Infertility doesn’t just impact the patient but their entire family and social circle as well. Family relationships can be particularly difficult to navigate after an infertility diagnosis. I asked my mother, Judy Horn, to write a blog post reflecting on how it feels to have a loved one with infertility. She shares her thoughts below. Thanks, Mom, for sharing your story.

– Elizabeth

In the late 1980s, when my daughters were small, I watched a movie on television. The story line was of a family with four daughters. As the story unfolded three of the daughters were either pregnant or had children and it was apparent that the other daughter was struggling with infertility. It was a Lifetime movie, full of drama and at the conclusion had a typical happy ending. I can remember thinking of my girls and hoping that I never had to deal with that situation. For some reason, perhaps a vague premonition of events to come, I never forgot that movie. And so today, nearly thirty years later, I am sitting at my computer trying to find the adequate words to describe what it is like to have a loved one with infertility.

A Polaroid of Judy with Elizabeth at her kindergarten registration in the early 1980s.

When my daughter Elizabeth finally told me about her struggle with infertility she was a couple of years into it. I can remember immediately thinking that this would be an easy fix. She was working with a doctor and I was pretty confident that they would find a solution and before I knew it she would be pregnant. At the time I had no idea how complicated it would become and how low the success rate is. I can remember waiting for months for information. Because of the nature of this disease and because Elizabeth was like most women dealing with infertility, we didn’t talk much about the process, so, I began searching the internet for any information I could on the subject of infertility.  When I would see or talk to her I would look for any indication that she was or was not pregnant and as the months passed the assurance I had felt before about the “easy fix” began to evaporate. I became frustrated and just wanted to do something, anything that would help, but there was nothing I could really do. At one point I began to feel guilty and wonder if in some way this was my fault, that I had done something during my pregnancy that resulted in Elizabeth’s infertility.

I often worry about saying the wrong thing, about saying something unintentionally that will be hurtful or inappropriate. There is a list of words and phrases not to say to someone dealing with infertility, but sometimes it’s difficult to remember and I know I’ve said things without thinking. When that happens, I feel so bad and I get angry with myself for not getting it right. Once the words are out, there is nothing that can take them back and never the right words to express my regret for speaking them.

I began to feel guilty and wonder if in some way this was my fault.

Eventually, three years ago Elizabeth did become pregnant. We were going away together on a weekend trip and when I stopped by to pick her up, for some reason I had a good feeling she was pregnant. She said nothing about it, but when I had to give her an injection that evening, I was even surer that I was right. The next day we went shopping and I sat while she tried on clothing and enjoyed the fashion show. The good feeling grew as I noted the number of shorts and skirts that had elastic or drawstring waists. Sadly, the good feeling would not last more than a few more hours. Elizabeth had gone for blood work that morning and received a call as we were shopping that her numbers were down and the two little ones that had implanted after IVF were no longer living. We drove back to the hotel in silence, Liz crying quietly and me struggling to concentrate on my driving as the tears blurred my vision. I spent that afternoon watching her sleep, feeling helpless and useless, knowing there was nothing to do but just be there and that seemed incredibly insignificant.

Elizabeth and Judy at Antiques Roadshow in Detroit, the day after learning of Elizabeth’s miscarriage.

Several months later Elizabeth had her last embryo transfer. It was unsuccessful. I have five living grandchildren that give so much happiness. I am thankful for them every day. However, I will forever be reminded of Elizabeth’s children and mourn their loss. There is a list that will never end of things that I will miss with them. I will never give them a bath or have the joy of watching them grow, run my fingers through their soft hair, tell them how much I love them or hear their sweet voices. I will always long to know what they would have looked like and I will never forget them.

There are many words I could use to describe the past five years. Just of few of them are disappointment, guilt, worry, regret, loss, love and balance. Balance because I have to balance my feelings about all of this and remember to appreciate the good things and not dwell too much on the sadness. I have much to be thankful for.

Last and most importantly, I love her so much and I am proud. I am so proud of Elizabeth and how she has taken a personal tragedy and made it into something that will help others cope with their own heartaches. In just two years ART of Infertility, an exhibit she created, has helped others tell their stories and deal with their own infertility journeys. It has grown into an organization that educates, raises awareness and provides a creative outlet and a community of support for those experiencing the effects of their own infertility disease. I will never know how many people she has touched with her work or the effect that it will have on them and the lives of others, but I am confident that this legacy she is creating will be long-lasting and a catalyst for positive change for many years to come.