I am surrounded by drugs, needles and syringes when my two-year old daughter runs into the room. Immediately, I scream for my partner to get her out. My husband comes in, swoops her up so she can’t reach the IVF meds and equipment but he insists that she can stay. He has no problems with her knowing what we did to conceive her and what we are now doing to try and get her a sibling.
He is not wrong. When the time comes, I will be the first to tell her the reality of her creation. I will tell her about the years of infertility her parents suffered before having her and how we needed the help of doctors to eventually conceive. But that part of the story is surprisingly, the more straightforward part. It’s the chapters preceding it that’s a little more complicated.
Our infertility diagnosis was unexplained, which meant after all of the tests, scans and surgeries, nothing was “wrong”. It should have worked but it didn’t. The most likely contributing factor was age. I was 35.
It was a tale as old as time, we had left it a little late.
It was a tale as old as time, we had left it a little late.
But when I look back on my 20s and early 30s, I cannot really see how I could have moved any faster. I spent my 20s studying, travelling, working, living interstate and overseas. I dated but no one was quite right as a lifelong partner. When I met my eventual husband at 31, I still did not rush. I knew of the decline in my fertility but I still felt that living together, travelling together and buying a house were important milestones that preceded children. To me, these weren’t nice-to-haves, these were the foundations for financial security, a stronger sense of self, and a committed relationship that would set us up for the years to come, with or without children.
So what I really dread is how to talk to my daughter about her own fertility, including how she has inherited a family history of it. has shown a steady rise in the average age of a first time mother. If that trends continues, experiences of age-related infertility will become more prevalent. Even with advances in technology, it will not be without an emotional and physical toll, largely on the woman.
How do I increase her awareness of her biological clock without seeming like a nagging mother, causing unnecessary fear and pressuring her into decisions she isn’t ready to make? But if I don’t say anything at all, am I giving her the best chance in parenthood? Am I leaving her exposed and underprepared?
How do I increase her awareness of her biological clock without seeming like a nagging mother, causing unnecessary fear and pressuring her into decisions she isn’t ready to make?
Would I tell her to freeze her eggs? It feels costly, invasive and counterintuitive from what I am trying to protect her from. I know firsthand the physical effects and the emotional burden of the drugs and procedure required for egg collection, not to mention the next 10 or so hurdles before you actually take a baby home.
Do I encourage her to live a life without children? Being child-free is a valid, personal choice and one that she may very well come to her own conclusions about. But if she chooses to have children only to find out that she can’t, it will be a devastating blow no matter how fulfilling a life without children can be.
Luckily, the future need not feel so dire. She will be growing up as part of , a generation that will be highly educated, resourceful and tech-savvy. She will have access to data and information as well as an open and flexible definition of family. Family need not be Mum, Dad and their biological child(ren).
If there is one thing I can do though, it will be to continue talking about infertility so it’s not as shameful and taboo as it is today.
If there is one thing I can do though, it will be to continue talking about infertility so it’s not as shameful and taboo as it is today.
Last year, the Duchess of Sussex of her recent miscarriage. She described the pain, suffering and “unwarranted shame” of her loss. Miscarriage, while different to infertility shares similar themes of loss and grief. Both, while common (, ) are often managed behind closed doors.
I will raise my daughter where we frame infertility as something that happens and that nothing is “wrong” when it does. If my daughter is faced with difficult choices around her fertility, she need not feel ashamed or alone. Instead, she will feel supported and hopeful. After all, she and her baby sibling - who’s due to arrive in several months’ time - is proof that infertility can be managed and sometimes, overcome.
