Sadness

Everyone around is having a baby. You can't.

Infertility and the Black Woman

Oh, the dirty little secret is out. Black women experience infertility, too. (Gasp) It's not something we talk about. Why? We are made to feel ashamed. Black women are supposed to be fertile myrtles, right? At least that what all the stereotypes say. Oh, how I wish THIS stereotype was true. Almost nine years ago, I discovered I had stage IV endometriosis. I endured years of cramping and was told that it was to be expected. All women have cramps, blah, blah, blah. I received a 'script for naproxen and told to suck it up. Meanwhile, my lady parts began to play Twister. When I finally had my first laparoscopy, the doctor told me that I was lucky to still have a uterus. Everything was "a mess." His words. His advice: get pregnant as soon as possible. One problem: I wasn't married or even dating anyone. Besides, the idea of bringing a child into a less than ideal situation to alleviate my medical problem didn't sound moral. I took the second option, norethindrone to prevent menstrual bleeding-- thus eliminating the endometriosis. Yay, an alternative I could live with! While the norethindrone did help my endo, it also caused fibroids to form. Not too long after the surgery, I began dating the love of my life. We married a year later. He was well aware of my fertility problems, but it didn't matter to him. Almost six months after our beautiful wedding, I had a myomectomy. Apparently, I had a fruit bowl in my uterus. So much so that my students and a few colleagues thought I was a "shot-gun" wedding gal. It was so embarrassing to have several well-intentioned people ask when I was "due." The myomectomy went well and my doctor didn't see why I wouldn't be able to get pregnant. He recommended that I wait a few months before trying, as not to tear my somewhat weakened uterus. At the time, I was 32, so theoretically I had a couple of years before the real concern would begin. Hubby and I tried, and tried with no luck. I was reluctant to seek fertility help, because I knew it would happen sooner or later. After all, EVERY woman on both sides of my family was extremely fertile. Three more years passed. We brought a home, had two gorgeous fur-babies and our careers were on track. Now was the perfect time. I had a second laparoscopy to check out my lady parts. Everything looked good. Two months later, my period didn't show up. It was happening! Finally! I had to be pregnant! I have never missed a period. Three home pregnancy tests revealed a big, fat negative! I made an appointment with my gyno. He ordered blood and urine tests. A week later, I got the news: Premature Ovarian Failure. I would never be able to have a child. At 35, I was in MENOPAUSE. I couldn't believe it! After everything I went through. The surgeries. The pain. There had to be a mistake. My perfect world was begin to crumble. My doctor's sad eyes and gentle touch on my shoulder brought me out of the shock and face-to-face with the cold reality of infertility. I think I only heard snippets of what he said to me next. Donor egg.  Your husband would be the genetic parent. Fade to black.