Dedication
To my Mother.
Who taught me to love, forgive and be compassionate to others.
Lost in a Sea of Mothers: Am I a Mother Yet?
By
Catherine Elizabeth Lambert
Smashwords Edition
Edited by Sarah Morgan
Cover Design by Patricia Field
Copyright 2011 Catherine Elizabeth Lambert
Some names and situations have been changed to protect the privacy of persons mentioned in this book. Any medical information mentioned in this book is written and expressed to the best of my ability as a layman. Please seek a medical professional before taking anything I have mentioned into consideration.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter One: A Childhood Dream
Chapter Three: Starting a Family
Chapter Four: Fertility Testing
Chapter Five: I Should Be Changing Diapers by Now
Chapter Six: Independent & Alone
Chapter Eight: A New Discovery
Chapter Nine: Surviving Melancholy
Chapter Eleven: Looking For Meaning in My Life
Chapter Twelve: Chocolate What?
Chapter Sixteen: Failed Career
Chapter Seventeen: Foster Care
Chapter Eighteen: Endometriosis: My Nemesis
Chapter Nineteen: Baby Stimuli
Chapter Twenty: A Foster Mother to Eva, Darya and Shurik
Chapter Twenty-One: Am I a Mother Yet?
I always believed that fulfillment and purpose in my life could be achieved through motherhood. Most of my life has been devoted to becoming the conventional mother I dreamed of being so many years ago. After sixteen years of trying, my husband and I were never blessed with children of our own. I’m thankful both my husband and I have two siblings each who were blessed with children to continue our family tree.
I searched in vain for books that would help alleviate my grief. Piles of books, hundreds of web sites and autobiographies later, I was able to find only two relevant experiences. But they were still less than I had hoped for.
When I had read one book about a husband and wife who dealt with continuous disappointments after trying several rounds of IVF, I identified with how the woman was feeling. I couldn’t imagine enduring the tests and treatments she described in her book and I was glad I avoided it. For a short time while reading I felt solace. We were struggling in a similar way. However, after researching her on the internet, I learned she became pregnant without medical intervention soon after adopting her baby. Learning that she wasn’t like me, I was heartbroken. I hated feeling all alone.
In the other book, the woman underwent several rounds of IVF and none were successful. She and her husband eventually became resigned to the fact that they would never have children and made peace with that. It helped to know my pain was shared by others. Our personal stories were related and I felt a connection at last. But she was able to move past it more easily because of her successful career and emotional stability. I could not. I had neither of those things.
I kept searching for stories similar to mine. I found very little; a few short stories on blogs but no books.
Most of the books I found on infertility and endometriosis were written by physicians who made the reading informative but impersonal. Because I never tried IVF, I avoided books written on the subject. I found books written by women who had one child but could not produce any more. I could not relate to those women either. I wanted to find someone just like me, but I was having a hard time finding her.
I searched for infertility groups to join, but they mainly supported women who had miscarriages, stillbirths, infant deaths, trouble carrying a baby to term, or those going through IVF. I could not relate to those groups either.
In sharing my story I hope to help other women come to terms with their own infertility and issues around being childless. This book is the one I wanted to find to help me overcome my depression and loneliness. My hope is that other women will feel less ashamed of what they cannot control and gain personal power in realizing that it’s okay to be different.
I looked around the room. Pink cupcakes, chips and soda filled the small island in the middle of the kitchen. Beautifully wrapped presents were piled high on a table in the corner of the living room, and women were chatting away in the background waiting for all the guests to arrive. A baby shower was about to commence.
I received an invitation three weeks earlier. A party seemed like the perfect thing for me since I had been cooped up in the house for four weeks with little outside contact.
As I looked around, I noticed that every woman there had a child or was pregnant. Suddenly I became overwhelmed and uncomfortable in this party I had just stepped into. What was I thinking? Why did I go to a baby shower? I looked around again, and I just wanted to leave before anyone noticed I was there.
