For this round of the Barren Bitches Book Tour (graciously organized by the ever-amazing Mel over at Stirrup Queens and Sperm Palace Jesters)), we read
- The Time Traveler’s Wife
by Audrey Niffenegger. Below are the three questions I chose to discuss.
In the “TTW” the main character can at times, know what happens in the future, even though he can’t change it. In terms of infertility, I often wonder if I had been able to know what the end result of all this would be if I could be at peace with it, even if I couldn’t change it. How do you feel about that? If you could know what was going to happen sometime in the future in regards to your IF would you choose to know and not be able to change it, or continue the way you are and get to that place unaware of the final destination?
Personally, I think one of the most difficult aspects of infertility is the not knowing. We make such a huge investment of time, energy, emotions, and money on a gamble in which the odds are, more often than not, stacked against us. There are so many times when I wish I could just look in my crystal ball and know if, at some point, this will work. I don’t need to know when, I just want to know if, so that if the answer is, no, you are never going to get pregnant, I could mourn that and move on. Or if the answer is yes, I could face the seemingly endless shots and sonos and blood draws, the cups and catheters, the early morning appointments and the weight gain, knowing that EVENTUALLY, SOMEDAY, I’d get to see those two lines on a stick, I’d get to say that phrase, “Honey, we’re pregnant.” Hope is so fragile and so easily lost in this process, that knowing even the vaguest hint of what the future holds, getting the information to move on to something else or to keep trying would be priceless.
If you were to travel to emotionally important events and even play different roles in these events, such as Henry did throughout the book, which event(s) would you revisit? These events could be ones you’d want to revisit, or not. In terms of my infertility? I’d go back to 6th grade, I’d tell myself that those cramps so strong I couldn’t stand up, that made my legs ache weren’t normal or right. I’d try to make myself understand that nothing is more important than making sure doctors listen and understand. I’d go back to my last semester of college, when I stopped taking the birth control pills that lessened the cramps, but gave me migraines for the first time. I’d make sure I worried less about the pregnancy tests and focused more on the periods I stopped getting. I’d tell myself that the silverback male ob-gyn who dismissed my concerns about having gone more than 6 months without a period by saying, “I don’t understand you women. You complain about having a period, then you complain when you don’t have one. I’d think you’d be happy.” was an unmitigated ass and I shouldn’t listen to him when he tells me to just start taking birth control pills again. I’d push harder for explanations on why the tests of my hormone levels came back with results outside of normal parameters. I’d question why doctors thought my thyroid was hypoactive but the treatment didn’t do any good. I’d go back to every single one of those appointments when another doctor said, “Just take provera every so often to get a period” and make myself stand up and demand tests, explanations, concern for the fact that things WEREN’T normal and shouldn’t be ignored or dismissed. It took me too long to learn that no one knows my body as well as I do and that no one can be an advocate for me as well as I can. I still fight against that idea that a white coat makes one infallible and stand up for what I know in my gut.
There were several ways in which Clare and Henry’s experience of infertility (and pregnancy after infertility) rang true – in their individual reactions, in their joint reaction as a couple, and in their interactions with the outside world. Choose one or two specific examples and relate them to your personal experience.
The one moment in the novel which resonated most strongly with me, in terms of infertility actually takes place before Clare ever gets pregnant. In the chapter titled “A very small shoe,” Clare says, “When Henry and I had been married for about two years we decided, without talking about it very much, to see if we could have a baby. I knew that Henry was not at all optimistic about our chances of having a baby and I was not asking him or myself why this might be because I was afraid that he had seen us in the future without any baby and I just didn’t want to know about that. And I didn’t want to think about the possibility that Henry’s difficulties with time travel might be hereditary or somehow mess up the whole baby thing, as it were…I was completely drunk with the notion of a baby: a baby that looked sort of like Henry, black hair and those intense eyes and maybe very pale like me and smelled like milk and talcum powder and skin…I would dream about babies.” Ok, so S and I had been married about 7 years before we felt ready to take that step, and we DID talk about it very much. I knew it wouldn’t be easy. I had deep, hidden fears that I’d never be able to get pregnant. But I wanted it so bad, I couldn’t think about anything else. I wanted to see our features combined in one little face. I couldn’t think, still can’t, of anything better than creating a blend of both of us and I was and still am so afraid that it just wouldn’t happen, because of me, because of my “difficulties.” This urge, it becomes a compulsion. There are times when all I can hear in my brain is “babybabybabybaby,” times when it seems like everywhere I look there are mothers and fathers and babies, pregnant women and doting husbands, and then there’s me and S and it just doesn’t feel complete anymore.
Hop along to another stop on this blog tour by visiting the main list at http://stirrup-queens.blogspot.com/ . You can also sign up for the next book on this online book club: Waiting for Daisy by Peggy Orenstein.
I really enjoyed reading your post. I was in the same group with you, though only chose one of the same questions as you.
I’m not convinced that I would want to know the end result of my infertility struggle. On the one hand I keep thinking, “If only I knew at the end I would definitely have a healthy baby… I could keep going.” I realize that means that the opposite must be true, “If only I knew this would never work, I wouldn’t bother.” As painful as this infertility journey can be at times, I’m not sure I would want my life experience to exclude it. Infertility has changed who I am, some for good and some for less good, but it has definitely made me a different, stronger, person.
I was also in your group (and chose 2 of the same questions). In the first, you said exactly what I feel (I’d rather have known)… I also agree that having a baby becomes a compulsion and I wonder if it’s at all possible to keep things in perspective when going through infertility.
“Hope is so fragile and so easily lost in this process, that knowing even the vaguest hint of what the future holds, getting the information to move on to something else or to keep trying would be priceless.”
–that line from your first answer is priceless.
And this is all so true. Looking back now, being a self-advocate is a more important skill to learn than half the things taught at school. I still find it difficult to speak up for myself. But it’s the only way one moves ahead with infertility. Being pushy. Asking the right questions. Not accepting the brush off. I wish you could time travel back and change all those things. Or at least know the future so you could hold onto your hope.
Oh I am so with you on the knowing. It would be nice to know when but to know if it is even going to happen would help me deal. I would rather mourn the loss of never and move on then to hold tight to hopen and miss life.
I am right there with you on the doctors and visiting yourself when you are young. I would tell myself the same thing. I would also tell myself to not waste all that money on condems. 🙂
Great job!
I liked reading your responses. As I read the last answer I can relate. I’ve always had this “feeling” that I’d experience IF and although we got pg relatively easily with Boo (7m) it’s been very difficult and unsuccessful thus far with 2.0. I understand your fear, I do.
I think I would want to know the cause of my infertility if I could, for the same reasons you mentioned.
Interesting thoughts about the medical people you saw. I guess when you’re a doctor pushed for time and the problem seems to have a short-term solution it’s easy to go for that. It takes some hunting to get to someone who has the time and wisdom to find out and explain why.
Bea