In Vitro Fertility GoddessAllison Rushby suspects that naturally fertile women are the new pariah…
I am fertile. Disgustingly fertile. Pregnant within a few weeks of trying, no complications, full-term babies, first labour three hours, second labour 40 minutes, one girl, one boy. Like I said, disgustingly fertile. And I never thought I'd be marginalised for what is, of course, a very run-of-the-mill thing to be, but ever so slowly this is what seems to be happening. Apparently IVF is the new black. So, I wonder, what does that make me and my hard-working ovaries.
Suddenly terms like ‘smug pregnants' are being bandied about the place and the fertility goddesses are being accused of ‘flaunting' their pregnancies. Did I ‘flaunt' my pregnancies? I didn't think so. But if ‘flaunting' meant that I wore fitted maternity clothes rather than tent-like constructions, maybe I did. The thing is, at week 39, it's hard to hide three kilos of baby attached to your mid-section. The infertility goddesses may have snazzy Mercedes convertibles, but I'm hardly going to ask them to keep them garaged at all times just because I fancy having one too.
It's now so not the done thing to be fertile, that I had to stand by and watch recently as a girlfriend of mine hid her third pregnancy. She managed to keep her ever-growing belly a secret until the 22-week mark. And the reason for her reluctance to tell her family and friends? Her sister-in-law was in the midst of IVF round three and she was too scared to come clean about her fertility, having just had child number two nine months ago.
Of course, I don't think being unable to have a baby is anything even close not owning a Mercedes convertible. And I feel terribly for women who want children and suddenly find themselves in a place where it's looking like an impossibility. I have to admit I was shocked, however, to find myself the spring chicken of the private obstetrician's waiting room at what I thought was the grand old age of 29.
It seems that while there are lots women who can't start having kids till later in life for varied reasons, there are also many who can, but who are choosing not to. Instead, they decide to focus on their careers, or come to the conclusion, year after year, that it just ‘isn't the right time'. And there's nothing wrong with this - as long as you know full well what you might be giving up. Inconvenient and scary as it may be, the ‘right' time to have kids is during the early to mid 20s. Are we as a society starting to forget that our fertility peaks in our 20s? Perhaps if we spent as much time planning our families as we spend planning our mortgages, we wouldn't be in this mess.
In hindsight, I've realised I'm extremely lucky to have had children easily. It was only after I had my two that all the horror stories came out - women who gave birth to stillborn babies and had to spend the night in labour wards listening to other, luckier people's babues cry, women who miscarried time and time again, women whose babies mysteriously just stopped moving at 38 weeks. So, so sad.
The infertility goddesses accuse us of being ignorant of their plight, but I don't think this is true. The fertility goddesses know and we care. It's just that there's not a whole lot we can do other than listen, and when someone else has something you so desperately want - well, sometimes listening just doesn't cut it, does it?
I guess if I sound slightly riled, it's because I am. Like some of the infertility goddesses, I'm reaching the end of my tether. I'm getting tired of being stared at with accusing eyes that say I'm not really deserving of my children because I didn't struggle to have them. That I don't appreciate my kids because they came to me easily. Yes I'm fertile. Disgustingly fertile. I'm a fertility goddess. But please don't ask me to apologies for that.
This article and my response published in the Australian Parents magazine in January 2008 generated some very heated debates across the Internet.
