Infertility

We stood in my classroom, with the door uncharacteristically shut, right before the last hour of the day. My husband looked at me with a pained expression creasing the corners of his mouth and eyes and blurted it out, as usual not mincing any words.

“We got the results back. There’s nothing. No sperm. I am completely sterile. The doctor said it was the cancer.”

In the span of a few seconds, my world imploded. All the infinite possibilities of our future family were sucked in and lodged somewhere below my heart. We had been waiting for the results of the semen analysis for several days. It was really a precautionary step before we actively started trying to get pregnant. The advice of several friends, who had been through the trials of infertility themselves, prompted Brian to complete the pre-emptive analysis because of his cancer treatments as child. They always said there was a chance he could not have kids. But knowing that there is a possibility is very different than facing the reality.  My reality was looking at me, waiting for my response.

My immediate reaction was anger. The hallway was filled with the sounds of our impatient students waiting to be greeted for the last class of the day. I was appalled that he would drop this bomb on me before I had to teach a class.

“YOU ARE TELLING ME THIS NOW??” 

He said simply, “I couldn’t be the only one who knew. I had to tell you.”

I instantly felt terrible. He had to teach a class, too. Working in the same building- right across the hall- means that you can talk if you need to. Of course he shouldn’t face it alone. We both teared up and embraced briefly, but had to let go almost immediately. The kiddos in the hall were getting restive, more than a few curious faces were peering in my window, and the bell was about to ring. I took a deep breath and told myself to pull it together.  I picked up the fractured pieces of my dreams- here and there a soft baby with blond hair, one with my husband’s brown eyes, over there a little fist in the tiny image of Brian’s hand – and hid them as deep as I could so that I could get through teaching my next class.

One of the few drawbacks to teaching at a school that is more like a family is that your students know when something is up. They knew something was wrong; but I put on my best smile and greeted my freshmen with enthusiasm. Fake it until you feel it, right? We delved back into Homer’s  Aeneid, and I survived the next fifty minutes without collapsing into a sobbing puddle. 

At the end of the day, I waded out to my car amid the usual choruses of goodbyes from students and co-workers. They sounded far-off, as if I were underwater. I left without Brian. We had driven separately to school because he supervises an after school drum corps. I climbed into my car and immediately let out the huge, choking sobs that had threatened to overwhelm me earlier and I rested my head on the steering wheel. 

But I couldn’t fall apart quite yet. Somewhere in my mind, a reminder was sounding. Oh, yes- we needed dog food. Both of my huge dogs waiting at home were completely out of food. I knew I had to go to the grocery store today after school. I just hadn’t planned on this news. So, I buried my feelings once more and drove to the store. 

As I entered the store, I came across a display of pink and white cards, balloons, and flowers. “Say thank you to your mother.”   “ Happy Mother’s Day, Mom!” I read the titles that leapt out at me like accusations.

Not you. 

You are not a mother. 

Each one hit me like a smack in the face. I will never be a mother. I will never have my husband’s baby. Brian will never watch my belly swell with his child.  His children will never give me mother’s day flowers.  

Apparently, I learned the week of mother’s day that I would not be a mother.

Not exactly what I was prepared to deal with when I entered Fred Meyers. I grabbed a cart and steered it slowly, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. I meant to get the groceries I needed, but found myself staring at all the families around me. I never noticed how many women there are with babies and small children.  They looked as they always had. Some looked harried and hassled by the young ones in tow. Others slowly meandered the aisles with a sleeping baby in the cart, happy to have a brief respite. Some of the kids were cute and others not so much. It was as it always has been. Except not. 

Now there was no possibility. No maybe. No someday. This would never be me. I will always push my cart alone.

When I get home, Brian is still at work. I proceed through the mechanisms of the day-to day needs of my small fur family. I greet and feed my dogs. I water the flowers and the garden that we have recently planted for the season. I start dinner. It seems that despite my childlessness, I still have many things that demand my care. In retrospect, I am grateful for this. I cannot imagine having nothing and no one who needed me.

When he gets home, we sit on the couch and cry together for a long time.  Where do we go from here?