What to read when you have infertility?
“We read to know we’re not alone.” ― William Nicholson, Shadowlands
This may sound like a stupid question, but it’s one I often ask myself. Of course, books on infertility and blogs on infertility are an option, but there is always the risk that you might read something scary (e.g. statistics on people who have your issue and don’t succeed). So I always have mixed feelings before bringing up on my Kindle something on the big “I” topic. (By the way, although this blog acknowledges suffering, it is meant to give a more upbeat perspective, so no scary statistics here). Plus, it’s tough to know how to deal with most infertility-related personal stories — you want to go straight to the end of the book, and see: in the end, did it work?
- If it did and a kid was born, then the whole story doesn’t seem like that big a deal
- If it didn’t, then that’s way too depressing.
What I found most helpful in my journey were books about suffering, but not related to infertility. Over the past 2 + years, I’ve read a lot of personal testimonies. My favourites are often quoted in this blog. I read Kate Gross’ beautiful Late Fragments, the book her 36 year-old dying self leaves to her 5 year-old twin boys. It’s not depressing; in fact it’s subtitled “Everything I want to tell you (about this magnificent life)”. Man’s search for Meaning, the classic book written by Viktor Frankl, the Jewish psychanalyst who survived Auschwitz, is at the frontier of a personal story and philosophy, asking “How could anyone survive in this hell?”. I read When Bad Things Happen to Good People, by Harold Kushner, a rabbi who lost his son, challenging his notion of who God is and how to spend his time:
“Animals will instinctively protect themselves against threats to their life and well-being, but only human beings live in the valley of the shadow of death, with the knowledge that they are mortal, even when no one is attacking them. This knowledge that we are going to DIE someday changes our lives in many ways. It moves us to try to cheat death by doing something that will outlive us — having children, writing books, having an impact on our friends and neighbors so that they will remember us fondly. Knowing that our time is limited gives value to the things we do. It matters that we choose to read a book or visit a sick friend”
I also like to read about how people faced with suffering in incredible situations managed to deal with their pain. For instance, I read We Wish to Inform You That Tomorrow We Will Be Killed with Our Families by Philip Gourevitch about the Rwandan genocide. In general, I read a lot about Africa as I was living there — Africa, Altered States Ordinary Miracles was my favourite, as you can feel the pulse of the continent through each page. Nothing To Envy: Real Lives In North Korea is a sobering account by Barbara Demick about the hunger and pain there as told from the perspective of the happy few North Koreans that escaped the country. The People’s Republic of Amnesia tells of how various Chinese people’s lives were marked forever by the sad episode of Tienanmen, and how it changed China. Survival in the Killing Fields was a harrowing autobiography about living through the Khmer Rouge regime in Cambodia. This list might seem gloomy, but it helps to put back my pain in the context of the great suffering life sometimes bring about.
Given Richard and I started the adoption accreditation process (which in France entails two preliminary meetings, a motivational letter, two interviews with psychologists, two with social workers, a home visit and some resource statements and then several years of waiting in the hope a child can be found), I’ve read a lot about adoption. The best books I’ve read on the topic include “How I Met My Son” (a realistic but generally positive first-person account) and “Attaching through Love, Hugs and Play” (which provides an eye-opening view of how difficult it can be to raise an adopted child, and some techniques to face those challenges).
I have continued to read fiction, because -better than non-fiction- it provides such a glimpse into the characters’ emotions and how they deal with the major disappointments they inevitably face. Some of the novels I’ve enjoyed most since the start of my infertility journey include A Man Called Ove, A Little Life, Stefan’s Zweig epic Magellan. I went through a Jane Austen period, prompted by the realization she had never had children and yet been one of the most well known female writers in history. I love Julian Barnes’s stories (The Sense of an Ending and the funny History of the World in 10 ½ chapters are my favourite) as well as Amin Maalouf’s ( e.g. Les Echelles du Levant). A few classics also helped to provide a sobering view of life — the Brave New World, where procreation in its current form is banned, is probably the most interesting to read when one has infertility.
Famously, Atticus in To Kill a Mockingbird says that “You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view — until you climb into his skin and walk around in it”. Fiction provides the ability to do just that. Being able to use our imagination is the essence of being human, and it’s what reading provides. IanMcEwan wrote that “cruelty is a failure of imagination”. I found the opposite was also true: Imagination (which is so stimulated by fiction-reading) makes our own suffering more bearable. As Charles William Eliot remarked, “Books are the quietest and most constant of friends; they are the most accessible and wisest of counselors, and the most patient of teachers.”
Do you have any book recommendations adequate to this phase of life?
