World Childless Week

Underlying the chaos of life there is a strategic plan to be followed that borders on a compulsion, strangely if we saw our loved one’s behaving this way, we’d have them whipped off to therapy. We are structured souls at heart, as much as we would hate to admit it.  An old university lecture comes to mind right now, do we have free will or is our behaviour already mapped out in our genes and chemical makeup, that’s for another time.

But, what happens when the wider world plan is not yours, when you are the tiny minority that just won’t fit, not from that rebellious anti-establishment radical perspective but from circumstance.  What happens when you so want to be just that normal person, just like everyone else around you, but you can’t. I can imagine that everyone one of you reading this will know of a person that has made a quick exit from a group discussion when everyone begins to talk about their children or that friend who just spontaneously cries, but will never tell you why.

World Childless Week’s aim is to help bring some light and understanding to the world about those who are childless.  Being childless is very much like the debate around understanding mental health, if your ill or have a physical disability it is easy to garner sympathy from those around you, but when there this nothing physically to see, to evoke that sympathy, confusion and doubt reign.  One behaviour that the vast majority of childless couple’s experience is isolation, many stories are shared of how friends and family begin to back away, especially when their own family starts to grow.  Sadly, one of the most common coping mechanism that childless couples will use, is exactly the same, they will stop going to kid’s birthday parties, baby showers and the like, because it just too painful to be reminded of what they will never have.  I understand that those with, back off because they may not know what to do and those without need to survive, neither is wrong or right, but what is lacking is the understanding between the two.

I am supporting World Childless Week because my wife and I are one of this minority, we have travelled the infertility journey and know firsthand the isolation that it brings, just like our blog, WCW is trying to help break down barriers to understanding the behaviour of the childless and to show those that are struggling that you are not alone and there is a community here that understands you and can support you.

I’ve just come back from a funeral where we said goodbye to a mate’s father, like all funerals this was a time of reflection, within the eulogy something rang deep for me and I imagine for other people like my wife and I.  It went something like this “A few days ago, Dad and I were sitting out the back in the sun and he said to me, I can die happy, you and your sister are set up, you have both given me wonderful grandchildren, you are all good people, I’ve lived a full life, my work here is done.”  The church was packed, a wonderful testament to a person’s life, but the most important people sat down the front, his wife, children and grandchildren.  I looked at them as the eulogy was being read and in my mind’s eye I could imagine the content smile on my mate’s dad as he reflected over his life, full of these happy memories and love from his extended family.

This is the essence of that strategic plan, we come into this world with many expectations thrown on us, with each one reliant on the other.  As a child we learn to socialise, preparing us for when it time to make our partnership with a loved one.  There is of course the expectation that more children will be created by this partnership, with our childhood experiences used as the catalyst for our parenting style. Those children will then produce your grandchildren, you can see your legacy being left in all of them.  For the most part, this also becomes an ever-increasing support network as you age.  Those being the ones you ring when your computer won’t work the way you want it too, or your new phone totally bewilders you.

Our life will not be like that.

You may have made the mistake of saying to a childless person once, like has been said to me many times, “you are so luck you didn’t have child, they are hard work and give you nothing but grief”, thinking of course that you were showing sympathy, but what you got in return was the opposite reaction you expected. That family circle of support and comfort that exists and continues to grow tells us otherwise.  It reinforces to us that at the end of our days we will be lonely.

There will be no children sitting down the front of the church, our grandchild will not be reading passages out of the bible, our son in law will not be reading the eulogy.

You may be thinking how unfair is it of me to pull on your heart strings in this way. My intention however, is to really drive home that difference and how understanding is the key to helping and supporting a loved one who is childless.  Our life is different and so it would be unfair to be measured by the norm, we all need to listen to understand, not listen to reply.

This week, when you encounter that loved one that is childless, ask them to help you understand, hold their hand so they don’t feel alone and listen.

Coping

“Expending conscious effort to solve personal and interpersonal problems, and seeking to master, minimise or tolerate stress or conflict.”

