I got myself in some trouble on a message board tonight… a woman posted a question on an infertility board asking if it bothered others when they see children at the RE’s office. I’ve seen this topic so many times, and it seems that a lot (not all) of IFers (read: infertiles) with no children think that they should be protected from seeing children when they go to the REs office.

Now I understand and respect the pain of dealing with infertility and seeing a child, especially a baby. I selfishly quit taking Calista to her playgroup when the other moms all started getting pregnant with their second — and later third — children and we were struggling to get pregnant again. Every playgroup seemed to be pregnant or new moms talking pregnancy, babies, etc… and it just became to be too much for me. There were accidental pregnancies, planned pregnancies and even a pregnancy after a thought-to-be lost battle with infertility. And no matter how happy I was for these women, my own pain trumped that happiness and I cried inside for what we could not have.

So yes, I understand the pain that pregnant women or babies can bring when you’re fighting your own demons brought about by infertility. However, I have never understood this logic that some women have that the REs office should be devoid of children. First of all, the REs job is to bring children into the world! To me, an REs office with no children almost seems counterintuitive.

Second, the women at the office don’t bring their children because it’s a fun thing to do. It’s never fun to try to keep your 2 year old by your head while you’re pantsless on the table, legs in the stirrups and a dildo cam (that’s a transvaginal ultrasound wand) in the hoo-haa. I can think of a hundred other things I’d rather do than try to explain these things to my daughter, but sometimes, you do what you have to do, even if it means bringing your young child to the REs office.

As for the women in the waiting room who have no children, I would sincerely hope that they could view my (or someone else’s) child as hope — hope they they, too, will overcome infertility. I would also hope that they would realize that I’m not there to rub my kid in someone’s face. Like them, I am there with a heart full of hopes and dreams, hoping to leave with a uterus full of hopes and dreams. No, we are not the same, because I have a child and she doesn’t, but realize it or not, I do feel her pain.

But strangely, she can’t accept that I feel her pain. So many childless women think that having a child is the “cure” for the pain of infertility. Sure, in the beginning, it is. The immense joy and love you feel for your son or daughter takes away the years of heartache and invasive procedures. But soon, for most, comes the time when the longing for another arises from within and you find yourself yearning for another child. And in my experience, the second time around was worse. Not only because we had to endure so much more to get pregnant, but because I’d been there. I’d been pregnant, I’d given birth, I’d held my newborn. This time, I wasn’t just longing for a child, I knew what I would be missing out on if it didn’t happen again.

It’s like wanting to go to Paris (or wherever you want to go) in a way. If you’ve never been there, you dream, you imagine and you long to go. And then, one day, you get to go and it’s a thousand times better than you ever imagined!! You return home and for a while, you feel content. But soon, you start to long to return, and this time, it’s not all just dreams. You know what waits for you and you desperately try to find a way to go back. You remember the sights, the sounds and the smells of that amazing trip but it remains just out of your reach. It’s the same with a child.

Not only do you hold the sweet memories of bringing that child into the world, but sometimes — as was our case — that child is old enough to start asking for a sibling. I can’t tell you how many times I fought back the tears when Calista would talk about her “baby sister” she was going to have and all the things they’d do together.

I never imagined I’d have to face the possibility of not having a child as I had to when we first found out about our issues back in 2002 when trying to have our first. And then, once she was here, it never dawned on me that I might not have another… that she might not have a sibling.

The idea of not having a child is a scary, heartbreaking thought. And the idea of not being able to give your child a sibling, to not have another child, to imagine your child’s life when you are gone and they have no brothers or sisters when that has never been part of your plan is just as scary. Explaining to your three year-old that there may never be a baby in Mommy’s tummy is a talk you never hope to have, yet one day, you find yourself searching for the words that your little one might understand somehow.

Infertility is heartbreaking for anyone who suffers. Whether you’re the mom who has never been pregnant, the mom who has lost several pregnancies, the mom trying for a second or the mom trying for a fourth… your heart is broken, a tiny piece missing. A piece you fear you may never find.

I admit, when we were still trying to conceive our first child, I didn’t “get it”. I didn’t understand how someone with a child could hurt so much because, after all, they had a child. I am also glad to say I never chastised those women or devalued their pain in any way. I never understood how they could feel the pain that I did, but we all feel things differently, and until I’ve walked in someone else’s shoes, I cannot judge.

Sadly, I was later forced to walk in those shoes. I no longer question the pain a mother feels when she cannot have another child for whatever reason. I know that a mother — whether childless or with ten children — is a mother in her heart and without her children, there will be pain. The pain may change, but it’s there nonetheless.

I found infertility after having a child to be one of the saddest, loneliest times in my life. Many infertility message boards are primarily made up of those with no children. They require you to put disclaimers in your posts if you are going to mention a child, a pregnancy or a pregnancy loss. I quickly learned not to even mention I had a child if I wanted true support. On message boards with signatures, I refrain from posting Calista’s name or picture and remove my signature entirely if replying to someone who is not yet pregnant so they don’t see my pregnancy ticker and feel hurt.

As for “the real world”, few people really understood that there could be pain in infertility if you already have a child. You get told that you should be glad you have a child. And yes, you should — you ALWAYS should — and we are eternally grateful for Calista. But it doesn’t make you hurt any less, unfortunately. All you do is start to feel guilty for your pain and then you feel forced to hide it. You become afraid to talk to people at all, and you become isolated.

Thankfully, I have many friends online who have loved and supported me through it all, and honestly, I couldn’t imagine what it would have been like without the support of these friends (and some strangers, too). I pity those who truly don’t have anyone to reach out to in their struggles.

As for the battle between the infertile with no children versus the infertile with at least once child, it’s sad that we can’t just support each other unconditionally. But infertility is a vile, jealous affliction that truly changes us and alters our perceptions for an indefinite amount of time. I’ve seen women post that they “hate” pregnant women… yet they long to be one. Hopefully, no matter who we are, we will all reach the other side a better woman, a mother and friends.

I came across this video tonight that someone had posted on an infertility message board I visit. It’s called “I Would Die for That” and it’s really touching. Whether you long for your first or your fifth child, this video will move you. You can see it at: http://www.youtube.com/v/JqfGqOx2iDQ

To anyone who may be reading who still longs for their first… I understand your pain. I hope that you will accept that thought I am different, and though you may think I have all that you need to make yourself whole, I have pain, too. We are, unfortunately, in this together.

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