My whole life, I never thought I wanted children. I saw what the women in my life sacrificed for children and didn't feel that was in the cards for me. One time at a Christmas party my father told my brother and I that in retrospect, he never should have had children. It was hard to disagree him, though we were obviously grateful he had. I always imagined that if I had children, that would be the type of parent I'd be. I'd refuse to give up my career and myself, eventually running away from the whole thing. So my life continued in a very self-focused way.
When I fell in love with Doug, I pondered having children for the first time in my life. Just as he supports my every whim, I knew he'd be a fabulous father. It was a new era where I could keep working and he could stay home. Maybe that life would work. This feeling was fleeting because I was also deeply buried in a PhD program and a full time job that caused me such stress that I'd scream in my car on my drive home just to shake the day off. That was my normal. I was working out 5 times a week and even had a very pricey personal trainer to help me channel my stress and frustration into my best body. My career was soaring and I looked fabulous but mentally, I was in no state to care for someone else. I was barely keeping myself afloat.
Chicago changed my life. I found myself supported at work, making leaps and bounds without having to scratch and claw through every step. I wrote my dissertation in a vacuum away from my challenging classmates, allowing me to focus and prioritize with efficiency. While I missed everyone back home terribly, everything just started to feel quiet. My weekends filled with happy freedom for Doug and I. My bank account was growing, my passport was collecting ink, things were really good.
At this point in the story, I realize that I must ask myself whether I create chaos and how to stop doing so. Maybe? Maybe this next part was just the scale of life evening out? Who can say...
In January of 2017, I found out I was pregnant. I've always been a perfect ticking clock so we'd relied on the rhythm method. We'd definitely been playing fast and loose in our new easy life figuring c'est la vie - we're in a good place. So we embraced it. We had the space, the time, the money, the professional freedom. This was as good a time as any.
It was at this point that I realized how much my world had changed. Here in Chicago, I never worried that having a child would impede my career. All my senior leadership - our President, our Dean of Faculty, our VP (my boss) were successful mothers. If anything, it made them more human, relatable, and respected. I think this inherently different East Coast/Midwest mentality is worth a separate essay.
I made a Doctor's appointment for 8 weeks. I started perusing fancy furniture on Land of Nod and measuring out space in our spare room. I downloaded an app to track our nugget. I told Jackie. I imagined an artful little ginger running around and started apologizing to the pugs for what was to come.
I had some pain. The internet and my Doctor assured me this was normal. I had some bleeding. Apparently that's normal as well. I just knew that it wasn't. It grew worse and worse. Eight hours in the emergency room and suddenly I was back at home, no longer pregnant, as if the whole thing had been a strange dream. It's funny how devastating it can be to lose something you never even thought you wanted. It's even stranger to have to endure this silently. Women don't talk about pregnancies until they know they're going to be fine. Why is this? Why can't we talk about this? Alas, my nugget was just like me, refusing to do what it was supposed to, and instead stopping in its track to start growing at the edge of my left tube, endangering my life. Thanks a lot.
So we waited a few months and decided to try again. We were assured by Doctor's that it was a fluke. My Mom told me my Grandmother had an ectopic once and still had her afterwards. Like magic, the cycle began again quickly in May. I didn't look at furniture. I didn't download an app. I tried not to imagine that artful little ginger running around. Instead, I read about all the foods I should be eating and ate them all. I read about all the exercises and meditation I should do and did that as well. I told Jackie. I read about channeling energy and figured I'd try that too.
Like clockwork from last time... the pain, the bleeding, the trip to the emergency room. Only this time I was on vacation so I couldn't just go home. I had to put on a smile and sit with everyone's children at the family reunion. The medication made me nauseous and they said I shouldn't drink. I downed wine like there was no tomorrow. Fuck my liver. Fuck my whole damn stupid body.
This time the Doctor's didn't say it was a fluke. Instead, they sent me for a barrage of bloodwork, draining my tiny veins one at a time until my arms were bruised. Everything came back perfect. I had lots of eggs, a very healthy uterus, perfect bloodwork. They made Doug cum in cup and found that he has an insane amount of happy little swimmers, ready to go. They sent me for an HSG where they fill you with fluid and force it through your tubes to see what happens. No surprise, one was completely dysfunctional and the other abnormal. Typically this happens due to a number of factors resulting from prior health issues, none of which I'd ever had. The Doctor ran through a list of potential medical interventions that all sounded complicated and expensive. But what about my abnormal tube? Wasn't there potential for her? I received the go ahead to try once more.