But the hostess, another Navy wife, caught my eye and headed my way; I’d have to stay.
“Hey Cathy, I’m glad you made it. You can put your present over on the table.”
I couldn’t stop staring at her belly; she must have been due to have her baby any day.
“Oh, okay.” I said awkwardly.
“Help yourself to refreshments too.” She said.
I said, “Thanks,” and watched her walk away and start to mingle with her friends.
It never occurred to me that I would be the only woman there that was childless. How could every single woman there have a child? I was so embarrassed. I felt like an outsider. I had neither children nor a big belly to show off to prove I was worthy to be in the company of these fertile women. I wondered if anyone else noticed I didn’t have a child or that I looked out of place. I wanted to disappear.
I had been to several baby showers and gatherings hosted by Navy wives before and they always had childless women in attendance, but not this one. Not one other childless woman showed up. I felt like I stuck out like a sore thumb. To me, the childless women that didn’t show were the smart ones. I didn’t want to be rude and leave right away, so I stayed and tried to make the best of my difficult situation.
There were a few women I started conversations with but they were brief and the topic was nothing particularly engaging. One of the women asked me, “When do you and Larry plan to start your family?” I had to think of something quick so I wouldn’t sound too pathetic so I said, “Actually…I’m two days late. I may be pregnant!”
I really didn’t think I was pregnant but I was trying hard not to get sympathy or pity from the other women. I wanted to fit in. I was due for my second period since Larry had gone away for sea duty. It was highly doubtful but not impossible, since implantation bleeding sometimes looks similar to a regular menstrual cycle. I may have stretched the truth but they didn’t have to know that. I could not look all those mothers in the eye and tell them I was defective.
“I bet you are,” said another woman who was also listening to the conversation. “If you’re not, it’s just a matter of time.”
I wanted to believe her.
By then, my cycle had often been two days late. My body was continually changing and more so since my mishap two years earlier. I should have been more truthful with them but I wanted so badly to fit in. In actuality, I was only telling them what they wanted to hear. No one wants to be around someone that darkens the mood.
For almost an hour straight, I sat in one spot not really talking to anyone; just observing. I could have talked about work or hobbies that I had done but very few wives had a job or any hobbies because they were too busy caring for their children or preparing for their new arrivals. I might as well have been on another planet.
As I watched the guest of honor open her gifts, I disguised my discomfort with fake smiles and “ooh’d” and “aah’d” along with everyone else. As I sat there, I watched the expressions that came across many faces. Some had the look of familiarity, some showed disgust because of a past experience, and others just looked on in envy because they wanted what she had.
Some women already had children. And for others, their dreams of starting a family were coming true very soon. The seasoned mothers were giving advice to the new mothers and women still in their third trimester.
Most of the women were busy chatting away, giving each other advice on diaper brands, styles of changing tables, the best baby formulas or bottles to buy, different opinions on breastfeeding in public, breastfeeding versus bottle, c-section versus natural birth and other numerous topics of the day and life of a mother.
As I witnessed these conversations, I noticed that the corners of their mouth would constantly rise as they spoke, revealing how confident and content they were with what they knew or didn’t know and how their lives had worked out for them no matter what the stage.
Being there was hard for me to endure, I felt so much heartache inside but I didn’t dare let anyone know. I could feel my face blushing from embarrassment because I felt so lost in this sea of mothers. I had to save my sanity and go home. After two hours of self doubt and isolation, I politely stood up and made some excuse to leave.
The next morning, I woke up and realized I still hadn’t started. I really didn’t believe I was pregnant but I took a pregnancy test anyway. I couldn’t wait. I had an extra test I saved from the last time I bought a box. After three long minutes, the test read positive. The positive sign was faint but readable. My heart started pounding out of my chest and I paced back and forth around the apartment. I was so happy I couldn’t contain myself; I just couldn’t believe that I was finally pregnant.
