Incomplete to Complete...

Christmas holidays came and went. We didn’t go on a trip or even leave our home those 10 days. It just didn’t seem right to “celebrate”. We stayed at home getting over our grief. And decided to paint our home. It needed a re-paint, and this seemed like a good mundane activity to do. We painted the spare bedroom – what would have been our baby’s room – orange because who knew if we’d have a boy or girl when we got pregnant next.

We began 2013 by trying for a baby again. A few months passed and we didn’t get pregnant. We decided to get our tests done to see where the problem was. Soon we learned that I had premature ovarian failure, and my ovarian reserves were that of a woman in menopause. At the age of 31, I was now considered too old, almost past my birth giving expiry date, and infertile. As I learned more about premature ovarian failure, I knew my choices were limited. It fell into the category of “inexplainable” infertility. The tag of infertility is what hurt me the most.

Shocking as it was, we had no choice but to accept the diagnosis and move towards the next steps. We went through all possible infertility treatments in 2013. We left no stone unturned and spent thousands of dollars on different treatments. Ultimately, our choice was to do IVF and if that was not successful to do IVF with donor eggs. We did two rounds of IVF in the US and one round of IVF with donor eggs in India. None of these resulted in pregnancies. The emotional toll of these different treatments and the hope each treatment gave us, only to be shattered two weeks later, was too much to absorb. In 2014, we decided we had had enough and were no longer going to pursue any treatments to have children.

Arriving at this decision was not easy. I was never the one who thought I was born to be a mother. In fact, it was my husband who always wanted us to have children. He was born to be a father and had been trying for years to convince me for us to have our own children. Guilt for not listening to him coupled with wanting what I could no longer have, made me very sad.

What helped me get over my sadness was the support I received from my husband and the larger community and the women in my family. My husband, parents and aunties were my biggest supporters. My mother stood steadfast in making sure I understood that motherhood was one identity that I could have but not the only identity. It was also not the most important identity, she said. She told me that I needed to give my best to become a mother – if that’s what I wanted – so I didn’t have regrets in the future. But if I couldn’t become a mother, it was not the end of the world. I would not be incomplete.

I also spoke with my mausis and mamis (aunties) who all told me that motherhood was overrated. That I should not place so much emphasis on it that I forget who I am. They had seen their own daughters and daughters-in-law struggle with getting pregnant and then sustaining those pregnancies. They didn’t think the pain and stress was worth it. They all helped me see who I was, for me. Not me as a mother but me as a career woman. Me as a bua (auntie). Me as a wife. Me as a daughter. Me as myself! They helped me find joy in things I liked to do.

I don’t think I could have felt so confident of my decision of not pursuing endless infertility treatments if I didn’t have their support. They truly helped me feel confident in who I was. They helped me understand that infertility was a medical condition that was out of my hands. It was not something I caused or could have changed. They helped me feel complete. They helped me feel nothing was wrong with me. They helped me understand I was not a bad omen, as often infertile women in the Indian diaspora are considered. And they stood by me if someone thought otherwise. They argued for me. They fought for me. They supported me. They were and are my fiercest allies.

In 2015, my husband and I decided to support education for underprivileged girl children in India. Since then, we have helped one girl become an officer in the Indian Administrative Services; six girls become nurses; and for the past two years have been supporting the education of an 8-year-old girl who lost her father to COVID in 2021. The joy we get in seeing these young girls succeed is indescribable. And we think the reason we don’t have our own kids is so we can support numerous other kids to achieve their dreams.

I think God closed a door on us to open the many windows that bring us immense happiness.