F is a loaded letter. F is for Frustration. F is for F#@K, this sucks! And yes, F is for Fertility.

When my husband and I first started this process, we quickly amassed a mounting pile of paperwork from our various doctors. So I organized it and neatly tucked it away in my filing cabinet under F for Fertility. I very intentionally chose to label it “Fertility” rather than “Infertility.” You could say that I had a beef with the word “Infertility.”

Though there’s an accepted medical definition for infertility—no conception after one year of regular intercourse—that’s not my interpretation. Perhaps I could accept something milder like “Subfertility,” but to me, “Infertility” sounds like more of an absolute: No Chance for Fertility, Ever. It just sounds so negative, so final, so harsh. Especially when I was just starting the process…shouldn’t I be allowed a glimmer of hope, without being slapped with such a drastic label?

I decided to boycott “Infertility.” I refused to utter it. When I confided in a friend, I used an alternate term. “We’re fertility-challenged” or “we’re seeing a fertility doctor,” I would say. When I first called up the reproductive endocrinologist’s office and was given the choice between a gynecology appointment or an infertility appointment, I asked for a fertility appointment. In my mindset, it seemed absurd to ask for an infertility appointment. Infertility? Why would I want to sign up for that? No, thanks. I’ll take fertility, please.

As long as I am struggling to remain optimistic about the process, I would like the outside world to offer me some optimism. But when I hear the word “Infertility,” I just think about the past and what hasn’t worked so far. Personally, I try to redirect my negative thoughts as much as possible—though it’s often a challenge—to something more hopeful. Whenever I hear “Infertility,” it just drags me down.

I think my semantic choices have been based on a combination of optimism, denial, and a touch of superstition. Admitting that my husband and I were infertile meant acknowledging a possibility that we might never be able to conceive. It was hard for me to admit that then, and it’s still a difficult scenario to think about now, though only time will tell.

And though I’ve resigned myself to the term “infertility” by now, I still wince a bit whenever I use it. Semantics can be quite significant in the way that we perceive something. As long as we’re on this emotional journey, perhaps a better label would help us all feel a little better?

ITNB would like to once again thank to Jane for her article. Sometimes we would all just like to say “F-THIS!!”

Looking back, when my husband and I first started trying to conceive, we had this idea that only beautiful lovemaking was going to create our child. Plain old ordinary sex was just not going to cut it, we thought. Nothing but passionate and loving intimacy was going to get us pregnant.

During our first year of trying, I recall a month or two where we decided not to have sex, even though the timing was right. We were tired or otherwise not feeling up to it that day, so we intentionally skipped it. No child of ours is going to be a product of obligatory sex, we insisted. Our mantra became, “Only the most beautiful kind of lovemaking will create our child.”

As it turned out, that was far from the truth. The doctors have since told us that it will be no lovemaking of any kind—obligatory or otherwise—that was going to get us to our goal. Our only hope for conception was going to be quite the opposite of our original thoughts.

Unromantic, indeed! It is far from intimate; mediated by doctors, nurses, and lab technicians. Forget candle-lit dinners; we use thermometers, pee sticks, and specimen collection cups. In fact, there is a great irony to be found in our fertility treatments: My doctor told me that I can bring the semen sample with me when I go for my intrauterine insemination. My husband’s physical presence is not even necessary.

So, no, there will be no romance in our quest for conception. And that’s not to say that there is no romance in our relationship. Sure, it’s still there. What we’ve really lost is the romance of an idea. This idea which now, in retrospect, seems a bit naïve. We’ve lost the romantic notion that our child, if we are blessed with one, will be created from a physical act of love.

ITNB would like to express our thanks to Jane for her article. We think it is something we can all relate to!