I have to admit, there’s a sense of freedom in finally
deciding to adopt. No more wondering whether I should order a glass of wine
with my dinner; no more half giving up coffee; no more having two minds about
getting into the Jacuzzi or the bath. I don’t have to wonder anymore whether or
not I should get my period. No more taking a home test kit just in case my
lightheadedness or tiredness is due to eventual pregnancy and consequently, no
more disappointments after the first sign of my menstruation. Then remaining
hopeful that maybe it’s just the slight bleeding from implantation like I had
before (I had a slight bleeding for 5 days before I found out that I was
pregnant with Sam) until the actual period comes. Yes, I’m finally free!! No
more monthly roller coaster I seem to have been on for 6 years. The downside
now is figuring out the next few weeks, months or even years of waiting and
knowing how to respond to well-wishers.
Today after church, a couple from our community group asked
us how the IVF turned out. At the end of the conversation, I caught myself
saying, “Thank you for asking.” and Alan agreeing unequivocally grateful for
the question. They’re the first ones to ask outside our family and a few of my
confidants. I know it must be difficult to know what to say, what to ask or how
to ask in situations like ours unless one has been in the same or similar
circumstance. Know this though, asking or saying something is better than
avoiding it like a disease. It’s actually more hurtful not to say anything. I
know I’m Asian but I’m not very good at the Asian way either. You know, going
around the subject. I know exactly where they want to go, but they keep going
around the bush hoping that I’d catch on and bring up the subject myself
because god forbid if they asked, they’d hurt my feelings. If we have confided
in you, you have the right to ask.
So how should you ask: Now that you know that our IVF
attempts have gone nowhere you no longer have to ask. But should you find
yourself in the same situation again, here are a few pointers. First, don’t ask
a couple who have been married for years when are they going to have children (unless
you are close friends). Stay clear, you never know what the situation is. Don’t
wave a baby in their faces saying, “see, you could already have one of these.”
(I swear, someone did this to Alan and me. The lady had already been taunting
us about getting pregnant for years, constantly asking us why we’re not having
children yet, claiming that if we waited too long, it’d be too late. At a
dinner party one night, she took one of her grandbabies, waving it in front of
Alan and me claiming that it would be wonderful to have one of those. No, she
is not family. No she is not a close friend. No, she had no business. Up to
this day, I still could not be in the same room as that person). If you know they
can’t pregnant, don’t hide your own pregnancy from them thinking that it might
make them feel bad. Infertility is not something we wish on others and for pig’s
sake, we CAN be happy for you. But don’t overdo it by talking about how bad
your pregnancy is or how fat you look. Honestly, I really enjoyed being fat. If
your friends are going through IVF and they had confided in you, count yourself
both blessed and responsible. It is now your responsibility to follow up. “How
did your treatments go?” is a start. “How has the medications been affecting
you.” “Who’s administering the shots?” And for pig’s sake, don’t just ask, “HOW
ARE YOU?” knowing exactly what you want to know. Infertility or IVF is not
Voldemort, mention his name and all his wizards would come after you. When the
answer is negative, just say, “I’m sorry.” No really, that’s all you have to
say and rest in the discomfort of the silence. Don’t say more.
I know that it’s human nature to say something encouraging.
These phrases are not in themselves bad, but to me, they are actually more
hurtful.
“Don’t give up. Keep trying.” – yes, if I had a hundred
dollars every time I heard those words, we could probably afford adoption by
now. “Don’t give up.” All I heard there is “give up.” I may have realized my
limitations, and so did my fertility doctor, but I am not defeated. So you
know, we have not given up.
“Keep praying, god will provide.” – Now, this is a tricky
one. Like I said, they are not bad phrases at all, but my problem with this one
is that more often than not, God provides in a much different way than what we
have envisioned in our prayers. So what if I didn’t get pregnant? Does that
mean God does not love me, and therefore did not provide? Does that mean that I
had no faith? Does it mean that I hadn't prayed enough? I can’t take this
against my well-wishers and this reaction probably reflect my insecurities more
than anything else, nevertheless…
“You can always adopt.” – I can always adopt? Just like
that, my problem fixed. I can always adopt. First of all, it’s no that easy.
Adoption is not that easy. Secondly, adoption is not a backup. It is not a
second rate. For me, we are adopting because we feel called. Sometimes, when we
want something so bad and god is not providing in a way we want him to, we step
back and ask god for vision and clarification. Our desire to have another child
is still there. There are other ways to have a child. To us, adoption is where
we feel god is leading us. There’s a big difference and it is an important
difference.
“Have you tried…” – Yes, we’ve heard it all and tried it
all. Acupuncture, massage, yoga, getting drank (not quite tried having sex in
the back of the car or in a room next to mom’s though). Advising them only suggests
that we don’t know anything about the very thing we are suffering, neither do
our fertility specialist, acupuncturist, endocrinologist, gynecologist,…
“My sister couldn’t have children…then she finally got
pregnant.” Not helping. Just shot up and be quiet.
Now you’re thinking, “geez this is so difficult. I’d rather
just stay away hoping that we don’t come across people who can’t have children”
Yes, it is difficult and yes, that is why more often than not, we feel so
alone. The stigma of infertility in this society is so potent (as it was in King Henry VIII's time), its no wonder we
keep it to ourselves. I've had those super fertile women who are so patronizing in their tones as though being infertile means being inferior to them. Thank god I don't think that. No, the most difficult part of it all is that infertility is
a type of loss that is never really recognized. When someone dies, we have
funerals to mourn the loss. When couples get a divorce, there’s a document that
separates their properties, a document that finalizes their marriage. “Many significant beginnings and ending in our
lives are marked by rituals that publicly mark the transition and invite the
support- either in celebration or in mourning – of others.” Said Patricia Irwin
Johnson in Adopting after Intertility.
What about infertility? At what point do we mourn? What marks this loss, end of hope, end of dream, end of a desire, end of something I can't quite quantify? What’s worse for us is that we have Sam. So
technically, we can’t even claim to be one of them, infertile.
But take heart,
that is why I’m writing this.