Arpinder
My story, our story…this story…it seems to be one where however much I think I’ve closed a chapter on it, however much I think, and feel, I’ve reached a point of closure, that I’ve come to this story’s end, time, life, in its many unexpected ways, rears to stop me in my tracks. It reminds me that is not to be.
Acknowledging this, and accepting that the story of our, my infertility, of navigating life as a female, as a male, as a couple, without child, is the chapter we, in our forties now, currently steer. It would be amiss to say the life we have built, and continue to build, isn’t one full of love, happiness and fulfilment, but it is one that aches and twinges with, not regret, but supposition at what could have … and accepting what is.
Where did this story start…can I pin point it? Was Chapter One thirteen years old and struggling with a heavy period- something I never spoke about, never shared, never appreciated until I was in my twenties, recently married, full of naivety and optimism, but unable to conceive. Was it sitting across a fertility specialist ‘sensitively’ announcing my ‘uterus was not fit for purpose’ because it is brimming with fibroids- one behemoth- one not to be taken lightly…Was this where it began?
What ensued was over 10 years of relentless fertility treatment. From invasive surgeries (yes plural) to shrink this fibroid, to finally reaching a position where my uterus was ‘better fit for purpose’ and trying again, to discovering said surgeries had blocked my fallopian tubes, to then being told surrogacy would be the best viable option to us having a child, to wanting to try IVF regardless …to failing multiple times.
A time plagued with exhaustion and loneliness. The exhaustion of ensuring others- mothers, expectant mothers, assured well wishers- didn’t pity me, were not weary around me, ‘knew’ I was happy for them. Exhaustion at removing the spotlight of awkwardness away from our struggle, at getting into role, of disconnecting. Years consumed working to ease, allay, lessen others’ discomfort- with friends, with family, in the work place, on the street, in the supermarket…to myself. The loneliness of reaching out and finding support in others also traversing the challenges of fertility treatment, and then being that one- that person- who even after it all- was unable to conceive.
Where did I think it would end? With child, with children once…foolishly. Reaching the space to stop, you’d assume would be the story’s end. Far from, truth be told. Still plagued by, still navigating a world where my experience, and ultimate, choice to be childfree is if not understood, then judged and I am reduced. A female who doesn’t want children? A female who won’t go to the ends of this earth to have a child? A female who should of course then adopt? A female who dares choose to be childfree and yet still is saddened by the fact? The nerve of her. Still exhausting, still a challenge, and a story that may never end however naively I thought it would once upon a time. But a choice made, not readily, not easily, not meant to be alienating or invalidating either, but so I have found, unfortunately can be. A strain, a difficulty that we will continue to bear and manage. Our child free world, an anomaly in our wider circle and family, is one of challenge but our life, albeit child free, is still one we cherish and adore. If there was one thing I wish could be understood by our friends, families, colleagues, wider world out there… those of us who are childfree, have a story, hold a narrative to their choices. Listen. Be mindful. Be there too.
