I chose no intervention

Since I was a teenager, I had this gut feeling that motherhood was going to be a difficult thing for me to achieve.  My monthly cycle was frustratingly unpredictable, and I’ve always “known” that something wasn’t quite right.  When my doctor stated that I had unexplained infertility, it confirmed that gut feeling I had since I was a teenager.  I don’t know how many pregnancy tests I took over the years, but not one of them ever showed a positive result. 

Long before I knew that I had unexplained infertility, I had chosen not to medically intervene.  Going back to that gut feeling of having always “known” something wasn’t quite right, I came to the personal conclusion that if it isn’t to be, there is a reason why, and it is better not to press the issue.  I was of the belief that God, Mother Nature, and the Universe probably knew something I didn’t about my body, and perhaps my infertility was protecting me and my child from a very bad fate.  It was for those reasons that I chose not to medically intervene.  It wasn’t about the cost or the emotional investment, it was about trusting in a higher understanding that there is a reason why, and I should leave it alone. 

I’ve never regretted this decision.  I still believe it was the right one as I still know in my gut that there is a reason why I can’t get pregnant.  I have, however, been questioned by a few people about whether I really wanted children at all – I’ve been asked, “Do you think you tried hard enough?”  I don’t have to justify my decisions to anyone but myself, but it is hard to face the judgement of someone that hasn’t walked my path. 

People don’t realize every thought that goes through your mind on this journey – from the time I was a teenager, to getting married, to dreaming of having children, to the heartache of negative pregnancy tests, to the doctor saying it is unexplained infertility, to the weighing of hundreds of factors and options, to the realization that the only viable option for you is to be childless not by choice, and the agony of facing that outcome as you grieve and try to find acceptance.

My path to acceptance is mine and mine alone.  It is different than my husband’s path, and is different than everyone else in our community.  I have largely accepted my place on this earth, but I still mourn the children that were only ever a dream.  I am grateful that I have never experienced a pregnancy loss.  But there is an emptiness knowing that I was never able to achieve a single pregnancy, and the children I dreamed of never existed, even on a positive pregnancy test.  I know that choosing no intervention means that my children were only ever a dream…but they will always exist there.