Child Free Not By Choice
In the final year we were together, I had suspicions that something was wrong. It was that gnawing feeling in my soul that whispers despite the good you want to see in someone. This man is dangerous. Run. Get out.
I had already begun to think about exit plans.
During my failed journey toward motherhood, I did everything women are told to do when they want to get pregnant. I charted my cycle and ovulation, took vitamins, stopped drinking and using cannabis, and had ultrasounds to check my fertility. My egg count was strong. The only issue doctors noted was a small fibroid behind my uterus, and they recommended exploratory surgery to examine it and remove it if necessary.
I asked The Aussie multiple times to have his sperm count tested while he was in Australia, where it would have been free. He made excuses, then he lied. He blamed clinic cancellations and scheduling issues, anything to avoid following through.
Still, I was determined to rule myself out. Maybe I needed IVF. I had researched it for years and had a plan. I was prepared to do whatever it took.
When the time came for my exploratory surgery, I asked him to come with me. He said he was scheduled to work and could not get the time off, so I asked my mom instead. As fate would have it, the surgery was delayed until the following day, a day he had off. He came with me after all.
What I did not understand then was why he was so reluctant. Surgery is never guaranteed to be safe. I signed waivers acknowledging that. I could have died. Only later did I realize his hesitation had nothing to do with work. It had everything to do with what he already knew. He knew he was sterile.
Imagine watching your wife go through years of testing, hormone tracking, and surgery, knowing the entire time that the issue was not with her. It was with you.
Thankfully, the surgery went smoothly. I was told the fibroid was small and not the problem. I had plenty of eggs left. The doctor pulled me aside and advised that my husband should be tested. That was when his story began to unravel.
I do not remember the exact question I asked him next. I only remember that his answer did not match what he had told me before. He could not keep track of his lies. Around that same time, he began making his own exit plan with another woman. I will not revisit that here. If you have read my earlier posts, you know how it went.
Eventually, I asked him directly. He admitted he was sterile and had known for our entire relationship.
My heart dropped.
Thirteen years.
This man also told me that if I wanted children, I should have started in my thirties. I was with him in my thirties. He had told me he wanted the same future I did.
Thirteen years.
Imagine believing you might be the problem, only to discover your husband was and hid it. Imagine realizing he purposely wasted your fertile years through deception and selfishness. Then imagine him telling friends and family that he left because you were a nightmare to live with, despite us never fighting or having any conversations about unresolved issues, while omitting his sterility and the affair.
The aftermath was not loud, but it was lasting.
He did not just take my chance at motherhood. He also took my mother’s chance to become a grandmother. I do not know which loss is worse, but I do know she was devastated in an entirely different way.
There is no one else after me.
I am the last of my bloodline.
He deliberately took that future from me.
