The struggle to conceive started on our honeymoon night. You see, we had tried to do things “God’s way.” We waited for 15 long months to have sex — until after we were married. That was what we were told was “the Christian thing” to do. No premarital sex. Despite the fact that we were head over heels madly in love, engaged, and could barely keep our hands off each other, we chose to remain “abstinent” because of our newfound faith.
Then, the long-awaited wedding day came, and we were on Cloud 9. It was a beautiful wedding and reception, with all our friends and family. Afterwards, when we walked into the hotel, I remember feeling like Miss America. I was so full of joy, I could barely contain myself — and so full of passion and burning desire. We were ready to ravish each other — and at long last, we now could! Or so we thought… In the blink of an eye, everything changed, and tragically, I developed an arousal disorder. I couldn’t for the life of me understand what had just happened. Simply inexplicable. I only knew I couldn’t respond sexually to my gorgeous groom’s touch. To say I was heartbroken would be an understatement. Here I was, married to the man of my dreams — my gift from God — but no sex for you! You’re kidding, right?! What kind of cruel joke was that, God? What do you do with that? Talk about an impossible decision! But there was never any question at the time — we both chose to stay together — we were totally in love. We were always so good to each other — we treated each other so well — and we remained “hopelessly devoted” to one another. We also carried the underlying sadness of the deep loss of a healthy sexual relationship.
We both already knew so well what it was like to be fully functioning sexual beings. We’d both had previous, fabulous sexual relationships before “becoming a Christian.” It never dawned on either one of us that sex could ever be a problem. Impossible. I was absolutely devastated. And so was he. Despite it all, we had a companionship that was out of this world, and remained head over heels for the next 10+ years. We held hands everywhere we went, we were as affectionate as could be, and were all over each other at night, but just like two big teddy bears. We just couldn’t get it to cross over into sex. Actually, he could, but I couldn’t. We spent from age 25-37 basically celibate. Seriously? Celibacy in marriage? Who ever could’ve imagined? Sooo, if you’re not having sex, you’re not having kids. Crazy, right?!
Also, 5 years into our marriage, we found out that symptoms of his rare genetic disorder had returned. Our limited understanding of the disorder at the time had been if you got through it after adolescence, you had outgrown it. Wrong. It came back with a vengeance. Who knew? We met with a genetic counselor. A little bit of knowledge can be a dangerous thing. Now armed with this foreknowledge about the genetic predisposition, how were we supposed to decide whether or not to try and have kids? So then we were left with yet another impossible decision to make. We spent the next 5 years there, in the land of indecision.
When I was 37 (nearly 38), and my biological time clock was screaming, we finally decided after 10+ long years that we wanted to try to conceive. Something told me it was going to be hard to accomplish, apart from the obvious (we weren’t having sex.) We then tried to conceive a few times, to no avail. Then something I had never foreseen, happened. I ran into an old boyfriend I hadn’t seen in ages. Something completely unexpected took place. I began to feel sexual feelings around him. I had thought I was sexually broken for life. But it turns out I was only sexually broken specifically with my husband. By that time, my sexual side had lay dormant and gone underground for nearly 14 years. (From the time I found my newfound faith, then met my husband 2 years later, then got engaged, and got married 15 months later — and had a celibate marriage for nearly 11 years.)
The new sexual feelings were completely overwhelming — and this guy pursued me relentlessly. I kept saying, “I can’t do this.” There was absolutely no way. I was married, and divorce wasn’t an option in my faith. Not to mention, I was still totally in love with my husband. Again, I kept saying, “I can’t do this.” After two months of daily, relentless pursuit, I eventually caved. “Losing My Religion”?? (To quote an old R.E.M. song.) If anyone would’ve told me I’d ever have an affair, I never would’ve believed them. It went against everything I stood for and believed in. My husband and I had been rock solid in our relationship, and deeply committed to our faith, as well. Everyone that knew us, knew that. But there was a weak link that I didn’t even know existed until I was presented with another option, after being sexless for nearly 14 years, from Day 1. Once “Pandora’s box” had been opened, there was no turning back. I knew what it was to be a fully functioning, sexual woman, again. In that sensual sense, I couldn’t believe it. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. So here I was, once again, faced with another impossible decision — whether to choose between my husband and sex. The man whom I adored, and promised to grow old and gray with — or the most incredible summer of sex I’d experienced in 14 years. Such an impossible decision.
My husband had forgiven me, and we were trying to make it work.
After two agonizing years of “Should I stay or should I go, now?” I was still at a loss. In the meantime, re: fertility, time was marching on. But I felt like I had to get the relationship issue resolved first, before I could make the baby decision. Another impossible decision. By this time, I was 40, and we decided to investigate IVF. What we learned through fertility testing was that apart from IVF, I would never be able to conceive with my husband, specifically — there was a fertility issue with him. They also later said that I had unexplained infertility. We eventually decided to pursue IVF, and by the time we did that, I was already 41.
I will never forget the day when the doctor called during the first round of IVF and said we had 9 healthy embryos. I cried tears of joy. I said, “I always knew we could do this.” I couldn’t wait to get to the hospital to “meet” them. When asking how many embryos they recommended we should transfer, they said “honestly, transfer them all — we’re hoping one embryo will take.”
Whoah, didn’t know that. Who knew?! I had always thought having twins would be great — one pregnancy, two kids — and maybe even end up with one girl, one boy. All total, I did 5 rounds of IVF and got pregnant on the last round. Then I had a miscarriage. I was done.
By that time, tragically, it was too late for my chance for a child — and it was too late for my husband and I. So, in the end, we crashed and burned, and ended up shipwrecked, on the rocks, with shattered hopes and dreams. We divorced — we were no longer married and we had no children. It was absolutely gut-wrenching. Grief on top of grief, loss upon loss, sheer and utter heartbreaking hell. Such deep grief that my marriage was over. Then grieving for that which never was, and that which will never be. (First, no kids — then, no grandkids.) Talk about disenfranchised grief. No sex, no kids, no grandkids — that’s my story. The impossible decisions were then taken out of my hands — they had been made for me.
Anonymous
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