Even though the test said positive, I doubted the results, but I was still hopeful and wanted a second opinion. I decided to call one of the Navy wives for advice. Because I mentioned the second line was faint but readable, she told me to check the expiration date on the side of the box. As I turned the box over to check the date, my heart dropped to the floor; the box had been expired for almost a year. I immediately felt embarrassed and stupid for thinking I was pregnant and for not checking the expiration date myself.
It was a false positive. I started the next day. I wanted to believe that I was pregnant so much that I ignored my reasoning.
My desire for motherhood developed from my relationship with my own mother. My mother was always there for me whenever I needed her. She did everything a mother should have done and more. Unfortunately, my mother never bonded with her mother as she and I did. My grandmother was not a good role model for her and didn’t care for her as a mother should have. My grandmother expected my mother to care for her instead of the other way around. Despite my mother’s turmoil in dealing with her own mother’s shortcomings, she was able to temporarily overcome her own feelings and stresses to care for me and my brothers when the time called for it. I didn’t understand what my mother went through with her parents until I was older. Now I understand and appreciate what she hid from us and what she overcame in order to be the best mother she knew how.
Having a family was, and is, the most important thing in life to me. I was greatly influenced by my mother and grandmothers as to what a woman’s role in the world should be: to get married and have a family of her own. My plans didn’t include a four year college or getting a career or living on my own. That just wasn’t who I was. The idea was old-fashioned for the 1980s but I identified with it.
My dream was not shared by every young girl. I did admire and respect the girls and women out there who dreamt for more. Becoming a mother, a good mother, was in my bones and I felt like it was who I was meant to be. Because of my respect and admiration for my mother, I wanted to emulate her.
My mother took us sledding, to the park, to the movies, taught us to sing, play the piano, roller skate, ride a bike, drive, read us bedtime stories, cooked us dinner every night, and loved us unconditionally.
My fondest childhood memory was when she made me a pretty pink dress for my 5th birthday. Late into the night, while I lay in bed, I remember waiting for my mother to finish sewing it. In the dark, she walked into my room to hang up my new dress. I couldn’t fall asleep until she did. I loved this dress. I wanted to sew a dress for my own daughter one day. That was a moment I’ll cherish forever.
I marvel at what my mother has achieved through the years. She is a beautiful, intelligent, strong, creative and loving person. She is my best friend; we have encountered tough times and rocky moments, but we persevered.
My relationship with my father was different compared to my mother’s. He worked nine to five at Bethlehem Steel in Baltimore as a computer programmer. He put a roof over our heads and food in our bellies but when it came to spending quality time with us he was lacking. During his leisure time he would watch television, work on his computer or read the newspaper. I had a hard time bonding with my father because he seemed to anger easily and that scared me. If I wanted his attention I would sit in his lap as he read, watch television with him or visit him in the basement and watch him work on his computer. Occasionally he would bring us all out on a Friday night for pizza. And, once a year, in the winter time, he would bring the whole family to Ocean City for our vacation. My brothers and I never got to swim in the ocean but we always enjoyed swimming in the hotel’s inside pool.
My father was not one for flexibility. He needed predictability, personal space and to be in total control at all times. He angered easily and was afraid of anything new. I loved my father but it was difficult at times.
My parents showed affection towards each other when I was very young but as I grew their relationship slowly deteriorated. My mom wanted more out of the relationship than he could provide. Unfortunately, after twenty-three years of marriage, my parents divorced. This never deterred me from getting married myself though.
Often, when I was younger, I would daydream and ponder the future; I wondered who my husband would be; what our wedding would look like, and I’d imagine having a child with him. To me, my dreams seemed simple: 1) find a good man, 2) get married and 3) give birth to two children, one boy and one girl.
In June of 1986, a few weeks after I turned fourteen, my mother moved me and my brother to Delaware to live with her boyfriend. It was great to see my mother happy for a change. My brother and I would visit my dad in Maryland on the weekends.
