Category Archives: Husbands

Infertility is hard, family can be insensitive, yet in life there’s always a “Cherry” on top

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Here are three things that I know: (1) Marriage, mixed with infertility–like a dangerously exotic drink at a seedy roadside bar–is not for the faint of heart; (2) Family, never having experienced infertility, can be unintentionally hurtful and insensitive; and (3) Life often feels too busy and too full with the years whirling by in a home where the nursery sits empty. And here is one important lesson that a three-and-five-year-old and their four-month-old sister taught me; at the end of the day none of those matters and there’s always a “Cherry” on top.

As part of our adoption process we had to spend the afternoon/evening with a newborn. A dear friend of mine was generous enough to offer her little one up, and we insisted on watching their other two so that they could get a romantic evening out alone together.

By the end of the night I was in love.

I was in love with the way their three-year-old had to first take his shirt off so that he could “box” his brother on the x-box. I was in love with the way their five-year-old soaked in every ounce of me rubbing his back–inquiring into whether we could spend the night–while my husband read bedtime stories. And I was in love with how their four-month-old laughed hysterically at her brothers, and then cuddled in and fell asleep on my shoulder.

I was also however in love with the “Cherry” on top–my husband. Of course I always love him, however the sweetness of this tiny person smiling away as he held her made me only love him more. And so, dubbed “Cherry” by the three-year-old, who was unable to pronounce his name, I found my “Cherry” on top.

Yes, there have been times when infertility felt like just too much to bear. There have been times when I was ready to throw all of the adoption paperwork into the trash–overwhelmed by all that we need to do and all we that we have to share with complete strangers to be dubbed “acceptable parents.” And there have been times when family members have unknowingly deeply hurt me, so immersed in their own joys and never considering how I might feel. Those things are like heavy weights at the bottom of lead boots. They have made me angry, tearful, and exasperated.

Yet in the end, there really is a “Cherry” on top and soon where there was two, there will be three, and nothing else will matter.

Infertility and fear, oh the fear: Are there Thundershirts for humans?

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My dog Sophie hates the thunder, she shudders from the lightening, and she crawls under the covers and as close to me as possible when a storm rolls in.

And so she now has her very own Thundershirt, and it actually does work. Go figure!

This miracle of calm in the midst of a storm makes me wonder: Are there Thundershirts for humans?

Infertility is a scary passageway. The doctors appointments. The long waits for test results. The array of options before us. The choices, so many choices.

And even when we decide to try the procedure, to begin the process of adopting, or to embrace our life as beautiful just the way it is, it’s down right scary!

As my husband and I complete our gigantic stack of adoption paperwork, as we de-wallpaper, prime, and paint the room that will be our nursery, as we navigate the always unchartered waters of marital disagreement, I’m scared and I need a Thundershirt!

What will I do if the adoption is disrupted? What will I do when the baby won’t stop crying and I (quite clearly to her/him not their mother) can do nothing to soothe them? How will we handle an argument when there are little ears listening? What if I fall so in love that the thought of returning to work becomes unthinkable? And what if I don’t?

And so the thunder of infertility gets louder and louder, and the lightening strikes come closer. And unfortunately, they don’t make Thundershirts for humans.

Unlike my dog Sophie, we must crawl out from under the covers, throw open the blackout shades, and face the storm outside. Because when we stand firm in ourselves in the midst of the storm, we soon find that the pounding rain is letting up, and the ominous skies are turning blue.

When we gather our courage to face the storm, we will one day find that we have survived the darkest night and that our rainbow looms just around the corner. But only if we are brave enough to look out–otherwise we will always remained tucked in under the cover of our fear.

Infertility, marriage and stored up hurts: Sometimes the hurt is so big that no band aid can cover it

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Sometimes we have hurts in our lives, hurts that have grown into the size of the Grand Canyon. They get that big because the same spot has been struck with the hot iron of unintended disappointment time and time again, by many different people in our lives.

Sometimes we have hurts that are so big; no band aid can cover them over.

Unfortunately, what happens with those hurts is that we learn to wince any and every time an unassuming perpetrator comes anywhere near their tender thin skin. And when that person touches the skin so deeply bruised that the purple no longer shows anymore, we strike out like a tiger backed into a corner.

You see there are places in us, places of stored up hurt, places of stored up disappointments, places that catalogue, no matter how much we think we’ve forgotten/forgiven/let go, the hurts that never really leave us. I do not mean the little day to day arguments or disappointments, I mean that one “hot button” that goes through us all the way back to when we were little people whose clean slate was marked by a hurt, that we in turn believed meant that we were not loved, we were not safe, we were not worthy.

We all have them. And we all usually locate them as adults in our most intimate relationships because those are the people whom we let in past the armor. And when those we have secretly labeled as “Saint” punch through the thinned skin, the pain we feel is magnified times all of the years in which evidence was gathered as to the story beneath the hurt–you don’t love me, you don’t find me worthy, you don’t treat me like I’m deserving (i.e., I’m not lovable, I’m not worthy, I’m not deserving).

Quite simply, OUCH!

Because we are human, in those moments we may react with anger, we may react with tears; we may react by running away. And the beauty of relationships is that the person, who, usually unintentionally, punched the bruise, finds their own bruise punched by our response.

And the cycle swirls on and on.

So how do we stop this cycle? How do we heal a hurt so big that no sufficient band aid exists to cover it?

We love ourselves through the pain. We remind ourselves that we are lovable, we are worthy, we are deserving. And we let others off the hook.

We move past our emotions, those same ones that have been there since childhood, and use our words. Because the true healing comes when we can tell another person ”this spot, this one right here, it hurts me, it hurts me a lot. And though I don’t believe that you meant to hurt me in that same place, you did. And when you did, I told myself that you don’t love me (i.e., I am not lovable), that you don’t think I am deserving (i.e., I am not deserving), and that you don’t think I am worthy (i.e., I am not worthy).

True healing comes not from a band aid, but from exposing the wound to the open air. Only then can a scab finally begin to form.