It took longer this time. I think partially because I was less invested. Partially because I was so close to finishing my PhD and I was focused. May arrived and with it another pregnancy. This time my Doctor was serious about things. We weren't going to wait, we were going to watch. This mean bloodwork every 48 hours. My bruised little veins made me look like a drug addict but my numbers were climbing. I felt a little optimistic but I did nothing. No app, no special food, no daydreaming. I didn't even tell Jackie. Then came the plateau. My numbers took a dip. I started bleeding heavy clumps. The Doctor said it seemed like my body was taking care of it on its own this time. Good news, Nic... Just a plain old miscarriage this time. They told me they'd watch my numbers go to zero. I don't know if I even processed it, it was so expected. I headed off to Philadelphia to visit family and defend my dissertation, getting blood drawn along the way.
Like a nightmare roller coaster, my numbers plateaued again. My uterus was empty but like a determined little bastard, our nugget had clung inside a tube and was determined to keep growing. Another emergency room trip. Another shot. 5 days before defending my dissertation. No time to deal with this.
I passed my defense with calm and class. I headed home. More bloodwork. More appointments. A final diagnosis that I was simply born defective. The kicker is that all the time in my life that I'd spent stressing about unwanted children, it turns out that in the end, it was never actually possible.
All of the chaos of the last 18 months left Doug and I at a crossroads. Either we go back to a plan of a childfree life or we explore other options. In any case, the first thing that had to happen is a salpingectomy aka the removal of my tubes. Children or not, they only posed a danger to me and had to go.
That surgery is scheduled and makes me sad. Losing parts of my body is odd, even useless, defective, and dangerous ones. Anesthesia and surgery make me nervous, no matter how theoretically brief and simple it made me. I swear right now that if it kills me, my ghost will lament in fury for all eternity. I will become some sort of angry God that destroys everything out of spite.
As I wait for this next step, I have explored options and summarized below.
OPTION ONE: IVF
This is the route that my Doctors feel makes the most sense. I know that this is commonplace today. I know women that have gone through it and ended up with fabulous little fabulous babies. I also know that the reality of it all is far more complex. This is a tough one to debate because it has become so prevalent. In many ways, I feel societally judged for my ultimate decision that this is not the right path for me.
IVF starts with heaps of medication to turn you into an egg factory. Pills. Shots. Bloodwork every 48-72 hours. Multiple ultrasounds. The likelihood of gaining about 10 lbs from the drugs. When those eggs are ready, surgery to get them out.
Reality check: My insurance won't cover any of this medication and I have a job directly tied to the financial stability of a university that I can't just skip out on for appointments every other day. Eggs are retrieved and I've now used up 1/3 of my PTO and spent about $4,000. Plus a few hundred dollars in new dresses because 10lbs is about an 8% increase in my body weight.
Next up, Doug pleasures himself into a cup. Science happens in a lab. More bloodwork for me and eventually a procedure to put it back in.
Reality check: Another 1/3 of my PTO. Another $4,000. A 30% chance of implantation.
- If it doesn't take, we start over. If they collected a bunch of eggs the first time, maybe I could skip that part.
Reality check: Hemorrhaging cash. Getting fatter. Slowly losing mind from stress.
- If it does take, I have three months of continued bloodwork (Is this possible? Would I be completed exsanguinated by then?) followed by genetic testing since I'd be over 35. If my baby was normal at that point, I'd continue as a regular pregnant lady and ideally end up with that happy little ginger.
Reality check: Bloodwork and appointments would use up all my PTO resulting in my complete inability to take maternity leave. I could take it unpaid but I've already spent so much money on the process, now need a personal trainer, and still have to pay for all the expected costs of a child, this would be an unlikely option. Parenthood would begin with a bucket of stress.
OPTION TWO: SURROGACY
In this case, I'd still have to go through part one of the egg retrieval process but then I'd be done. Given my age, the likelihood of success would be greater in a surrogate. I also wouldn't use all my PTO for appointments so I could actually take a small maternity leave.