We are in a good place, I do believe that our coping mechanisms were effective, but casualties occurred.

We have received many children’s birthday party invitations over the years and I think I can safely say we only attended a few in the early days.  Watching mothers fuss and gossip about the children, as they happily play pass the parcel is hard.  Standing around as the fathers discuss life with kids, watching the excitement on their faces as they tell of the latest development is not easy or comfortable.  Some did know of our situation, others didn’t and it was only a matter of time before someone asked the question, ‘How many kids do you have’.

You could almost hear those that knew gasp as they waited to see how the question was handled.  There was always a pause as my conflicted mind would decide whether to answer truthfully and make the situation awkward or divert the conversation. In the end I would always give the truthful answer and in hindsight I think I did that on purpose, thinking in my own twisted way that I was getting some morbid satisfaction.

What these experiences did enforce, was we were different and by the behaviour of our friends and our own we perpetuated that difference.

It wasn’t long before the detachment we experienced became physical, we didn’t belong here, we were different and we began to graciously decline offers.

We also tried visiting our closest friends in hospital after the birth of their children, it was awkward. As my wife will tell you the most heart breaking thing for her is watching the new-born baby, rest in the arms of the mother. That innocent, beautiful new human being only knowing the touch and scent of their mother and as she looks down at what she has created, it hurt to know you would never experience that bond.  There also came the time when the father would thrust this delicate package into my arms and I thought ‘I know you are proud and I am happy for you, but please please don’t do this for me’. But, I smiled and made all the appropriate sounds and of course we stopped attending hospitals.

It is now a source of comedy in our marriage, my wife reminds me of how scared I looked at that moment when that delicate package was thrust into my arms.

The casualties in this were two-fold, us and those that cared for us.  We both recognise that we missed out on being included in the lives of our friends and their new families.  We also recognise that we lost friends who didn’t quite understand our situation and saw our behaviour as ignorant or rude.

But we coped and I like to think we survived.

“Seek to understand and not to judge”

Isolation and the Curtains

It was around the year 2000, we had ventured into the world of home ownership and a mortgage.  The neighbourhood we moved into had a mix of established families and new families, just like us.

We became quite a tight bunch with parties, BBQs and weekend drinks on various driveways or swimming pools. Many a headache was shared by all.  It was only a matter of time before us young one’s would start to grow our families.  Some might say there was something in the water, within the space of a year, every young family had their first child, except us.

The atmosphere changed as these young mothers and fathers came to grips with their new roles.  Mothers finding comfort in each other as they muddled through caring for their first born.  Fathers contemplating with each other the change to their lives and wives, over a beer on the drive way, except us.

Our time was spent on the IVF treatment roller coaster, buoyed by the Dr’s ‘You have an 80%’ chance, of success at your current age’.

Little did we know of the toll it would demand, financially, emotionally and of our time.  But enthused by our 80% chance, we structured our holiday time around the treatment. Simulating drugs administered at a specific time, to grow those valuable eggs.  Regular ultra sounds to track the growth of the follicles in which those egg resided, waiting for the magic measurement to be achieved so the trigger shot can be administered.  Regular blood tests checking hormone levels to ensure over stimulation has not occurred.  All this time believing we had that 80% chance.

Meanwhile, the babies have grown, the mothers are bonding whilst pushing prams around the park.

Its trigger day, the follicles are mature, it’s time to harvest, so I administer the last injection. From those multitude of follicles we end up with 2 viable eggs.

I can remember coming home after the implantation, feeling numb, I should have been on top of the world, we were going to be one of the 80%.  We hunkered down, battened the hatches and closed the curtains to protect and ensure we didn’t take risks.   From our protective bunker, we watched the world go by, we watched the mothers strolling with their prams, we watched the fathers struggling to fit the baby capsule in the car.

It was no secret what we were doing, we live an overt type of life.  Our neighbours waves developed an apprehensive shudder, almost like they knew we were on tender hooks.

