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Most infertile find that they are able to avoid babies and baby talk and occasions like that baptism. But not an obstetrician. I was never far from a swollen belly or a proud father. But even worse were those unhappily pregnant women wanting referral to an abortion center. And I found that I shared the pain of my infertility patients much too deeply. Looking back on it now, though, I can see that this daily dose of pain was actually a blessing. I knew I couldn't go on living that way. Something had to change. I had to get either a new job or a new attitude.
That new attitude started to blossom in the spring of 1983 when Mike and I attended a day-long workshop for infertile people on the campus of Purdue University, sponsored by the Indiana chapter of RESOLVE, the national infertility support organization. I pushed and persuaded a reluctant Mike to go with me to the meeting, together as an infertile couple rather than by myself as a gynecologist - in disguise, so to speak. In fact, I remember promising to do dishes for two weeks if he would go. He gave in to the bribery and agreed to go but not to enjoy it. Going was enough for me.
When we arrived at the workshop, Mike tried his best to become invisible in the way that husbands sometimes do at gatherings. I had a professional excuse for being there, but for him, it was an open admission of failure, as if his masculinity had become tied up in his fertility. He joked that his name tag should have read, "Hi, I'm Mike Carter, and I'm infertile." But as the day went on, he became more involved - and visible. He discovered that there were men there, some of whom he knew but hadn't realized they were also infertile. But best of all, he discovered our infertility was a problem that we shared with many other nice, normal people and was nothing to be ashamed of.
© Jean W. Carter and Michael P. Carter
Credits: Perspectives Press
