I have these fears. I don’t dwell on them, because that would be too much of a burden and counter-productive, but they linger in the back of my mind. They surface mostly when there’s a trigger: another failed treatment, another pregnancy announcement, another holiday season.
I fear, obviously, that we’ll never have children. That the years will pass and life will go forward as it is.
I fear that even if I do become pregnant, I won’t make it through to the end. I’m afraid of miscarriages, because now I know how common they are, and it’s terrifying.
I fear that we’ll endure years of torture, multiple rounds of treatment, and never have success, and never know why.
I have a picture in my head that surfaces from time to time and it goes something like this:
It’s Christmas, years in the future, and we’re with my family. All of my 3 younger sisters have multiple children running around. Christmas is focused on the kids, because that’s how it shifts with time. I’m there and I’m the Aunt that has no children. Everyone is happy and excited and even if I’ve made peace with the way life has turned out, I’m still unintentionally childless and barren and reminded of what we couldn’t have.
This is the time of year when that picture haunts me. I know that this future is drawing close – that within the next several or at least not-that-distant years there will be lots of grandchildren. I fear that none of them will be mine. I fear that I’ll be the Childless Aunt, and not by choice.
I know there’s still a chance that this will not become reality, but as our 4th Christmas draws near that hope slips away.
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