An Infertility Story: One Woman’s Experience

Marianne E. Felice, MD

John and i married late; we were both 35. In our 20s, when most people marry, we were starting our careers. John was career Navy and I was in medical school. When I was a pediatric intern in Harrisburg, Penn., he was assigned to Harrisburg for recruiting duty.

He tried to recruit me into the Navy. I declined, but agreed to go on a date. One date led to another and, after seven years of dating, we were married in San Diego, Calif.. There, I accepted a position at University of California San Diego as chief of adolescent medicine and he was assigned duty at the naval base.

We presumed we would have children, never thinking it would be difficult. I began looking for au pairs and day care options. John balked and stated he would retire from the Navy and become a stay-at-home dad. I was aghast. “Why?” he asked. I said, “Because this baby will be smoking cigars and playing poker and cussing like a sailor before it reaches its third birthday!”

He laughed. “Yes, and that is if it’s a girl. Imagine what I will do if it is a boy!”

We tried with no success. Two years later, we had an appointment with a fertility expert. We did everything he said to do. tracked my temperature daily with that special thermometer to hone in on ovulation. I did not think John was paying attention to my daily ritual until one evening, when he was in the shower, I turned down the bed and a note was pinned to my pillow: “Signal, when ready!”

John booked us on cruises so I would be away from work and relaxed. The cruises were great, but a pregnancy did not happen.

We were both evaluated for infertility with no causes found. One procedure was memorable. We were scheduled for an in vivo fertilization at the time of ovulation. At the doctor’s office, John was sent to a bathroom and I was placed on an exam table with my feet in stirrups. John’s semen was introduced into my vagina with something that looked like a turkey baster and my exam table was tilted so that my head was down and my bottom was up. John came into the room and we were instructed to think romantic thoughts. The nurse left the room. John and I did not speak for at least one full minute. Finally, he asked me what I was thinking.

“I am thinking that if your sperm are not bright enough to find my eggs unless I am turned upside down, I am not sure I want them anywhere near my eggs!”

Then, we considered adoption. Since John was a Protestant, the Catholic agency we contacted would not accept us as adoptive parents, even though John had signed a document when we were married in a Catholic ceremony agreeing if we had children we would raise them in the Catholic faith. We contacted another agency. They met with us but determined that because John was in the Navy, I would often be raising the baby alone while he was at sea. They preferred an intact family and not a single mother. John said he would retire from the Navy if we had a child, but that was dismissed. I was horrified to think my husband, who had served in the Vietnam War, was now being penalized as a military man who wanted to adopt. (President Gerald Ford, who was adopted himself, had that rule overturned later.)

So, we pursued private adoption. This was after the passage of Roe v. Wade, so there may have been fewer babies to adopt. I found the name of a lawyer who specialized in private, open adoptions. She found an out-of-state pregnant teenager who was coming to San Diego to live with a relative until she delivered. We agreed to pay for her prenatal care plus additional adoption fees. We learned she was having a baby boy. We were asked to write a letter stating why we wanted to adopt. Another family also wanted to adopt and were writing a letter as well. She chose our letter and we were scheduled to meet with her. That is when we learned her pregnancy was the result of date rape. John was concerned we might be raising a future rapist. His literature search at the public library did not support such a fear, but he was dubious. We then learned she wondered if we could adopt her as well as the baby. Or, at minimum, would we let her live with us. That unusual request worried me. What if she did not like the way we were raising her baby? Would she take him away? The adoption fell apart. We later learned the other family did adopt this little boy. The young mother went back to the Midwest and did not ask to live with the other family.

John and I were both shaken by the experience and decided to hold off on future adoption efforts for a little while. I remember that day well because, after we left the lawyer’s office, John went to his office at the

Navy base and I went to my afternoon clinic. As fate would have it, that day was the day that, together, the pediatrics and OB-GYN departments held the weekly teen pregnancy clinic. I put on my lab coat and greeted the 15-year-old patient in room No. 1 who was 24 weeks pregnant. The irony was not lost on me.

Although adoption did not work out for us, I am a strong believer in adoption. It is usually good for the child, but it is also good for the generous adoptive parents who are willing to open their hearts and their homes to children who need them. John and I did not end up adopting a child, but we have had the good fortune of being involved in the lives of several children. We helped my elderly aunt raise her granddaughter when the child’s mother left her and her father passed away. She lived with us briefly until her mother returned. I became very close to one of my nieces when she was a teenager. We took her to Paris and London and on a cruise to Hawaii. She is a mother herself now and lives in another state. We are still close and talk by phone nearly every week. I also have two godsons (brothers) whom I love. Their mother, my good friend, passed away a few years ago. I officiated at the wedding of one godson and served as mother of the groom for the other. By coincidence, one godson’s bride was a woman I had actually held in my arms when she was a baby. I did not realize this fact until I was at their wedding and her grandmother recognized me and told me the story.

I do not know why I was not given the gift of being a biological mother, but if I am lucky enough to get to the pearly gates when I die, it is one of the first questions I will ask the good lord. In the meantime, I relish my good fortune to have so many young people in my life. They are not my children, but I love them as if they were. +

Marianne Felice, M.D. is Chair Emerita of Pediatrics and Professor of Pediatrics and PB-GYN Emerita at the University of Massachusetts Medical School. Email: mariannefelice@townisp.com

I am grateful to Dr. Tiffany Moore-Simas, Chair of OB-GYN, for her excellent editorial suggestions.