In the fall, I started middle school and entered the eighth grade. It was difficult for me at the new school since I didn’t know anyone and I was not very good at making new friends. My mother had suggested that I join the local Christian youth group to meet friendly kids my age. Some of the kids I met went to my middle school as well.
In February of 1988 we met with our sister youth groups at a racquetball club. Not long after arriving, an older boy came over to talk to me.
“Hi!” he said. “You want to play a game of racquetball with me?”
“Sure”, I said.
I was impressed by his confident approach. He wore a white t-shirt with a cartoon logo, blue sweatpants and black tennis shoes splashed with red paint. His name was Larry. I soon learned he was four years older than I and had graduated from high school already. He was awkward but cute and confident but not intimidating. Larry was very friendly and liked to joke a lot. He was definitely my type. We knocked the ball around for an hour or so and flirted as we played. Both of us wanted to catch up with our friends and mingle so we eventually parted ways without exchanging numbers. I didn’t think much of it at the time since he was so much older than I and I was probably too young for him at only fifteen.
Four months later, Larry and I met again when our youth groups took a bus trip to Ocean City, New Jersey for the annual Christian Breakaway Retreat.
My sixteenth birthday was in May and Larry turned twenty just weeks before the trip.
When our bus finally arrived at the beach and our stuff was put away in our rooms, Larry and his friend Joe walked up to me and my friend Debbie and asked, “Hey, you two want to eat dinner with us somewhere along the boardwalk?” In unison, Debbie and I replied, “Sure, we’re starving.” After dinner, the four of us spent the rest of the evening walking up and down the boardwalk getting to know one another.
The next day, I woke up with a terrible pain behind my left knee from walking the whole length of the boardwalk the night before. I would grimace as I tried to stretch out my leg to walk. Our youth group leader, PBS, took a look at my leg and said that it was probably minor. I most likely had just pulled something.
In order for me to get to the daily conferences at the other end of the boardwalk, I would need help. Because no crutches were available for me to use, Larry offered his shoulder for me to lean on. I was flattered.
As I hopped along with my arm around his shoulder, Larry and I talked and got to know one another as we slowly made our way to the conference center. He seemed genuinely interested in me. Larry asked me about my family and I asked him about his. When I asked him where he lived, to my surprise, he lived only five minutes from my home.
For the next two days he continued to help me get around. We ate breakfast, lunch and dinner together. Sometimes it would be just the two of us and at other times we would socialize with our friends but we were always together.
On the fourth day of our trip my pain was almost completely gone but I wasn’t going to let Larry know that. I loved spending time with him. He eventually caught on but he didn’t care that I was faking it.
At first I thought of him as only a friend but as the days rolled by I wondered if he was actually going to kiss me. He was older so I wondered what his intentions were. I knew for sure that I liked him because I always had butterflies in my stomach whenever I was around him.
During one of our conversations he blurted out, “Do you have a boyfriend?” I blushed and said, “No.” We both sat quietly for a few minutes and then he asked, “Has anyone ever told you that you’re pretty?”
“Yes, but just my parents.” I didn’t think that counted though.
I couldn’t believe he asked me that. I was flabbergasted. I never once felt pretty. I had always felt like an ugly duckling because of my red hair. I dated guys before but none of them ever complimented my looks.
“Well,” he said, “I think you’re really pretty.”
I smiled bashfully and said, “Thank you.”
When Larry and I walked back to the cottage later that afternoon, we joined everyone else on the front porch. We chatted a while with our friends and after some time everyone left except us. Larry did not waste another minute; he slid himself to the edge of the couch and turned to face me. As we locked eyes, he slowly moved in and kissed me. We were inseparable for the rest of the week and during the bus ride home.
Larry and I started dating the summer of 1988. He worked as a bank teller while I went back to school to start my sophomore year of high school. Larry encouraged me to do things I never would have done on my own, like get a job. I felt comfortable with him, trusted him, and he made me feel good about myself. He always seemed to know what I was thinking. It didn’t take me long to fall in love with him.
