Childfree by Chance: Moving On

by Rita Schnarr

Winter 2008

 

“How many kids do you have?” I’m sure many of you reading this article cringe when I ask this common question, the one we are all faced with in just about every social situation. I used to rehearse so that my emotions would stay in check while answering. I came up with some beauties such as, “Well, I have 2 cats that keep me busy,” or “We haven’t found the instruction book yet!”

 

Unfortunately, these replies always opened the door to unsolicited advice, such as, “Go on vacation, you’ll get pregnant for sure,” “Relax, you’re too stressed,” “Have you tried…” or the best one of all, “You have to do it to get pregnant!”

 

Almost a decade later, I’m finally at a place where I’m comfortable enough to respond honestly to the entrenched social assumption that we all have kids. I now reply, “I have been blessed with a step daughter and we were not able to have children of our own.” Period. I have found that my acceptance of not having my own biological children has made those around me more comfortable with me, and advice is now rarely volunteered. I’ve restored my dignity by learning to talk about my infertility without justifying it.

 

Never in my life did I think I would be writing an article on being “Childfree by Chance,” and moving on as a result. Let me explain my reason for choosing that title: “Childfree” versus “Childless.” In the book The Childless Revolution (Perseus Publishing, 2001), the author, Madelyn Cain, redefined childlessness by adopting the term “childfree” for those who are “happy with their state,” and “childless” for those who are “unhappy or mildly ambivalent about it.” My circumstances were described as “tragically childless.”

 

Through the years I learned I could continue with my self-pity, grow angry with God and my body, feel resentful, or be jealous of anyone who can get pregnant and have children. But I have chosen otherwise.

 

I clipped out a cartoon strip by Fisher that shows a woman having a cup of coffee while reading the paper. Her mate approaches her, saying: “I saw the e-mail from Alison. It’s hard to celebrate their good news isn’t it? We’re not seeing them anymore, are we? She responds: “Seeing Whom?”

 

 I’m sure many of you can relate to this cartoon. I used to say: “How can I be excited to hear about someone else’s good news over and over again? How can I pretend to reallybe happy for them when what I feel is jealousy?” The further we got into our fertility treatments, the more we began to withdraw from friends and family who were going along with their lives, having children while we weren’t. After awhile we withdrew and kept to a close circle of friends or family with whom we felt comfortable.

 

During the dark valleys of our long journey trying to get pregnant, we had the right to feel “tragically childless.” I filled many journals with my heartfelt pain and cried enough tears to fill the pond in our back yard. My counsellors would encourage me not to hold in the pain and communicate as much as possible with my husband and those closest to me. They reminded me that grieving the reoccurring losses was normal. I was truly “grieving the death of a dream.” However, there comes a time when you must determine when to stop trying and move on so that healing may begin.

 

But when do you draw that line? How do you know when it is the right time to give up the battle? I didn’t know how to “let go and let God.” Giving up trying to control something I had no control over seemed impossible. How could I break free of the routine of constantly planning our lives around when I ovulated? How could I stop hoping my period wouldn’t come? It wasn’t easy.

 

After almost a decade of labelling myself as infertile and being told by specialists that I had “unexplained infertility,” the decision to liberate myself from the image of being an incomplete woman did not come overnight. Let me give you a tiny peek into the hellish journey that my husband Mark and I have been on to finally get us to the point where we had to move on for our own sanity.

 

Our nightmare began in 1997 when I was rushed into emergency surgery with a ruptured ovarian cyst. The surgeries continued on through the years with five more intrusive gynaecological-related surgeries to try to uncover the reason for my unexplained infertility. Doctors could not understand why nothing was working. We had no choice but to consider in vitro fertilization (IVF).

 

Little did we know that we would not have a baby, even after four IVF cycles, 125 needles injected into my body, and twelve embryos placed in my uterus. Before the fourth IVF cycle, Mark and I made the decision that if we were unsuccessful once again, this would be the last time. We had to make this decision based on our odds, and more importantly, our physical, mental, and emotional health, which had taken a beating after continuing failed attempts.

 

During our last IVF cycle treatment in 2002, I had three precious embryos transferred, and when I got my period after 10 days, we were absolutely devastated. That was when I hit rock bottom. Deep depression took over. I never thought I could feel real happiness again. My hopes and dreams of ever becoming a biological mother were dashed. The vision I had of sharing my life with a son or daughter became a blur that no prescription could fix.

 

I didn’t resurrect myself from my near-comatose state in our bedroom until the third day. It was during that crash that I had to reach for whatever faith I still had in me and ask God to restore my heart and renew my strength. My prayer was answered. I woke up that beautiful Monday morning and made the decision to move on and make the best of my life even if it meant not having children of our own. We had tried for almost nine years and had forgotten what it was like not to be planning a new strategy each and every month.

 

I began a brand new journal focussing on the positive aspects of my life and how I could live it to the fullest with what I have been blessed. My husband and I spend a lot of time together as a couple and openly communicate our feelings. After going for counselling, we learned the importance of validating and acknowledging each other’s pain. We discussed other options such as adoption, but given our ages, adoption rules, and lifestyles, we decided that it wasn’t the right choice for us. After that hard decision was made, the book was closed.

 

Instead of dwelling on the fact we were still “childless,” we switched our focus from the “less” to the “more” in our lives. We had no choice but to redefine our goals and dreams and concentrate on the positive aspects of living without children of our own. We decided it was time to change gears and really enjoy our lives together as a couple.

 

We began to take stock of all the wonderful things we are grateful for, including a God who truly heals the broken-hearted, a solid marriage that survived the roller coaster ride of infertility, our health in general, great careers, being financially secure, having wonderful family and friends, and finally, showering our two cats with all the nurturing love they can handle! 

 

Our decision to be “childfree” was by chance notbychoice; we do still experience what we call emotional “waves.” These momentary spurts of sadness tend to come on special holidays such as Christmas, Mother’s Day and Father’s Day when we are reminded of what we hoped so much for together – an extension of ourselves. We ride these waves then move on.

 

I now accept the fact that I canfit into the pronatalist society we live in, where the general population follows the proscribed formula: get an education, pursue a career, get married, then have children. I am learning that the definition of truly being feminine is separate from fertility. I have come to love and accept my body the way God made it. Moreover, my husband always reminds me that we did everything we could possibly do to try and have a baby and we can feel good about that.

 

We take life one day at the time and have enjoyed the freedom that comes with having no children. We moved from the ’burbs, where we were bombarded with cul-de-sac kids reminding us of our loss, into the spectacular city of Vancouver, to enjoy a more childfree lifestyle. We travel extensively all over the world and take advantage our savings by spending on friends, family, charity and ourselves.

 

I extended my nurturing in other ways such as through my previous five years of volunteer service with the Infertility Awareness Association of Canada (IAAC) and other programs to further the development of young adults, while raising money for charity.

 

 Knowing that everyone has his or her own personal cross to bear helps me to accept my fate. As Charles Dickens once said, “Reflect upon your present blessings, of which every man has many – not on our past misfortunes, of which all men have some.”

 

May God bless you as you continue your journey, with or without children.