F*****e is the other F Word.

I heard a priest use the F word his weekend.

No, not that one – get your head out of the gutter.

The OTHER F word.

“Fertile.”

Let’s back up a bit. Steve and I attended a wedding this weekend. A friend of his from high school got married, and he was a groomsman. I was looking forward to indulging in some new makeup for the occasion (oh hey Sephora), eating more than my fair share of cake, and attempting to avoid the free wine (I caved. Half a glass.). Plus, this is the month before IVF so it would be a good opportunity for Steve and I to enjoy each other’s company.

I was content and listening to the priest during the nuptial mass, when he started to talk about readings from the book of Genesis. God made everything, and it was all good.

Then, he used the dreaded word. ‘Fertile’. Enthusiastically preaching about how it was part of the sacrament of marriage, and surely he happy couple would be blessed with many children.

I have my times where I can honestly let anything pass without much notice. Dealing with infertility, you learn to block it out as a coping mechanism.

No, I don’t see the happy pregnant couple next to me in the store.

Nope, didn’t just see another Facebook pregnancy announcement.

Definitely didn’t just hear someone mischaracterizing infertility.

Smile, nod, and walk away.

But this time, I flinched. It caught me off guard and I had to compose myself. Noticeably, I think, because my mother in law, who was seated next to me, reached over and squeezed my arm.

I’m a lifelong Catholic, and the priest did not use any words I had not heard before, or extol any virtues I wouldn’t expect at a wedding mass. Okay, I may be more used to the term fruitful over fertile, but maybe that’s just my parish versus this one.

But this time, it got to me. “Be fertile and multiply.” Like it was a choice. Like it was a given that a good Catholic would be given children abundantly. There's something awful about being in a church of your own faith and having the priest suggest God hands out babies as rewards for being a “wonderful person”.

I am infertile. The opposite of what God says I should be.

Am I not good enough? Have I not been blessed by God? Is this a sign from above that I am clearly not meant to be a mother?

 The thought crossed my mind more than once.

I don’t think any person of the cloth has bad intentions, nor am I suggesting there’s anything wrong with the words themselves.  I’m just saying that this time, it got to me. And that bothers me a lot.

I hate admitting that my infertility exists and I hate letting it get to me. It feels like a personal failure to emotionally react.

Later, in the evening, I had another small moment. My father in law was talking to an old classmate, who asked him “if he was a grandparent yet.”

Now, that’s a common question. And not a rude one at all. I just happened to be sitting there to hear it. But I almost felt worse that she posed the question to my father in law than if she had posed the question to me.

For the first time, I felt pretty awful that my infertility and a lack of children was also my in-law’s lack of grandchildren. No matter how rational I try to be, my mind wandered to the “but for” mentality.

But for MY infertility, they would be grandparents by now. Hell, Steve and I would probably be working on our second child at this point.

But for ….

It’s hard to add another person to the list you feel like you’re letting down. Again, these are just my feelings – my in-laws have never and would never say anything like that to me – or even think it.

I think this was just an overall really emotional week for me. I was tired from sitting from the bar exam days prior, and keyed up from staring the oral drugs for IVF. I may not have reacted emotionally (or as emotionally) if not for that.

I guess my takeaway from all of this is that even in places where we feel safest, like in church, or during times of joy and celebration, like weddings, you can’t always escape. Regardless of where I go, or what I do, my infertility doesn’t change. I can only learn to roll with the punches some days. 

Today, I am praying harder than ever that September will bring us a miracle, and I won’t ever have to feel this way ever again.