The words no woman ever wants to believe.

Hi.

I'm infertile.

Ouch. Those words pack a punch. It took me nearly 10 years to actually say them aloud. And this was after I'd visited several ob/gyns completely bewildered by my lack of conception success, not to mention at least three fertility clinics complete with brag boards showcasing the babies they'd help create.

If it's a baby you're after, we're here to deliver! Just read and sign this mountain of paperwork - you do know legalese, don't you? Write out a big whopping check (no money-back guarantees) and, oh, we'll need a blood draw to prove you aren't carrying HIV or any venereal diseases. Now come on down.

What they really meant was take a number ‘cause I saw a whole lotta women in line ahead me. By the way, I asked, how much time will this take? I've got a life to live here. Me and my guy, we've been dancing between the sheets since my early 30s. We should have a starting basketball team by now! Have I mentioned this waiting thing is getting seriously annoying?

Little did I know the waiting was just beginning. Before long I grew completely comfortable disrobing and lying naked from the waist down in front of strangers in white coats who prodded, analyzed and worked over my private bits but I still couldn't think - let alone actually say the words.

I was eager to please and wanted to set the doctors and nurses at ease. Really, I'm not a difficult case, you'll see. I watch my diet. I exercise. I was raised Catholic for Pete's Sake. That's good for something, right? Aren't we supposed to be breeding machines?

While I could strip lickity split in a doctor's office I still felt awkward changing in a woman's locker room. (That must have been because there wasn't any examining table with stirrups attached anywhere in sight.)

When it came to making babies I was sure there was just some big f@#$ing misunderstanding. A pill. A few shots. Some exploratory surgery. Come on, people, I've seen your fancy degrees - we're not in the dark ages here. Let's stop horsing around here ‘cause you know I'm not really, well, you know...

I refused to believe the evidence. There just had to be a pregnancy solution. As long as I denied the "I" word there was still a chance. Perhaps we needed another diagnostic test? I never was much good at reading instructions, though I don't recall seeing any for my ovaries and uterus. They appeared to function just fine each month. Day 10 I'd get mini cramps signaling ovulation, confirmed by a pee stick. My sex drive would rev accordingly. I'd get what felt like implantation cramps a few days later. That's right. I've got this completely under control.

Well, I thought I did. Two weeks later: one pink line.

I'm infertile.

Even now it hurts more than a little to say.

by Pamela Tsigdinos (aka Pamela Jeanne), Dec. 4, 2008

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