A few weeks ago I dreamt I was one half of a lesbian couple who was trying to get pregnant with donor eggs. All around me, there were pregnancy announcements, and I was crying. I awoke gasping, and clutching my heart. The post-nightmare relief, It was just a dream, phew! never came.
As the sister of a gay man, I have always known I can never know what it is like to be gay. There was neither fanfare nor drama when my brother cacme out. The only thing either of my parents has ever said is that if they could choose they wish he were straight only because life is complicated enough. For the first time in my life — as a straight, white woman, and, dare I say, attractive, slender, intelligent, and born into privilege — I know what it feels like to be part of a group for whom life is extra complicated.
When you’re a straight couple who has a child through IUI or IVF, the circumstances of the child’s conception fade into the background. You’re not going to raise eyebrows with details of your child’s conception, because after his or her birth no one needs to know: your child is your genetic child, and your family history is the same. And if the kid doesn’t look like you, well, it might not matter as much. You know the truth and you’re just glad they’re finally here. No further questions.
But when you build your family with outside help — whether through donor egg / surrogacy, donor sperm, or via adoption — the circumstances of your child’s conception follow you — and them — for life. You must tell your paediatrician about your child’s family history — one you actually know very little about. I wonder if I will ever be judged for using donor eggs — such unyielding criticism can be tough for an adult, but devastating and confusing to a child. And God forbid my child need a kidney or bone marrow transplant, because I would be ruled out as a potential donor. (We will probably bank our baby’s cord blood because of this.)
These are the things I think about. I have to think about them, and now. Before my children have even been conceived. Even while half of their potential is locked in the budding follicles of a young woman I’ve never met.
These days I feel like the parents I can most relate to are gay parents. At least one half of the couple isn’t genetically related to their children and they have almost certainly needed outside help to build their families. There are only two main differences between our family and theirs: 1) it might be less obvious to a stranger that DH and I will have had similar help; and, 2) a same-sex couple might have had more practice fending off intrusive questions or judgment than DH and me.
Sadly, we live in a society that still judges people for the “choices” they make. I say “choice” because I do not believe being gay or lesbian is a choice, anymore than I “chose” to be straight (albeit with a significant curve — why are there are only 3 shades of sexuality to choose from?!) or have a structurally unsound 8th chromosome. Our choices for building our family were:
- Keep trying au naturel, knowing that I am more likely to miscarry over and over again;
- IVF with my own eggs, which seemed like a total waste of money given the odds;
- DEIVF, so that we have control over pre-conception and pregnancy;
- Adoption, something I’ve always wanted to do but isn’t cheap, easy, quick, or even guaranteed.
Simply put, the third option seemed the logical next step in the process. Maybe in some way I can be grateful for having something as final as a genetic disorder. I might not have any hope of ever having a surprise genetic child, but I also don’t have any hope of battling multiple rounds of IVF, not knowing if and when to call it quits and/or try something else. I think that must be a very difficult decision, so in a sense, I’m lucky. By choosing to proceed with DEIVF (and so quickly), we fly in the face of convention. But when have I ever been conventional?
I had a fairly atypical upbringing. By the time I was 11, I’d lived in four countries (including four U.S. states), and been to nine schools. I easily navigated airports, younger brother in tow, and was mortified of having to wear a white passport holder stamped with UNACCOMPANIED MINOR around my neck. I never had a curfew. My parents didn’t mind if I drank alcohol underage, as long as I did so responsibly. They don’t care that I say Fuck a lot, as long as I know when it is appropriate not to say it. We didn’t go to church or any other place of worship. I have always felt too emotional to be British, too foreign to be Spanish, and too eccentric to be American, so consider myself Spanglo-American, but my brother English and my half-Belgian sister Spanish. English is the predominant family language, but it seems normal to chatter in Spanish and French with the occasional visit from Bulgaria and Finland. My brother is gay, and so is my uncle, and so is my step-uncle. My dad is an actor and my mum is an artist — not exactly your typical 9-5 careers — and they divorced when I was 10. Every. single. one. of my relatives is the product of multiple cultures, either by blood, marriage, or geography. Oh, and have I mentioned that I am 6’1″ (184cms) tall? I’ve always felt different and I’ve always embraced it.
