Issue 14: What not to say

Saturday September 15 2018

Our friend Mark is visiting from New York. Although he has been Mr B’s close friend for nearly two decades — he was our best man — he doesn’t know about our baby-making plans. It’s not something that Mr B talks about, despite my constant encouragement, but I get it. As a general rule our women friends have more characteristics that make them a great support network. They fall somewhere on the scale from talkative to gossipy, which, let’s face it, this thing lends itself to. They possess the biology that makes them have empathy, mostly around the ovaries. They aren’t freaked out by tears or tantrums or disconcerting laughter at inappropriate times.

Our male friends, on the other hand, don’t have the same capacity for understanding in this particular area. Only what if they do? Mr B’s reluctance to talk to them means that he rarely tests the waters. To be fair he has tried and has had some unintentionally “bad” responses (more on that later). He talks to me — but he can’t tell me what he really wants to say.

Wait, let me ask him for an example.

“OK, but bear in mind I’d never say this to you IRL . . . You’re sure? OK. Um, I get scared at the thought of being in an entirely normal situation where the baby isn’t settling with you at any given time, but you get upset and think it’s somehow wrapped up in the genetics of not being yours. Then I take baby and it calms down immediately and then everything all of a sudden gets f***ed up for a bit. That type of thing.”

I appreciate him telling me this and, yes, I can see how this could a) happen and b) be scary and tense for him. Noted in my book of Behaviours to Avoid at All Costs (FYI husband, I can’t guarantee rationale will prevail through the sleeplessness, but we’ll do our best).

Mark from NYC is an emotional guy. He’s talkative, but not gossipy and, even without ovaries, he is definitely empathetic. Which becomes apparent when we put the Times Weekend section under his nose at breakfast and awkwardly watch him read about the past two years of our lives.

After an uncomfortable five or so minutes he looks up with tears in his eyes and says: “Whoa.” Which is exactly the right and only thing to say. The weight of what his good friends have been through, the new knowledge that we can’t have kids, the knowledge that we really want them and are really, really trying to have them, plus all the travelling to Russia and the pregnancies and the miscarriages and now the surrogacy and, and, and . . . “Whoa”. Exactly.

And then he says the other precisely right thing, which is: “Guys, what is the right thing to say right now?”

And so the crux of this column was born. I was so grateful for the question; it’s honest and astute and made me think of all the “wrong” comments. Then I check myself. What do you say? I wouldn’t know, were I not in the midst of the situation. So, since I am, let me see if I can help . . .

First, there really is no specific right or wrong, since everyone and every situation is different. But if we’re being real, there is a lot of “wrong”.

The A word

There is a four-word sentence that is commonly offered to the infertile community from a host of sources, and, semantically speaking, while it doesn’t vary hugely, its sentiment does.

“You Should Just Adopt.”

This can come from anyone from a sibling (mine) to an anonymous Instagram follower, two examples that probably illustrate the disparity in sentiment.

My sister, when I told her we were going to go down the surrogacy path after five rounds of failed IVF, said: “You should just adopt. My friends have adopted and they’re so happy and it’s amazing and wonderful and blah blah blah.” (I glazed over after the first A-word punch.) She meant it constructively and helpfully and it came from a loving place, but it assumes that adoption is the easy option. It isn’t. It assumes we haven’t considered that route and it assumes we want to skip straight over the chance to have a baby biologically related to at least one of us.

I know that it’s a suggestion to save us some heartache and expense, but those two things are not exclusive to surrogacy over adoption. I also recognise that there are countless children who need a home as loving as ours. They need a home as loving as yours too, and I would love to offer that to a child one day if this doesn’t work. Or maybe for our second, who knows, but first, after carefully considering all the options, it is a choice and it is our choice.

To the anonymous “you should just adopt” Instagram commentators: Would you advise that to a woman trying to conceive naturally? If not, why not? I’ll leave it there.

Same for variations on: “Are you worried you won’t bond with the baby because you didn’t carry it?” Do fathers get asked this question? No. Does it pick at a scab that I’m trying to let heal naturally? Yes. Next!

The misplaced positivity

It is instinctive to be helpful and that is a lovely thing. So it’s absolutely not wrong to offer positive stories, and really, I have no right to get irritated. But sometimes it’s misplaced. Like this:

“I know someone who had IVF and then they just fell pregnant naturally. That could happen to you.”

Nope, it couldn’t. It really couldn’t. I could show you the scans of my obliterated ovaries if you liked. I could introduce you to my surgeon for a full medical debrief, but that would make you uncomfortable so I’ll just nod and smile sadly.

“I’m 100 per cent positive you’ll get good news soon.”

Really? How do you know? Have you heard this directly from someone upstairs? Because this is a tricky one to promise someone in any kind of negative situation — including, but not exclusively, IVF — unless you can guarantee the outcome. “Promise” sounds like a heavy word, but when you’re desperate you superstitiously cling to sentences like this. Then, when it doesn’t work, you kind of dislike the person who thought it would. And no one wants that now, do they?

These are filler sentiments. They mean nothing, but they usually come from a good place. Even so, how I respond depends on my mood or who is saying them. My mood, as with anyone who is dealing with hormones and/or heartbreak, is erratic at best, so maybe don’t risk it and try referring to these crib notes instead.

The right version

“I can’t imagine what this is like because I’ve not been through it, but if you ever want to talk . . .”

The wrong version

“I understand because it’s like when I couldn’t get pregnant for a year, so if you ever want to talk . . .”

The right version

“You seem so strong, but I’m sorry you’re having to go through any of this.”

The wrong version

“Poor you, it makes me feel lucky I didn’t have to go through any of this.”

The right version

“You’re going to make amazing parents one day.”

The wrong version

“Just enjoy not having kids while you can.”

The right version

“Whoa.”

The wrong version

There isn’t one. Whoa is a good one to encapsulate wonderment, disbelief and respect in a single syllable. Remember it and use it, because common sense, it seems, is not so common.