At first my mother was not happy about the age difference, but when she finally had the chance to meet and get to know him, she understood why I loved him.
Larry and I dated off and on, but we managed to stay friends throughout. I had never met anyone so forgiving and understanding as he was.
While dating I became a Christian; Larry had been a Christian for about two years. We didn’t want to have sex before we were married but we were so much in love that it was hard for us to abstain at times. Like after prom. I was scared I would get pregnant out of wedlock but we were careful about it, most of the time.
We talked often about getting married. I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him and to have his children but I was still in school. There was no way I was going to quit, I wanted my diploma.
During the fall of my senior year and after two and half years of dating, Larry proposed---and I happily accepted. Many of my peers and teachers at school saw my engagement ring and assumed I was pregnant. But I wasn’t. We were impatient and wanted to live together as adults.
The most opportune time for a wedding was during my Easter vacation. That way we could marry sooner rather than later without missing any school.
I had only four months to plan the wedding. Because we hadn’t been able to save much, family and friends contributed towards the wedding expenses. For example, my mother made the wedding invitations and my grandmother made the wedding cake.
On March 30th 1991, Larry and I became husband and wife. We had a small Christian wedding with about a hundred people in attendance. For the honeymoon, we spent the first night at the Radisson Hotel in Wilmington and for the rest of the four day weekend we stayed at a Bed & Breakfast in Pennsylvania.
After the honeymoon, Larry and I moved my stuff into his parents’ basement. Larry had been living the past year and a half down there and it was big enough for the both of us. We lived with his parents until I finished high school.
During the early stages of our marriage, we continued to use contraception.
In August of 1991, Larry and I moved into our first home together in Leola, Pennsylvania. We lived in a single wide mobile home that a local resident rented out to college kids. During the first year, Larry went to Lancaster Bible College full-time and I worked at the local convenience store.
Living independently from our parents for the first time was exciting for us. We were finally living our lives free from rules or curfews. We made love whenever and wherever we wanted.
When not at school or working, we spent most of our days playing board games, watching television or making love. Occasionally, we would go into town and explore the Amish country stores and markets. On Sundays we went to church. Our friends and family would visit sometimes, but not too often. Larry kept busy with school and I worked forty hours a week.
After a while, sex lost its luster because we constantly had to use condoms or spermicides. I tried using the sponge once but I had a bad experience with it so I was not keen on using it daily. I didn’t want to go on the birth control pill because I had a bad habit of forgetting to take pills when I was supposed to.
One night, while lying in bed, we discussed the pros and cons of having children earlier than we had originally planned. We mostly used condoms up to that point but Larry wanted to be closer than that. He contemplated whether or not it was the right time, but he felt it was worth the risk so we could be closer.
I, on the other hand, didn’t feel so sure. I wanted us to be financially sound before we brought a child into the world. I agreed condoms were not enjoyable to use and they tended to break the mood. Who doesn’t hate the feel of condoms? I’m sure a crying baby would’ve broken the mood even more, but I knew we would’ve been able to handle it somehow.
Yes, children were expensive and we had little cash in our bank account, but we were married and wanted to enjoy life and have enjoyable sex. It’s not sinful to enjoy sex. It’s natural and human, and it’s a sign of a healthy marriage. Larry and I had a good relationship and we knew we would make great parents if I became pregnant. I worried a little about not having enough money, but I knew our family would be there for us, if needed. We never used condoms again.
I didn’t think many months would pass by before I conceived. It was only a matter of time. A lot of women conceive in the first few months after unprotected sex.
Even though the thought of having children was initiated by the notion of us not using any protection, we soon took it further. As soon as my menstrual cycle ceased, we purposely had intercourse every day for the next two weeks. We were bound to hit my ovulation day sooner or later.
The thought of having my first child was exciting to me. Motherhood would change my life forever. I knew Larry would make a great father as well. Before long, my third and final dream would be fulfilled and my life would be complete; this was my destiny.