So why does it still feel like I’m coming to terms with the idea of having an unconventional family when I already come from one?
I think about the point Dr. H, the therapist DH and I met with for our mandatory psychological evaluation, made: how society has this stereotypical ideal of what a ‘normal’ family looks like — first-married mother (who stays at home) and father (who works outside the home) with 2.3 genetic children — yet most families look nothing like that. Mine certainly doesn’t and nor do any of my friends’!
I am also comforted by how Dr. H commended us on “having done 90% of the healing,” because it further validates our decision to proceed with DEIVF. It is reassuring to know that our attitude towards telling our donor-conceived children about their genetic origins — as an ongoing age-appropriate process, not a one-time conversation — as not only healthy from a psychological standpoint, but also “very much the exception [to the rule]”.
One of my favourite family stories is the time my grandfather learned that my Uncle Fran was gay. Back in the late 60s, my uncle and mum lived together, and she noticed he had men staying the night. When my grandfather learned of this, he summoned my uncle to lunch.
“Francis,” he enquired at the beginning of the meal. “Are you a homosexual?”
“…Yes…” stammered my usually grandiloquent uncle, whereupon my grandfather called over a waiter and said, “Bring me a bottle of your finest champagne. I wish to celebrate the fact that I can talk to my son!”
Who knows, maybe having the ongoing “donor conversations” with my kid won’t be as difficult as I think. They might even pave the way to have other important and ongoing conversations. Who’s to say my kid/s will even care about how they were conceived? They’ll know how badly they were wanted, that’s for damn sure. And hopefully we’ll never need the cord blood.
So maybe I can totally rock the brave new world of donor-conceived children. Assuming the DEIVF works, who better to fly this new flag of unconventionality than someone like me?
I love this post hun! Screw conventionality! I think the longer we linger in this IF purgatory the more unconventional we all become. You know that once the munchkin turns up all you will feel is LOVE and how you got there will not matter one bit. Just think what a colourful and amazingly diverse background this kid will have. Think of how special this kid will be, how loved, how cherished. There’s no one better to fly this flag than you my friend and I cannot wait for it xxx
Ha! My thoughts exactly. Sometimes I forget and get swept up in the pain of it all, but then I read a comment like yours and feel reassured again. Big hugs, friend x
Oh oh oh Lauren, I love everything about this post! There is so much here that resonates with me. As a fellow global itinerant who can claim feelings of being ‘at home’ in several countries, as the child of a truly unconventional family growing up, and as the mother of a child who people never see and often don’t acknowledge as legitimate but who I still very much see as an integral part of our family (and who we intend to share with his baby sibling on the way), I often feel very much on the margins of the norm. Although we don’t have the issue of additional genetic contributions in the making of our baby, because of the difficult road we have walked I too have felt a lot of kinship with gay couples ttc since starting this journey three years ago (and why I cried happy, hormonal tears when I read this article by Yotam Ottolenghi earlier this year). But growing up, (when I think I identified with reruns of ‘The Munsters’ as this happy, loving family who freaked the hell outta everyone else), I also learned to embrace this as a kind of brilliant gift, and I still feel an immense sense of kinship and pride in being part of this world on the margins, flying many flags of unconventionality – and also realizing that despite the scope and diversity of our ‘differences’, we are all a lot alike too. I love it (without trying to belittle your very real concerns about the future complications you could face), that you’re thinking through all the richness this will bring your family too. You have such a great attitude!
And I totally agree: I can think of no one better to fly this flag than you my friend. Your kid is going to be so so lucky to have you as a mom, to get the family it does, and to join this special tribe, celebrating all kinds of unconventionality.
I read that Yotam Ottolenghi article with great interest — so many couples are not on the same page when it comes to parenthood, and the infertility (whether medical or social) wedge can further divide.
