I found out via effing effbook that one of my former colleagues is infertile. She is much braver than I am — she posted a link to Resolve’s Superhero campaign with a short description of their story (2.5 years TTC, endo and PCOS) and asked all of her effing effbook friends to help the cause by donating. Wow. That’s some serious chutzpah* right there.
I understand that the only way to get infertility into the public eye is to talk about it, and frankly any condition that affects as many people as this deserves to be treated as a public health emergency, and to that end I have been trying to be more open about our situation.** When someone asks me when we’re going to have kids, or why we don’t have any, I tell them we hope to have children someday (if it’s an acquaintance) and that we’ve been trying for years with no success (if it’s a friend). It’s a change from what I used to do, which is to smile uncomfortably and give a non-answer deflection about how I’ve got lots of performances coming up. But that is a long, long boat ride from what my former colleague did! I applaud her.
Maybe someday I will be able to be more open. I’m not even sure why I’m so hesitant. I think there’s a little prudish part of me that thinks talking about infertility is just like talking about my sex life. And while I actually don’t mind going there with close friends or on this blog, I’m not about to post anything remotely sexual on effing effbook, nor would I bring the subject up in casual conversation.
There’s also the issue of my husband’s privacy — with the MFI diagnosis, it’s not just my problem, and I have to respect his need to keep it quiet. So even when I am talking with someone who knows we’ve been trying, I don’t divulge the diagnosis. It’s a funny line to try to walk, and it makes me maybe just a little more reticent that I might otherwise be.
* As Michelle Bachmann would no doubt say.
** Could I have gotten one more clause into that sentence? Yeah, probably.