Reality check: $150,000 that I don't have laying around. Doug just paid off his student loans. This is the cost of a lake house.
OPTION THREE: PRIVATE ADOPTION
No medication. No appointments. Doing something good for the world.
Reality check: Close to the same financial commitment and issues as above. Also, I know this is terrible and selfish but part of the appeal of a child for me is half Nic/half Doug hybrid. I also have questions about the private adoption industry and who really gets all that money.
OPTION FOUR: STATE ADOPTION
I actually explored this option the most thoroughly. I figure if we're going to adopt, it should be someone who really needs a good home. Why buy a puppy when you can rescue an old dog, right? (Yes, I compared children to dogs. Sue me. It's all I know...) These children also tend to be a little older so we'd skip the baby phase, even better. Additionally, the cost is nominal.
Reality check: I discovered that this requires months of classes in learning how to deal with severely abused children. Children in need of homes typically have siblings and parents who will continue to be a part of their lives as well. I would love to be someone who could handle all of this but the reality is that I don't know that I am. There are also frequently travel and moving restrictions because of these connections and we know that will be a problem.
OPTION FIVE: STEALING A BABY FROM THE PARK WHILE ITS MOTHER IS TEXTING
Free stroller?
Reality check: I know, I know...
OPTION SIX: LIVING CHILDFREE...
Living childfree makes the most sense. Nevermind the rolling around in big piles of money like Scrooge McDuck or the ability to buy a yacht and roam the seas for years. It's not even about how perfect my vagina will stay forever. Living childfree means accepting now what very well may end up happening anyway. It means accepting my beautiful life for what it is and not putting myself and Doug through the physical, emotional, and financial strain of exploring the potential "what if" a future with a child would potentially bring us. Maybe our life would be better. Maybe it wouldn't. All I can say is that the last 18 months of infertility struggles have not brought me anything but stress, pain, and disappointment.
I know there's a lot of feelings about those of us who make this decision. Some people think childfree people are selfish. Parents will tell us we're missing out on the greatest love they've ever known. Women will say it's the best job in the world. We will be told the struggle and financial ruin would be worth it to at least try.
I don't know who will take care of us when we're old. I don't know who will inherit all my clothes, jewelry, vinyl records, and art. I don't know what I'll do with my money when I die. I don't worry about these things.
Honestly, the only thing I ever worry about is what if something happens to Doug. We really only have one another. As long as we both live very long lives, I have no question that life will be perfect. If I had a crystal ball to know that, I think it would eliminate so much of my lament over this whole child thing. It's funny because when we first talked about kids one of my biggest fears was that having them would change our relationship while my biggest desire for one was to save a piece of him were something ever to happen to him. It's ridiculous how much I love that man and the life I have with him. The fact that we've stayed so strong and in love through all of is incredible.
I might always be angry every time I see a crappy parent. I will probably never be able to feign amusement through someone's story about how it's just so crazy that they accidentally found themselves pregnant. I will probably always be judgey when people can only talk about their kids. I will also relish in every weekend where I can sleep all day. I will buy $1,500 red velvet chairs for my living room on a whim because I like them and they remind me of the Adaams family. I will get my hair blown out every week because I just don't feel like washing it myself. I will not apologize or feel bad for any of this. This is what I have. We should all accept our own truths, for better or worse.
These realities of my life as a childfree person are partially the reason that I'm writing out this whole story. There are many women like me in the world. No one thinks about this because we aren't supposed to talk about it. I'm supposed to get a therapist and talk to them as I navigate a world where I will always be othered as someone having failed in my biological duty. The assumption will be that I'm just selfish because if it was a physical issue I'd have relied on science or adoption to fix it.
In the end, I am a pragmatic lady. When faced with a challenge I break it down, explore my options, assess potential outcomes. I have managed to build a life with great joy at its core. It could have easily supported a family. It will just as easily support a life for two. Sometimes I will be sad imagining the other side but I'm sure that would have been the case either way.
We all have to choose our adventure and I hope that writing this provides some clarity on my own. I hope you'll consider this when we chat. I hope you'll consider this when you meet a childfree lady. I hope that if you're somewhere along this path, you know that it's okay to make the right choices for you.
If you're a parent, be grateful. If you're not, be grateful.