn’t get the job done ….. …. It must be MY FAULT because I CAN’T RELAX.

I would hear this phrase and the heat would begin to travel up my body until smoke came out my ears. I’m not even exaggerating. I think actual SMOKE came out of my ears once or twice. I could feel the blood coursing through my veins and hear it whooshing in my head, and my vision would sort of go red and fuzzy as my brain processed the fact that “Oh my fuck, they did NOT just tell me to relax!” I was so busy mentally preparing the snappy, sharp retort that would cut them off at the knees that I didn’t even hear the rest of what they were saying. It was like the teacher in Charlie Brown, all “Mwah, mwah, mwah” while I tried to get my blood pressure back under control. Then, because I am the worlds’ biggest weenie when it comes to confrontation, I would just smile and say, “Well, thanks for the advice.”

2. “Take a vacation, you’ll come home pregnant.” (Normal variation about how this happened to someone’s aunt/neighbor/boss/niece/whoever.)

Um, we took a LOT of vacations during those four years. Vacations with family, vacations to see friends, vacations just the two of us. Vacationing is what childless people DO. It never worked, and that’s usually what I would say, “Oh, tried that route, didn’t work .. but thanks for the advice.” Then go home and rant and rave to Blaine about how there is this stupid group of people out there who seem to think your reproductive organs become more efficient once you leave the state or cross the border. Morons.

3. “You need to just give up on treatments and let it happen naturally. You’re trying too hard. Once my sister/college roommate/co-worker quit trying, and told their doctor no more, it just happened.”

I actually had a comeback for this. At the time, statistics showed that 5% of all couples who discontinued fertility treatments would spontaneously get pregnant, without medical intervention, within the next year. You know why everybody and their dog knows someone, or has heard of someone, to whom this has happened? BECAUSE IT IS RARE AND NOTEWORTHY, that is why. If you attended a Resolve meeting, you would know that 95% of the couples in that room will NOT become pregnant if they discontinue treatment, which is why we keep going and going and going like a freaking deranged Energizer bunny, despite the negative fertility tests and crushing disappointment and continued onslaught of stupid, un-helpful comments.

4. “It’s hard for me to imagine. My husband pokes FUN at me and I get pregnant.”

Um, yeah. How is that supposed to make me feel better, exactly?

5. “Here, borrow one of my kids for awhile, then you’ll change your mind about having any!” usually said with a smug parental smirk by someone who thinks their child is perfect, perfect, perfect, and that they’re being funny.

What I wanted to say more than anything was, “Um, you’re right. That kid is a walking ad for tubal ligation, but thanks anyway.” But I never had the nerve. Then, years later, my brother- and sister-in-law told us about some childless friends of theirs who watched their 2 yr old son for a long weekend, than scheduled a vasectomy the next week. Although my nephew seems to be a pretty great kid from what I can tell, and I’m certainly not poking fun, I sure wish I had had that story to zing someone with at the time. Bottom line: I don’t want to borrow YOUR kid. I don’t want to babysit, I don’t want to volunteer in the church nursery, I’m not going to “get my fill” by working in a day care or being a teacher. I want my OWN baby. Not yours, mine. Who will be much cuter than yours, anyway.

6. “Forget the doctors and their fancy-schmancy ways. Go home, use a turkey baster, prop your butt up on pillows, and that’ll do the trick.”

I don’t even know what I should have responded to this, but that comment left me with a very unsettled feeling. And fear. Quite a bit of fear about what some of these people did in their spare time.

7. “I know exactly how you feel. It took me six months to get pregnant.”

Ok, um, no. Big fat no. Unless you can repeat the above sentence, and replace the number SIX with any number above 12, or 24, or 36, or whatever, you do NOT know how I feel. Chances are you’ve struggled more than me to get pregnant, or less than me, I don’t really know. But please be sensitive to the fact if your fertility struggles involved nothing more than three months of temperature charts, that does NOT equal what couples who have reached the point of IVF have gone through. If you DID struggle with infertility and want to say something supportive, this is what I suggest: “We struggled with infertility also, and I remember how frustrating it was.” Period. Then drop it. If I want to compare stories, I’ll ask. While you might think you are portraying yourself as a sensitive, empathetic friend, you are actually just pissing me off and making me jealous that yours worked after only six months and I’m STILL NOT PREGNANT, DAMNIT!!!

8. And (drum roll please) the single most offensive comment made to couples trying to conceive:

“Just adopt, then you’ll get pregnant.”

I … You ….. It … {splutter, splutter}….. Seriously. My spine stiffens and my jaw clenches and it’s like I’ve just chugged a glass of ice shards and nails when I hear this phrase.

Because to me, it implies adoption is something that is completely disposable … a means to an end. Like someone should suffer through *adopting* a baby, so they can get on to the important business of getting pregnant and having their *real* baby, the one that really matters.

Perhaps because Blaine and I *HAD* applied with an adoption agency, this comment was especially insulting to me. I always wanted to reply with, “And so then what? Once I get pregnant, I just give back the first baby because I accomplished what I set out to do?”

I mean, what is that comment even ABOUT????

{Could someone please pass the dip, to go with the giant bag of Ruffle chips I have on my shoulder?}

And let me reiterate the statistic from above …. Just like spontaneous conception after quitting infertility treatments, the number for couples who adopt, and then get pregnant on their own, is around 5%. Which means, if it happens to someone, IT IS FABULOUS AND RARE AND EVERYONE HEARS ABOUT IT. Which is why *everyone* knows *someone* or knows someone who knows someone, who “adopted, and then they got pregnant!”

I’m not talking about fertile couples who adopt, and then go on to have their own baby, either on purpose, or by “surprise!” I’m talking about this myth that an adoption will somehow magically solve the problem of infertility. Five percent. And the implication that someone should adopt a baby, just as a way to accomplish a pregnancy, is so insulting, so offensive, that I can’t even describe it. Not even if I used every word in the English language. Even every swear word.

And I used to say to Blaine, “Oh my Lord, I can’t wait until we adopt a baby and then I don’t get pregnant, so I can show all these stupid people that it doesn’t happen like that!”

But since the adoption agency we were using hadn’t placed any babies in the past TWO years, by this point, we knew the fertility clinic in California was going to be our best bet. So we started packing up for our move, and looking forward.