To increase our chances of success, I searched through fertility books looking for all the dos and don’ts of baby making. From then on, I was on a mission.
Larry and I bought a book of baby names because we were excited to choose the names for our future children. We both sat on opposite ends of the couch and took turns scanning the names in the book and writing down our choices. When we were finished, I was astonished the names Emily and Dominic were on both our papers. I was pleased to see we were in sync when it came to choosing names. I had anticipated it would take us a while to agree on names, but it didn’t. We had their first names picked out pretty quick but their middle names were a little more challenging to figure out. Eventually, after careful consideration, we picked “Ina” for Emily’s middle name which means “pure”. For Dominic’s middle name we chose “Bruce” after Pastor Bruce S. (“PBS”), our good friend and pastor who married us.
For about four to five months, we continued our rabbit routine. But, unfortunately, my menstrual cycle kept calling every month. Although we were disappointed and frustrated from the lack of success, Larry and I kept trying, though not as often as before.
After four more months of unmissed periods, Larry suggested I make an appointment with my gynecologist. Was it too early to think about fertility testing? We didn’t know.
Without hesitation, the gynecologist recommended that Larry’s sperm be checked first, because it was the least invasive part of the fertility testing process.
When Larry came home from school that evening, I told him the not so thrilling news. He wasn’t happy about it, but he understood it was the most logical first step. As soon as it was possible, I set up an appointment for him to go in and provide a sample.
After a few days of waiting, Larry’s test results came back; Larry had healthy, normal sperm. He had a good sperm count and sperm motility was within the normal range.
Great! So far so good, but then it was my turn.
When we first started trying, I never imagined I would have any problems getting pregnant, but then, knowing Larry’s results, I wasn’t so sure.
Six years prior, when I first hit puberty, girls my age routinely heard speeches about the birds and the bees. I was constantly taught how easy it was to get pregnant and, for a handful of girls, it would only take one time for them to conceive. After a while, I began to think if a boy just sneezed on me I would get pregnant. It sure seemed that way considering how adults would talk about a girl’s effortlessness on becoming pregnant.
When it was my turn for testing, the gynecologist recommended I get my blood drawn first to check my hormone levels. Two days later, the doctor called and said my progesterone level was leaning towards the lower end of the scale and prescribed Clomid to bring it up. In addition, I was to take my basal body temperature (BBT) every morning so he and I would have a better idea of when I ovulated.
After the first month, I learned that it was obvious when I was ovulating. My chart showed the infamous dip and spike fourteen days into my cycle. The doctor was pleased to see I was ovulating normally but further tests would be needed to ascertain my fertility. A woman is not considered infertile unless she has tried to conceive for at least a year. I was almost at that point.
While in the midst of trying to conceive, I decided to work on a degree in Office Technology from LBC before the first baby came. I truly believed I would get pregnant; it was just a matter of when.
In the fall of 1992 I attended LBC with Larry. Before the semester started, we moved into the married housing on campus.
After some time, Larry realized that the cost of living in Pennsylvania was too high and we needed to make a change, especially if we were planning to have a child.
Larry suggested we move to Plattsburgh, New York where he grew up. In Plattsburgh they had state subsidized housing for rent. It was much cheaper than our present place and would allow us to save money. In addition, we would be closer to friends and family.
At the end of the semester, Larry received his associate’s degree in Biblical Studies and I had accumulated fourteen credits in Office Technology. Before we moved, I applied to Our Lady of Victory Secretarial School and Larry applied to S.U.N.Y Plattsburgh to continue towards his Bachelor’s degree.
In February of 1993, not long after moving into our new apartment in Plattsburgh, Larry and I started our spring semester of school. We kept busy with our part-time jobs, studying and spending time with friends and family. Because I wanted to focus all of my energy and time on school, fertility testing was pushed aside.
During one month that following summer, I noticed I was two days late for my cycle. I had been one day late before but never two. I wondered if I was pregnant but it was too early to tell.