Like you, the more I embraced my ‘foreignness’, the more at home I feel in the world — we are all different, so may we approach everyone with curiosity. I wouldn’t change my unconventional family and upbringing for anything.
As I said to Lisette below, I still have moments of grief over the genetic loss, the infertility, the miscarriage, and wonder how it will all end. My anxiety and my hope are at an all-time high, so responses like yours remind me that I just gotta keep putting one foot in front of the other, and that I trust we can figure everything out as it happens. Thank you xo
Ps I read this today- you might like it: http://stillstandingmag.com/2013/12/coping-childs-death-dont-believe-god/
I did, thank you! It’s not often we read about atheists and loss. Whereas I don’t think I get quite as upset as the author does when someone talks about God (e.g. when someone tells me with great sincerity that they will pray for me, I personally think it’s lovely), there is much I can relate to. Thanks for sharing!
I love this post…You always consider every emotion. People can be judgmental and biased, but in the end, this is your child. You are his/her mother no matter what. That’s just me though. To me when someone can define to us what normal really is, that is when life will totally suck for us all because right now there is too much excitement in life to confine ourselves to someone else’s fucked up standards of what THEY THINK normal is. Have a great week, Lauren!
I do try! I love your perspective, Tinaroo. Thanks for always reminding me it’s okay to be true to yourself. A wise lesson! xoxo
I love this post! it’s so great for many reasons. Gosh, it’s always personal, and we all think of ourselves first, but don’t feel alone! I think most of us feel ‘unconventional’ in more than one way. And I’d guess that many of us still struggle to feel like we’re ‘normal’ when the reality is that so many people aren’t what we have been led to think is ‘normal.’ In my case- DH and I have an IVF son… we’re both atheists in a country where 95% believe in god; my son will be coming from a house where we don’t believe… my dad died when I was a teen- I feel different and excluded a lot from that; DH is an introvert and he feels excluded from the majority of the population. The list goes on and on. I swear, if we all just ‘let our freak flags fly’ we’d have to realize that we’re different from this grand illusion of what’s normal- and that’s really freaking cool and interesting (in my opinion.)
Thanks for sharing your ‘freak flags’ fly, Denise! You’re so right, what the hell is a conventional family anymore, and who do we know who fits that description??
I am sorry to hear your dad died when you were so young, that must have been traumatic. I had friends as a teenager who lost their dads when they were 14, 15. I saw how hard it was for them and wouldn’t wish that on anyone.
I identified as an atheist for a long time. As you know, I do not believe in God nor do I believe things happen for a reason, but I do believe in an inter-connectedness, like a karmic domino effect. Maybe I am becoming a Buddhist in philosophy if not belief!!
Both my DH and I are introverts. I am definitely the outgoing variety, but I must have my alone time. Most of my closest friends are introverts. I find them to be some of the easiest people to be around! What are you?
Anyway, booyahkashah fistbumps for flying the freak flag. Thanks, lady xoxo
“society has this stereotypical ideal of what a ‘normal’ family looks like — first-married mother (who stays at home) and father (who works outside the home) with 2.3 genetic children — yet most families look nothing like that.” <— This, exactly! It's kind of eye opening to realize that for some reason we feel like we need to achieve this golden dream family that's really not all that normal!
FWIW, I know that "typical" IVF/IUI conceived children's bio backgrounds will be much easier to explain than in your DEIVF case, but they're definitely still things that need to be disclosed (especially in the case of female issues). For example, I'll definitely be explaining to my daughter that I have PCOS and how that affects me (not just in the fertility arena) and I know the same goes for my BFF and her endometriosis issues. Education on all fronts is so important for everybody!
I think you have a a great mindset right now about all of this – your child is going to be lucky to have you as a Mom. :)
*Lightbulb Moment* Whoa, Josey! You’re SO RIGHT! I hadn’t considered that sharing the reason behind why IF treatments were necessary might be an important thing to do! (In my defense, er, I’ve obviously let go of my genetic legacy and the idea that my medical history might be of relevance to my future children?)
Thanks for re-educating me and for the other warm validation xoxoxo