In some ways I envy the women who were in my position before the torturous miracle of fertility treatment. Lots of women had one child, or no children, and that was that. There would be tears and prayers, maybe some self-pitying wondering “Why me?” But there would be no choice in the matter. It would be out of my hands. I dream of such a lack of control.
We’ve been having these conversations for nearly a year now. We tried for a year before that, assuming it would happen. But then, nothing. Radio silence from my ovaries. I tried a drug called Clomid to “wake them up,” but they pressed the snooze button and rudely ignored my pleas for cooperation.
“I was talking to my boss, at work today.” I flinch at the mention of her; not again. She’s always trying to persuade him to persuade me to start IVF. I’ve never met her but I loathe her. It’s none of her business. But I promised in our wedding vows to always listen and never judge. I was twenty-four! I didn’t know anything about how annoying it can be to have to listen when you just want to have a glass of wine. But I did promise, so I smile and ask, “What about?”
“She was saying how much better things are for Alfie now that he has a sibling. He’s more sociable. Talks more. She thinks it’s made him more empathetic.”
I bristle at the implied criticism of my family setup from this awful woman. As though I’m raising a creepily silent future sociopath because I haven’t produced multiple children. I make a noncommittal noise and drain my wineglass, an act of defiance in the face of alcohol’s fertility-busting qualities.
“We should do it,” he says with a burst of reckless energy. I’ve heard this before. “I’ve really thought about it. We need to stop going back and forth on it. Neither of us is getting any younger. You turn thirty-four in two months’ time and the statistics for IVF only get worse as you get older.” He’s looking at me as though the answer is simple, I just need to get on board and everything will be fine!
“We’ve had this discussion before. We know about the statistics, but . . .” I don’t really have anything to say that I haven’t said a thousand times before. If I could guarantee that a round of IVF would give me a baby—that new member of the family we’ve wanted for so long—I would do it in a heartbeat. But that’s not a promise anyone can make me. I know the odds of it working. They’re not good and I’ve never liked gambling. It feels nauseatingly reckless to start IVF when we already have Theodore and I can devote all my time to him and I’ve learned to accept our family the way it is. What if I can’t look after him when I’m sick from the hormones they’d pump me full of or emotionally drained from the disappointment? What if in pursuit of another child I stop being as good a mother to the child I already have? Still, the desire for another Theodore, and to see him playing with a sibling, sometimes punches me in the gut, and for a day I’ll understand Anthony’s steadfast certainty that we need another baby.
I go through phases. Sometimes I feel determined and ready. I can do this. Send me the needles, shoot me up, strap me down. I will do anything for a baby. Other weeks, the idea of all of those people and objects and wires and things being inside me makes me want to curl myself in a protective hunch. No, my body says. This is not right. Anthony’s more prone to baby-induced broodiness than I am. A friend’s snuffly newborn or his godchild doing something adorable will inevitably lead to an earnest declaration that we should just do it, let’s do it, what have we got to lose? Like tonight.
What do we have to lose? Everything, Anthony, I want to cry each time. Occasionally I’ll convince myself I can do this whole IVF thing but I can’t do it flippantly. For a man so keen on planning, he can be remarkably gung ho about the impact of IVF and babies or, worse, IVF and no babies, on our lives. I need an acknowledgment of the potential worst-case scenario. I need him to understand how hard it’s going to be for me. Because, as with all things involved in the growing of a human child, it will be the woman in this equation who experiences the negatives. And that assumes it would even work; what if it was for nothing?
“I need some more time to weigh it up, think about the pros and cons.”