Day three rolled around and passed.
On day four, I woke up early and noticed I hadn’t started yet. Ever since I was thirteen years old, my bleeding arrived early in the morning and I was never four days late.
I was so excited; I was finally pregnant!
I didn’t bother with a pregnancy test because I knew I was pregnant. All the signs were there. I mean, there was nothing physically wrong with me, right?
Later that night, Larry and I went for a walk. Our apartment didn’t have air conditioning so it felt good to be outside in the cool summer breeze. It’s an added bonus for living in upstate New York so close to Canada.
During our walk, I couldn’t stop touching my belly and wondering if a child was growing inside. The thought of me becoming a mother could not leave my mind. It occupied my every thought. I was finally going to be a mother, I kept repeating to myself. I was smiling ear to ear. Because of my wandering thoughts, I had a hard time paying attention to what Larry was saying. I interrupted him and said, “I must be pregnant. I’ve never been this late before. What are we going to do if I’m pregnant?” I asked.
“I’ve always wanted to be a paralegal. We could move to Philadelphia where I could go to night school and work during the day. I’d make more money as a paralegal and be able to support you and the baby.”
His answer surprised me. “I didn’t know you had any interest in law!” I said.
“It’s the type of job I could see myself doing and it looks interesting to me. I like doing research.”
He never mentioned any interest in law before, but it didn’t matter one way or the other, it sounded sensible to me.
Larry was silent for a while and all of a sudden he looked at me and said, “You must be pregnant! I don’t remember you ever being this late before.”
“I know….”
But I had to know for sure. It was killing me not knowing. I planned to call the doctor on Monday to make an appointment for a blood test.
On the morning of day five, a Sunday, no bleeding had occurred yet. But, by mid-afternoon, horrible cramping started to develop in my abdomen. Around dinner time, I started my heaviest period ever. When I realized I wasn’t pregnant, I think I was more relieved than disappointed. Larry was pretty disappointed but happy to still have his freedom.
We had nowhere near enough money yet.
Larry was twenty-four and I was only twenty years old, with plenty of child bearing years ahead of us.
A few weeks later, Larry’s younger brother Michael called to say his girlfriend Cara was three months pregnant. I was happy for them both but I also felt envious.
Back then, I was fine either way when it came to having a child. On one hand I was sad I wasn’t conceiving, but on the other hand I was happy because we were both young and too poor to have children. However, I was baffled as to why I wasn’t getting pregnant since we hadn’t used contraception for over a year.
The news of Cara expecting a child stirred up my emotions. Larry and I should’ve been the ones having a baby, not his unmarried younger brother and girlfriend.
Because my spirits were low I called my mother hoping she could lift me up. When I finished explaining the situation to her she said, “You know, you might have endometriosis like I did.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot you had that.” I said.
I felt healthy and ordinary. I couldn’t possibly have the same disease she had.
“What exactly happened to you?” I asked.
“Well, a little over a year before your brother John was born, a cyst the size of a grapefruit burst inside of me and I had to go to the emergency room.” She replied.
“Oh my God Mom, I can’t imagine that!”
“Yeah, well, it was not fun. It was pretty painful. I had major abdominal surgery to clean up the old blood from the cyst and they scraped out as much of the endometrial tissue as possible. Afterwards, my gynecologist recommended that your dad and I try to have children as soon as possible.”
“Why was that?” I asked.
“The gynecologist knew it would only be a matter of time until it grew back. There was, and still is, no cure for it. When you were about six years old, I had another huge cyst grow back. When that happened, I decided I had had enough and told the doctor to go ahead and give me a total hysterectomy. I had given birth to you three kids and felt that was plenty and didn’t want to have any more painful periods or surgeries.”
“Wow! I’m sorry you had to go through that, Mom.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I’ve been pain-free ever since.”
I assumed my painful periods were normal; it was all I ever knew.
