85% of people get pregnant in a year after they started trying.
85%! Only fifteen percent don’t. I’m that 15%.
There’s a 25% conceiving possibility, if you’re in your 20’s. In your thirties it’s 15%.
I’m that 15%.
In two years the rate of pregnancies goes to almost 98%. Probably because of the treatments we’re adviced to start after a year has passed. But what if it doesn’t happen then, either? Then I’m the 2%. Who could understand that?
People keep telling me What are you worrying about? People get pregnant all the time! That’s supposed to make me feel better? It makes me feel worse! I know they get pregnant. It’s all I see. Exhausted but harmonius pregnant women, stressed but loving women and men wheeling their incredibly wonderful little kids around in the blazing sun. Older people with their pictures of their grand children.
It just points out how broken I am for not getting pregnant. What’s wrong with me, then, that it doesn’t happen, if everybody else can? I’m in the 15% that nobody wants to recognise.
If someone is really lonely and unhappy, you don’t flaunt other people’s happiness in front of them. You don’t say Hey, other people are happy and have found a partner, so you don’t have anything to be sad about. So, why with getting pregnant? Why am I not allowed to feel the pain I’m feeling and get empathy?
My little sister, with her tight big pregnant belly and her two year old playing in the floor near us, said the best thing. She said she’d though about it and realised that it’s not just a loss for me. It’s also a loss for her, if I never get pregnant. If I never have children. She will have to carry my sorrow. She will never get to be happy for me. She will have to hide her own happiness and her own troubles from me, because I won’t get to have it. She will never get to meet my children, the wonderful and surprising people they turn out to be. She will lose too. Somehow, that was the best thing she could’ve said. She was already dealing with a possible future, where we don’t get children. She was serious. She was full of sorrow.
She heard me.
I did experience a miscarriage in very early term last summer right at this time. It was a pain no one wanted to recognise either. I got disbelief, patronising, ignoring even. Not a lot of empathy. And it was a huge deal to us. A long, long road to find each other again. And then we had to be happy, because we we’re getting married. It was the most difficult summer of my life.
But I did get pregnant. Even if it didn’t last. That would suggest that we’re not in fact incapable of conceiving. The knowledge does little to help, still, because of the time that has passed, but I’m trying to refresh those memories now. My body has fallen pregnant before. It knows how to do it.