1. It is always permissible (and expected) when meeting someone for the first time to ask whether or not they have children. It is one of the questions that we all know is coming so the forward thinking among us have prepared a stock answer. I choose to go with a little soothing humor to balance the sting of the negative.
New Co-worker/Acquaintance/Person Off the Street: So do you have any kids?
Me: No, just the furry four-legged kind.
2. Please do not then ask about future plans to have children. This puts the askee in a weird situation. She is forced to, either, lie:
New C/A/POTS: So are you ever planning on having any?
Infertile Myrtle: (With a nonchalant wave of her hand) Oh, sure, one of these days. (As if it was as easy as picking up a ham at the store, which I suppose, for some people, it is.)
Or use brutal honesty:
New C/A/POTS: So are you ever planning on having any?
Infertile Myrtle: No, since it seems that my ovaries have shriveled into hunks of useless tissue. I know this because I've spent tens of thousands of dollars in medical intervention and medication and have been stuck more times than a pincushion. But, really, thanks for reminding me that I can't accomplish what a sixteen year old in the back of her boyfriend's Chevy seems unable to avoid.
Or play a little verbal game I like to call "Truth-telling without Full-Disclosure"
New C/A/POTS: So are you ever planning on having any?
Infertile Myrtle: No. We tried for many years without success.
This strategy (along with the Full-Disclosure, also known as Verbal Diarrhea) often leads to point number three.
3. Please do not then ask if she and her partner have considered adoption. The answer to that question is always yes. Unless you've been hanging out on the planet Voltron, you know that adoption is an option available to you.
When someone asks that of me, I immediately feel defensive; because, while we made a reasoned consideration of adoption, ultimately we decided it wasn't the right choice for us. And I feel like I have to provide (and more importantly, defend) all the reasons why it wasn't our decision. In my experience, people will try and talk you into adoption--almost as if they are getting some kind of commission off the deal. I don't mean to imply that I think of adoption in anything other than a positive light. It is a wonderful institution and the people that go through it are some of the most unselfish people on the planet. It just isn't in the cards for us. Someday I may write an entry about what led us to our decision, but until then know that, yes, we have considered it and moved on. I guess I should feel honored that others think well enough of us that they feel we need to have a child no matter what. But mostly when people ask the adoption question, my eye just starts to twitch.
4. Let the infertile person guide your conversation. If you get a monosyllabic answer to a question you've asked, it might be time to find another topic of conversation. I'm probably in the minority of people when it comes to sharing personal things. (Exhibit A: this blog) I'll tell people most anything they want to know about the process of fertility treatment along with my thoughts and feelings, but most people are much more circumspect.
5. If the person you're talking to asks for doctor recommendations or your knowledge of adoption, by all means, give them everything you know. But if they don't ask for advice or help, my suggestion to you is not to bring out the story of your brother-in-law's cousin's plumber's wife's use of ancient Navajo ritual in order to conceive. And please do not ever utter the phrase, "Oh, you've just got to relax." If relaxing is all it takes, we'd have been able to field a baseball team with our own passel of children.
In a moment of crystal clarity during the IVF time, I formulated what I call The Green Bean Casserole Theory in order to cope with (unwittingly) insensitive questions or comments. (Case in point, the person who said to me that "God just thinks you're not ready to have children." My immediate thought was, "Oh, and God thinks that child abusers and molesters are ready, but not us?! Huh!") I finally realized that nothing was ever said to me with malice--some insentivity, yes, but not with any intended cruelty. So really, it's very much like when you have a family member die and everyone wants to do something but doesn't really know what to do. So they show up at your doorstep with green bean casserole. Now, they may not know that you hate green bean casserole, or that you're allergic to the little toasted onion things on top of it, or that you already have three of them in the Frigidaire. But you don't tell them any of those things; instead, you just smile, thank them, and put the Pyrex dish into the fridge. So it was with comments that stung. I would try to simply smile (while mentally chanting: green bean casserole...green bean casserole) and remember that it was only because they cared about me and were trying desperately to find something to say.
I don't want to scare anyone away from talking to people experiencing infertility. We're just people like everyone else and most of the time we just want to make some conversation without having to pull out our whole sordid medical record.
You can never go wrong with saying, "I'm so sorry. I can't imagine what this must be like for you." I promise, the next infertile person you meet will thank you.
No comments:
Post a Comment