It didn’t work, our neighbours waves became even more hesitant, eye contact began to wane and we kept the curtains closed as we dealt with our pain.

As more failed attempts occurred the divide between us and the neighbourhood widen, through the gap in the curtains we watched parents begin trying to control their children as they chased them around the street.

It is obvious now that as our despair became deeper and deeper, it had an effect on our thinking.  Through that hazed filter, that we didn’t realise was there, we can’t help but think why are we being treated differently, we are still the same people, what have we done?

Obviously we have done nothing but highlighted to our neighbours how lucky they were, through our despair.  I like to think the poor souls didn’t know how to behave and so retreated to a comfortable place as they themselves dealt with how to navigate their lives around us as we kept the curtains closed.

It is true, this journey is a lonely one, but it’s important to remember that there is good in most people and how you perceive their behaviour is not necessarily what they are thinking.

We constantly had to remind ourselves of this as we waded through our despair and it is one of the lessons I give to you.

We no longer keep the curtains closed.

Holiday, Mothers Day and Bianca Dye

It was Sunday 8th of May 2016, we are a few days into a 40 day road trip of the southern USA with friends. We had dropped them with family in northern Florida and we are taking the opportunity to dash down to Key West.

As we woke in our motel on the side of the i10, we adhered to our ritual, having a little time checking out whats been going on in our social media worlds, we accept the fact that social media is a big part of life these days, we embrace rather than ignore it.

The night before, I had read an article by Bianca Dye, an Australian Radio personality, who is going through the IVF process and she summed up perfectly the pain that Mothers Day brings to those like us. (Follow the link below)

When Mother’s Day cracks your heart open in pain.

Ordinarily I read interesting articles to my wife as we lay perusing the virtual world.  But not this day, this day is different.

Bianca’s article touched me, in a strange way, it wasn’t that I didn’t know everything she wrote.  Everything she had shared I had either experienced or witnessed, but it gave me a sense of not being alone.  It showed me that the  gift of sharing could be a salve for others wounds and this was the genesis for my blog.

We are 14 hours behind home and our feeds are filled with all the love of Mothers day. I knew what was going to happen, I could time it, sense it.  I know it’s a cliché, but with the years we have been together, you can almost sense what the other is thinking.

I knew the pain my wife would feel, I knew the tears would roll, I knew she would grieve, again.  Knowing all this, as the grieving began, all I could say was “Whats up?”.

Yes girls, you may view this as a stupid statement of a man who is oblivious to his wives feelings, but let me expand on this.

As far back as I can remember, I was always fending for myself, my formative years were spent in a small English village and the countryside was my playground, be it roaming the fields in summer, building tree houses or cycling for miles.  But through it all ,I along with my friends, were the masters of our own domains.  We would solve problems, like how to build a platform in a tree, or how to stop the sand falling in on us whilst excavating our underground bunker.  Still amazes me that we are all still alive, luck played a huge part I’m sure.

My dad was a shift worker and my mum never drove, so transport was up to me, if I needed to get somewhere I would ride or walk.

Skip forward a few years, we have emigrated to Australia, I have found a group of friends that loved to camp up in the mountains behind the city.  We were 16, with no adult supervision, we walked for miles camping over multiple nights.  Cooking our own food, making our own bedding, constructing our own shelters, it was all up to us.

If you had an issue with someone it was usually dealt with in a boyish fashion, one of us the victor and the other having a lesson in how to deal with defeat.

Girls, are you getting the picture, we are doers, we grow to be  fixers, we see a problem we need to sort it out.  We develop a plan, we see the goal and we work towards it.

Back to Mothers day, I have no plan, I feel useless because I know what is coming and I can’t do anything about it.  With all the skills I’ve amassed in my 49 yrs on this earth, I can not fix this.  And so awkward makes you do stupid things, like say “What’s Up”.

And so I walk over to her, kiss her on the forehead, to let her know she is not alone.