Parenthood, Infertility, Marriage & Me

I’ve known that I wanted children for practically all my adult life. Wait, let me rephrase. I’ve known that I wanted children since my early 20’s, but to claim that I was an adult at that time is laughable. Anyway, I have always pictured myself marrying and having children with my spouse. Three children, to be exact.

It never occurred to me that having children would be much of a problem. By that, I mean the “production” part of having kids. How could I not think this way? Look around. They’re everywhere. They have us surrounded and fly around like a flock of birds but without the innate sense of direction. Children as a topic of conversation is nearly inescapable. They are prevalent in most forms of media and ubiquitous in advertisements. Further, children have long been a part of my everyday life. They have been a central focus of my career as a family law attorney and volunteer guardian ad litem for abused or neglected children.

I’ve been present as my sister, my friends and my relatives have become initiated into the clan of parenthood. I’ve been to multiple hospitals to celebrate the births of a nephew, niece, extended family and the children of friends. I’ve been anointed as “Uncle” or godparent in many fictive kinships. I’ve watched as many of these children have grown into adulthood. These experiences have been fantastic and I’m very grateful for them. I’ve also been waiting for my turn.

Different kind of Baby Bump

I believed that my perspective on the relative ease of producing children was rather practical. The number of human generations is estimated at around 15,000. So, we have been having children, many of whom then had their children – on and on – for an uninterrupted 270,000 years (probably longer). There are about 7.5 billion people alive today. How hard could it possibly be?

I’ve never thought that raising children would be easy. I’ve always understood that parenting was a challenge, but a challenge that I would embrace with focus and unrestrained zeal. I periodically thought about how I would raise, or parent, my children. My thoughts, synapses busily firing away and forming patterns and connections, began creating a generalized story of how I would parent. I thought of what I would attempt to impart on my children, the lessons I would teach, what I would do or say in a specific circumstance or how I would answer their more difficult questions.

These ponderings were random and most often based on my own experiences and observations. Strangely, though, my thoughts sometimes wandered into “what if” scenarios grounded in reality but created solely by my imagination. I never stopped to wonder why my mind devoted time and energy to solving such puzzles. Why was I trying to discover an answer to existential quandaries that had no affect on my life and regarding children that did not yet exist?  Looking back, I think my subconscious intent was to prepare myself for what I believed was an inevitable part of my future:  Parenthood.

My mental picture of parenthood was something to behold. My children were going to know that the world is packed with awe, mystery, and wonder. I would teach them the magic of reading – and that playing in the mud and rain can be fun, too. To follow their curiosity. To ask questions about whatever they damn well please. That the only way to know what is on the other side of a closed (or locked) door is to open it and look inside. The proper technique for climbing and falling out of trees. That wanderlust is a strength, not a weakness.  To know that a stary night can cure any malaise. How to calculate and weigh risk but fear nothing. To be a little reckless but a lot respectful. Confident and relentlessly determined. Thoughtful, kind and grateful. That they are above no one, and below no one. To understand what wisdom is. To listen to others but think for themselves. To know in their soul that they are loved. I would teach them all that I know and so much more. They were destined to become a trio of warrior-philosopher-poets.

Here We Go

The narrative I created around having children evolved slowly over time. As I lived and learned, my mind added more detail to the mental picture of how I would raise them. These thoughts were seamless and never compulsive, never hurried. Time was of little concern to me.  After all, getting married and having children was all but certain. I would marry, someday, and nature would take care of the rest. Having children would happen when it was supposed to happen. But it would happen. Of course, it would happen.

I fell in love. I married. My wife had struggled to become pregnant in her prior marriage, so I understood that having children together could possibly/maybe/perhaps take just a wee bit longer than most. Otherwise, I remained blissfully unconcerned. I justified my overly optimistic attitude on a few pieces of exculpatory evidence:  in her prior marriage they had tried to become pregnant for only a short time period; the cause of their struggle to have a child was never positively identified; and, finally, I was different (and obviously delusional).

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  My mental picture

My extreme naivety about the complexity of the human reproductive system can be explained very, very simply:  I am a dude and therefore have a limited ability to think beyond “unprotected sex equals babies, eventually.”

We began trying to have children soon after we married. And we waited. We waited some more. The child production assembly line was having some trouble getting up to speed. We contacted our local troubleshooting clinic to file a complaint and make an appointment for assistance. A calm voice encouraged us that all would be well. We were asked and provided all the necessary records, warranties and receipts. We both agreed to submit to an individual equipment check, beginning with me, because my test was the easiest.

My checkup required the collection of a sample via a simple process that I had done a thousand a few times before, though under very different conditions and circumstances. Unfortunately for you, there will be more about the ridiculous nature of the fertility clinic “collection process” in a later post. Anyway, the sample was provided and sent to a lab to be analyzed.

The results came back and there was a problem. Azoospermia. In a nutshell (I will not apologize for my love of terrible puns), I was shooting blanks. No sperm. Not one wiggly gamete. This was unexpected. Very. Unexpected.

What the . . . ?

The gloom of infertility descended upon my desire for progeny like a brick to my head. I would use a more accurately descriptive analogy but I’m trying to protect the innocent. To say the least, I was temporarily stunned. The sort-of good news was that the cause of my infertility was quickly identified and, in most circumstances, reversible. I rallied. My positive outlook returned. I remained confident that this was just a temporary speed bump; a short delay before the swift resumption of our sojourn to parenthood. And I was right. But I was also wrong. My condition was a speed bump, but one that marked the beginning of a long and hazard-filled road. I was not prepared for the journey ahead.

In time, I became a broken man. I don’t know how else to describe it. To be arrogantly honest, I didn’t believe that I could be broken. I do know that it nearly killed me and there is not an ounce of embellishment in my admission.

I will soon be divorced. My faith in marriage is shattered, but that is not why I am writing this blog. I may mention my marriage as it relates to our infertility. My focus, though, is to describe my path to the unfulfilled expectation of becoming a parent.

My presumption of fatherhood is thus far a fictional narrative that may forever exist only in my mind. Being a parent remains an imaginary tale that I constructed throughout half my life. My stolid belief that parenthood was inevitable has manifested as a fanciable lie. It has been a wicked and cruel trick; a series of false starts and staggering failures. I willed my children to live. They died anyway. I hurt because I miss them. My children are a fable.

So, that’s what this blog is about. Mostly.