Sandra L. Vasher - I Hear Some People Just Have Sex (An Infertility Memoir with an Ambiguous Ending)

Im writing this from the back deck on a gorgeous 70-degree late-November Carolina Saturday. Football is on the TV, and perhaps fittingly for these strange times, Indiana is somehow ranked No. 9 and giving Ohio State a run for its money. Just when you thought 2020 couldnt get weirder. But here I am because Sandy has been nagging me for several weeks

Ive been procrastinating because I have no idea what to say. How does one write a foreword to a book about infertility? Put differently, how does a man write a forward to his wifes memoir about infertility? I honestly have no idea.

Im a child of the 1980s, raised by parents who were born during the Second World War and came of age when America still did great things. Above all, my parents instilled in me a strong, forward-looking work ethic. Put your hand to the plow and dont look back, my mother would say. And thank goodness she did. As a result, Im not a millennial weenie with an overabundance of feelings constantly bubbling up due to things that happened in the past. I dont do feelings, or at least not feelings that I wear on my sleeve.

What I do instead is thoughts. So here are some thoughtsthree, actually, and in reverse order of importanceabout our infertility journey.

Infertility is about the meaning of life. A few years ago, right while we were in the middle of infertility hell, there was a commercial for an insurance company that seemed to run whenever I turned on the TV. It started with a guy in his mid-20s, at a party, checking out a hot girl. He turns to his buddies and says, Im never getting married.

Predictably, the commercial then cuts to him buying a ring for his soon-to-be wife and progresses through various other juxtapositions (Were never having kids/cut to wife in labor; Were never moving to the suburbs/cut to him doing yard work; etc.) until it ends with him in his late-30s sitting on a couch with his wife, two kids asleep on his lap, and a minivan in his driveway. He says, Im never letting go. Despite its previous juxtapositions, I suppose the commercial intends to convey that he has found the meaning of his life and is content.

I can relate to a portion of this commercial. As a mid-20s bachelor living and working in downtown Chicago, I spent many weekends with my friends, living it up, stumbling home to my condo, and doing it all again the next week. Predictably, life progressed to meeting and marrying Sandy and moving out of the city to a house in suburban Atlanta. But for us, that is where the commercial paused. Sandy was never in labor. There were never any kids asleep on my lap.

Of course, what this means is that there was also no Im never letting go. But that is okay. Over the last decade, we have found meaning and contentment in other ways. Throughout this book, you will read about some of our many adventures and hobbies and how infertility has provided the opportunity to find meaning in more than just kids.

Infertility is about courage. There is, however, a reason why a chief marketing officer at an insurance company decided to spend millions of dollars to run that commercial ad nauseum during a whole host of sporting events watched primarily by men in their 30s and 40s. Having kids, and finding meaning and contentment in them, is normal. It is so normal, in fact, that one of my old friends from Chicago recently told me that having kids is the meaning of life. He now has three.

What is scary for someone facing infertility is that my friend might be right. Despite the meaning we have found, as I have gotten older, I worry about what the future holds. Will our hobbies and adventures give us fulfillment as we grow old? What will we think about when we are dying? Will anyone be there? Will anyone care? Will we be forgotten? What legacy will we leave for the world?

Infertility is about facing these fears. It is about having the courage to admit that you actually, and desperately, want the normal. It is about having the courage to go for it despite the odds. It is about going to appointments, talking to doctors, holding your wifes hand during procedures, and waiting for news, all while knowing you may never get that perfect family cuddled up on the couch. And perhaps more than anything, it is about being courageous in the face of bad news, putting your hand to the plow and moving forward with the life you have built instead of looking back to what might have been.

Infertility is about love. After leaving the altar at our wedding, I turned to Sandy and said, This is the best decision I ever made. Within two years, we were on the verge of divorce. But we persevered, and I now cannot imagine my life without her. My love for her grows every day, in part because of our infertility journey.

Im incredibly lucky to have a loving and caring wife who has been willing to go through so much just so we could try to have a family with kids together. Even more than that, Im lucky to have someone who has the courage to face fears and have faith that, even without kids, we can find meaning and contentment together.

I hope you enjoy her story. I hope it makes you laugh, cry, and provides some insight into how at least one couple has managed through nearly a decade of bad news and loss. I also hope that it helps you find meaning, courage, and love in your journey. Infertility is not a tragedy. It is just a part of life for some couples. Although we dont yet know how our journey ends, what I do know is that despite the loss and hardship we have faced, I would not trade the meaning, courage, and, most importantly, love for Sandy that I have found along the way. Happy reading.

John-Malcolm M. Cox

The husband.