Karine
I never meant to be childless. I was one of those little girls who mothered her dolls and her stuffed animals. I had scores of these “babies” and knew them all by name and felt guilty if any of them ever seemed to get less of my attention than the others. It was a catastrophe when I was made to choose which ones would get to accompany me on family vacations. I couldn’t possibly have brought all of them with me, or there would not have been room for my brother and I in the backseat of the family car.
This intense desire to be a mother remained with me all through my teenage years and into adulthood. I met the man who would become my husband when we were both 21. We were married in 2017 when we were 34 and we hoped to have a family right away. We walked into marriage with the full knowledge that we might never be able to have biological children. I had surgery to remove a very large fibroid from my endometrium four years before we were married. The fibroid had rendered me infertile, however there were high hopes that its removal would restore my ability to become pregnant.
It took us a year of trying to become pregnant naturally every month before anything happened. Then I had three miscarriages within seven months in 2018, in May, June and the final one on Christmas Eve. My husband and I were exhausted, heartbroken and traumatized. Fertility testing brought us no answers, only more uncertainty and fear. We looked into adopting domestically and internationally. Neither one of these plans panned out, for more reasons than I care to get into and now, those doors have closed.
This journey through childlessness was never a choice and neither was the invisibility that comes with it. I do not think anyone consciously wishes to make me feel invisible. It just happens. Do you have children? People will ask in social gatherings. When I reply that I do not, people express regret. They will then often become uncomfortable and try to extricate themselves from the conversation, until I mention that I have dogs, two of them. Interest typically grows when I add that they are golden retrievers and I am then able to explain what I do with them.
My first dog, Skye, is a trained therapy dog. I volunteer with her at my alma mater, McGill University. She helps relieve stress felt by students and faculty just by being her gentle, kind, funny self. Skye became part of our family in October of 2019 when she was an 8 week old pappy. She saved me from the overwhelming feelings of solitude, depression, isolation and failure I was feeling after losing all our babies. The desire to volunteer with her as a therapy dog gave me a fulfilling goal to reach for when I needed it most and people are always fascinated when I tell them about our work.
Then, there is Darcy. I insisted on adding a second dog to our family because I often experienced a crippling fear of losing Skye to any minor accident or illness. I was stifling her. My husband finally agreed to adopt another dog when Skye’s breeder contacted me in December of 2021 to say that she had a puppy from Skye’s sister that she thought would be a good match for us. This puppy was obsessed with being the center of attention and the breeder believed he would be a good therapy dog.
My husband and I went out to meet him between Christmas and the New Year and he joined our family in January of 2022. I will make a long story short by telling you that Darcy did not become a therapy dog.
While he is very sweet and does indeed do his level best to be the center of attention at all times, he is also a big fat chicken. He does his best to be brave, but routinely fails. Darcy barks at many things in the outside world, including umbrellas, garden chairs that are not where they should be and people with sunglasses on their heads instead of on their noses. He also, much to my embarrassment, chases children on scooters if I fail to see or hear them coming in time and anyone who dares approach us on a skateboard. Poor Darcy would give Scooby Doo a run for his money, because sometimes even treats will not distract him from his fears. So, I practice a canine sport called agility with him, which does not always interest people much, but photos of him do. Darcy is a stunner. He is a big, 77 lb honey colored boy who spends most of his life smiling. He loves everyone, as long as they are not riding scooters, skateboards or opening an umbrella beside him. Darcy especially loves children and will gladly sit beside them and allow them to hug and pet him to their hearts content.
Sharing my dogs’ extraordinary ability to love unconditionally brings me so much joy. They brought purpose and direction back into my life. They need my care and attention every single day and the work I do with them makes me feel worthy. They help me share the story of my childlessness in a way that puts emphasis on my healing process and the slow reshaping of my life.
The fact that I was able to redefine myself from the person I always wanted to be into something completely different makes me feel brave, powerful and worthy of being seen and admired for what I am rather than what I am not. I am brave, resilient and determined to keep finding joy in every way I can. The sum of what I am is much greater than what I am not and I thank Skye and Darcy for helping me see that.
