I have a rule about what I post on this blog: don’t post anything that you would not say into a microphone before an audience of 1,000 people. For the most part, I stick by that rule. If I have a bad day, I don’t usually explain the details of why. I try not to complain about the irritants of daily life, and I certainly don’t express all of the thoughts and feelings and stories that I share with my dear friends and family. Because of this rule, I have rarely spoken about why I do not have children and how I feel about it.
My friends are all along the fertility/infertility spectrum. I have friends who got pregnant by accident, on a whim, by mistake. One friend got pregnant the first month she tried. Another needed multiple fertility treatments. My friends have had miscarriages, healthy babies who arrived on time, babies who were born but never breathed. They have birthed naturally, with epidurals, by c-section. I have watched as each of these women walked her path towards or away from motherhood. I have seen my friends grow as mothers as their children grow as people. I have done my best to support them in loss, in choice, in frustration, in triumph.
From the core of my soul, I believe that motherhood is sacred. I believe there is no more important station in this life than that of parent.
But I am not a mother, and I never will be. My “infertility” is not the result of a malfunctioning reproductive system. Nor am I childless by choice. I am not a parent because of CFS.
Chronic Fatigue Syndrome is like a rope knotted tightly around my life. I need someone else to do so many of the routine things – grocery shopping, errands, driving, cleaning, laundry – that you probably take for granted. If I can’t drive a car to get to my own doctor appointments, how could I possibly take on the day-to-day work of raising a child? But that alone is not the reason I don’t have children. Help can be hired or given by others. We would need a lot of help, maybe even full-time help, but that’s not the real reason.
Dealing with CFS is a test every single day. Living – as opposed to surviving – with this illness requires emotional and spiritual strength on a scale I cannot describe. Time and again, we have reached into the well, clung to spiritual lifelines, to endure and overcome what CFS has done to us. I imagine the feeling is the same for parents. Being fully responsible for the total well-being and development of another person who cannot yet fend for him/herself is daunting, difficult, exhausting, challenging – I know because I’ve watched my friends find their own strengths as parents.
We are not parents because CFS has already stretched us to our limits, and beyond. We know that parenting is beyond our capability. For years we have hoped that something would change, so that then we could add a child to the mix. The truth is that we cannot. We cannot step onto the sacred path of parenthood because CFS has erected a road block that we cannot overcome.
While some of my friends have struggled with infertility and overcome barriers to birthing their children, none of them faced blocks to becoming parents. Even if an ovary or uterus would not cooperate, my friends could adopt. There are many ways to become a parent. To me, “mother” is an emotional and spiritual title, not merely a biological one. Giving birth is a sacred experience, but I don’t see it as a prerequisite to the more sacred journey of motherhood, of parenting.
My dearest, most personal wish is to be a mother. But adoption is no more of an option for me than getting pregnant. I cannot parent any child. I do not choose to be childless any more than I choose to rely on a cleaning service or grocery delivery. I don’t want to be in this place, or do these things. But it is reality, and I have no control over it. CFS forces these decisions on us: grocery delivery or take out pizza every night. Those are the options, but it’s not really an option at all.
My friends have chosen to be parents, or they have chosen not to be, and the power is in the choice. But no amount of hired help or technology can open this choice to me. CFS is a thirsty tap root, never satiated and burrowing ever deeper into my life. I pray for a miracle, and I believe they can happen. Something would have to give or open or close or move or change, but not just a little bit. The road block is so large that we cannot climb over or around it. Something would have to blast part of it out of the way. It could happen. But I’ve been holding my breath for almost 15 years now, and time moves ever forward.
Posted in Beliefs, Health, Loved Ones | 7 Comments »