“I’m sure I told you about it at one time or another but I think you were too young to understand or remember it. It never occurred to me to talk to you about it as an adult,” she said.
“Come to think of it Mom, I do remember you talking about your sister having trouble.”
“Yes, that’s right; it took my sister ten years to finally get pregnant with your cousin Kristen. Your Aunt Lee went through several infertility treatments until they found one that worked.”
“So what types of treatments did she have to go through? I asked. “How much did she have to endure?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t remember a lot of what she told me. You’ll have to call and ask her.”
“Okay, well, I’ll let you go and thanks for telling me all of this.”
“You’re welcome, Honey.” She said.
My mother fell silent for a moment and with sympathy in her voice she said, “I’m sorry you have to go through this. I wish there were something I could do. I hope you don’t have the same problems that your aunt and I went through. Keep up with the testing and let me know how it goes. I love you!”
“Okay, thanks Mom, I love you too. Bye!”
This was a lot for me to take in. I hadn’t felt better after our conversation but at least I had more information to take to the table than I had before.
I didn’t feel compelled to run out and get testing done. I wanted to avoid the horrible news of being told I’ll never have children. I was happier focusing on school and receiving good grades. Something I could actually control. I couldn’t control my body and make it do what it was supposed to. Besides, we still didn’t have enough money to raise a child. Because of this, I tried not to think about it. I avoided my problems to stay sane. I didn’t want to dig deeper into the mystery of why I wasn’t getting pregnant.
One day, I stumbled upon an article and its contents hit close to home. The article was about the statistics of fertility vs. infertility. It stated that only 10% of women had problems conceiving compared to a whopping “90%” success rate on their own.
I was shocked. I couldn’t believe how high the conception rate was. This was not comforting or reassuring news. It was a strange and awful feeling to be a part of this 10%.
My girlfriends and female family members around my age were already starting families. I was healthy and I had taken good care of myself, I should have been expecting or given birth as well. But I hadn’t, so I was included in this very small percentile. I felt isolated and abnormally unique.
But, I eventually had to block it out again. I had too many conflicting thoughts and feelings. I didn’t want to give up, but I didn’t want to think about it either. It hurt too much.
I avoided talking to Larry about it. From my point of view, there was nothing he could’ve done to make me feel better. This was a problem he couldn’t fix. I also felt ashamed. What if he left me because I couldn’t give him any children? I didn’t want to pursue something that might have led to that.
However, Larry was in a different frame of mind. He wanted to talk about it. He wanted answers. In order for him to get those answers, I had to acknowledge what was happening.
After church one Sunday, Larry sat me down and said,
“Cathy.”
“Yes Dear,” I said.
He hesitated for a moment and then responded softly by saying, “I think you should start the fertility testing again. I know this is hard for you but we need to find out why you’re not getting pregnant. Don’t you want to know why?”
I sighed and eventually replied to his question.
“I do. It’s just really hard for me. I don’t want to think about this right now.”
I tried to be brave and strong for him but it was not working. I didn’t want to seem immature either, but I was.
Larry looked at me with kindness in his eyes and said, “I understand this is hard for you, but we need to find out what’s going on. If you do have the same disease as your mom, you should get it checked out sooner rather than later, before it gets worse. Do it for me. Make an appointment with the gynecologist this week.”
“I don’t have time to go see the doctor!” I snapped. “I have school during the day!”
Larry calmly tried to persuade me again and said, “I know, but you really need to go see the doctor soon. Maybe you could schedule an appointment before your first class.”
I sighed very loudly and said, “Fine, I’ll call the doctor’s office tomorrow.”
Tears started to run down my cheeks and I said, “I’m scared. What if it ends up being bad news? I’m scared that I might have endometriosis like my mother and aunt, or maybe worse. My mother and aunt were lucky they had children, I might not be.”
Larry put his arms around me. He kissed me on the cheek and then whispered in my ear, “Thanks, Honey. Everything will be okay.”