Vasectomy

picture by thebluedino

Infertility arrived suddenly.

Not that permanent contraception went un-discussed. We spent two years revisiting the topic. But we still didn’t do anything about it. There seemed no reason to rush.

Then a month of panic and uncertainty turned our family upside down. What if we were pregnant? Our kids already share bedrooms - we hadn’t ever anticipated a household with five children. To say we were underwhelmed at the prospect of another baby is putting it mildly. We thought we were done. We were already anticipating the next, hopefully less intense and more relaxed, stage of parenthood. Could we cope with another baby? Of course we could. But still… it was a gut-wrenching month coming to terms with the potential changes ahead. And then, just as we started to warm to the idea of nurturing another new life, I bled - with a mixture of relief and regret.

Before my period ended, my husband underwent surgery to convert our ‘thought we were done’ into ‘decided we were done’ and that was the end of that. He healed. Life went on. We told ourselves how grateful we are for our beautiful family and we regarded the children with a renewed sense of awe and reverence.

I’ve been privileged to have abundantly healthy pregnancies and to welcome each baby lovingly and safely into the world. And despite my initially low expectations, childbirth ushered a new confidence, a womanliness, into my life. It redefined me. Each and every time. And because my husband was present and actively involved in the birth and early parenting process, our relationship was also transformed. We have never looked back.

Work puts me constantly among pregnant women and new mothers, midwives and doulas. Our conversations are in eternal orbit with pregnancy, birth, babies, motherhood. In my head, I am certain that my family is complete but in my body there are still moments when I yearn to bear a baby, to feel it, all again - against all reason and no matter what the consequences. It isn’t rational. Or at least, I acknowledge that the rationale is bigger than me and has a history as long as the mitochondrial DNA.

It is all still so recent. Both my husband and I grieve the sudden and somewhat dramatic end of our childbearing years. There are many rituals and celebrations pertaining to the conception and birth of a child, but there are no real rites of passage declaring we’ve had all our babies or our family is complete. How can we acknowledge the grief that we both feel at being rendered infertile as a couple? I always knew there would be moments of sadness but I never expected to feel it with such intensity. Afterall, haven’t we done the responsible thing?

September 18th, 2008 - Posted in personal growth, gratitude, partnership, grief, health | | 6 Comments