Infertility Bites

Infertile, Trying to Conceive, and Forty-One Years Old – Ain't THAT a Bummer!?!

Ugh – it’s official, folks February 4, 2008

Yup, it’s definitely official…vamplita saw her shadow on February 2nd.  I’m now forty years old.  Too old to become pregnant and give birth if you’ve read any of the pregnancy literature written before 2000.  Still, because our society is waiting longer and longer to try to have children, so people began to reconsider whether or not having a baby was something a woman could do later in life. 

Technology is constantly finding new medical breakthroughs, so I felt much better when my RE told me that I shouldn’t have any problems having a child if I do become pregnant.  She said that I would probably have to watch what I eat, and that I would probably be considered a high-risk pregnancy because of my age.  Of course, that’s if I get pregnant at all.  Sigh…only a few more days before I find out if this month’s efforts episode was successful. 

Although I ought to be able to carry a baby to full term, there’s still the stigma of having a child after the age of 35 to contend with.  People look at me as if I’m trying to grow a third eye in the middle of my forehead when I tell them I’m trying to get pregnant at this age.  “Why would you possibly want a child now?”  Gee, I dunno…maybe because I couldn’t have one sooner, not that we haven’t been trying…  “Aren’t you a little old to try to have kids now?”  Well, schmartypants, my doctor doesn’t seem to think so, thankyouverymuch.  “You know, if you just lost some weight, you’d probably get pregnant.”  Again, thanks for the oh-so-sage words of advice.  I’ve gained and lost and gained and lost countless times during my marriage, recently losing 70 pounds.  Still no baby.  I really appreciate you bringing up something that I’m more than aware about, though.  It’s not like I don’t wake up with myself every frickin’ morning, and go to bed with myself every frickin’ night.  I believe I’ve noticed that I’m overweight, but thanks again for mentioning it to me, Ms. Obvious.  That really means a lot.     

At least this last time F and I went to visit his family for Christmas I didn’t get the snide comments and hurtful remarks like in the past.  Every other Christmas, all of his immediate family gets together to spend the holidays together.  We’ve traveled to North Carolina, Washington state, New Jersey, and Florida for past holidays.  This year, we went back to North Carolina, to a lovely beachhouse on Ocean Isle Beach. 

Apparently, someone told his family to take it easy on me this year.  Until this past Christmas, every year since we’ve been married, every conversation I had with his family ended with the question of when we were going to have children.  “I’m not sure,” I’d answer, “whenever the good Lord blesses us, I suppose.” 

Then, F’s youngest brother and his wife decided that we were having a Baby Race.  F and I have lost miserably, at least three times over.  They’re the proud parents of a son and two little daughters.  We’re still waiting for one of either flavor.  As long as it’s healthy, I wouldn’t really care what it was.  Hell’s bells, this particular sister-in-law stole my potential baby name for a girl, Lindsay.  She named her first daughter Lindsay Len…ugh.  Nah.  I wasn’t pissed, nor am I now… yeah, right. 

Each time we talk to them, we get the same song and dance from the sister-in-law, “You just don’t know how hard I have it, with three kids.  I’m tired all the time.  You guys have it easy.”  Insensitive, much?? 

At least her husband is more understanding, sorta.  It’s kind of funny; when he was getting ready to go have a vasectomy, he had the nerve to ask his own brother if he wanted some of his sperm, in case F’s swimmers were the issue.  Wow.  I was floored.  We politely refused his generous (?!?) offer.   

After each Christmas, names are drawn within F’s family for the following year’s gift giving.  There are two lists; each adult provides a gift for the adult whose name was chosen for them, and each child does the same for another child.  Five Christmases ago, our unborn, unconceived child was put on the list of children for the next year, thanks to that same insensitive sister-in-law, and a couple of nieces.  Geez, that made me feel great – no pressure there!!  Needless to say, no child of ours existed when the next Christmas rolled around.  You know, the crappy thing is that they probably forgot all about it after bringing it up that day – I haven’t, and probably never will. 

Small wonder I had some degree of trepidation when it came to going to North Carolina for the holidays this past Christmas.  I just didn’t think I could take another comment from my mother-in-law, wanting more grandchildren, and especially wondering when we were going to make her a grandmother again.  I was dreading the “woe is me” attitude from the youngest sister-in-law, stating that we had no idea how hard it was to be a parent. 

F was the last of his siblings to get married, and he’s the last of his siblings to have children.  Don’t think that we don’t hear about it, either.  Or at least we’d heard about it during holidays past.  Not this time around!  I’m not sure who sent out the memo, but not a word was spoken about it this past time.  Perhaps it was because I’d started going to an RE, and they knew it.  Maybe it was because I wound up in the hospital due to female problems and they wrote off the chance that we’d ever have children of our own after that.  Frankly, I don’t know, and don’t bloody care.  I was just grateful for the reprieve.