Better Late Than Never

Today I was catching up on the newspaper and came across this question and answer from a recent “Miss Manners” column:

Dear Miss Manners: My daughter recently had a miscarriage, and a relative said, “Well, there are worse things that could happen.” I thought that was pretty insensitive. Why not just say “I’m sorry”?

Gentle Reader: Why not, indeed? It is the only helpful thing to say.

What Miss Manners thinks is that people harbor the illusion that they can say something that will make the pain go away. The example you cite hardly seems to qualify, even for that misguided notion, but the speaker evidently thought it would be a relief for your daughter to remember that at least she had not been eaten alive by werewolves.

“At least she had not been eaten alive by werewolves” actually made me laugh. There is not much that is funny about miscarriage, but people sure say some “funny” (ie, stupid) things when they don’t know what to say.

Last week, April 24 – May 1, was National Infertility Awareness Week in the US. I meant to post last week, but never got around to it. But as in many things, I feel it’s better late than never. So here goes.

Infertility takes many forms. It’s just as likely to be “caused” by the man as by the woman (among m/f couples). Frequently, both partners contribute. Over 7 million Americans are affected by it. Treatment is not affordable for everyone who wants children, and even when it is a possibility, it brings its own dehumanizing baggage. Painful tests, undignified examinations, injections, and medical labels add to the stress.

If you haven’t experienced infertility, it can be hard to recognize. For example, I have two children, yet I am infertile.  I can get pregnant but most of the time I can’t stay pregnant. To put this in perspective, if my first pregnancy had worked out, my oldest child would be turning ten this fall. And if my subsequent pregnancies had worked out, Marty and I would have seven children. As it is, I feel very lucky to have two children. We never wanted seven children, but for several years we were unsure whether we would manage to have even one.

During those years, I certainly heard remarks like the one in the letter to Miss Manners — and worse. Even the medical establishment had to get a word in: thanks to the recurrent miscarriages I experienced in my 30s, I was medically labeled a “habitual aborter,” which sounds like something very different from what it was. But at the same time, I received such wonderful support from friends who were also struggling with infertility, and from others who cared. I’m nearly as grateful for that support as I am for my boys. Simply knowing I was not alone helped tremendously.

I don’t have a lot to add to what so many others posted about infertility last week.  But I do feel it’s important to talk about infertility, to let people know that it happens. If it is happening to you, or to someone you know, there are resources out there that can help. Visit RESOLVE today.