Should we tell?

As my treatment draws closer, I’m increasingly preoccupied with whether or not to tell people about our infertility.  My mom and my best friend know details, and Henry told his boss why he’s had so many doctors’ appointments lately, but that’s it so far.  Henry is in favor of giving more people an idea of what’s going on, but I’m feeling more secretive.  Here are our arguments:

For telling:

It’ll make work easier.  This is why Henry already told his boss (which I was ok with).  My work is more flexible – I can disappear for an hour here or there without anyone noticing – but once I’m into treatment and my appointments are dictated by my body rather than the calendar it’s going to get harder.  I can only refer to sketchy “medical issues” for so long; my boss is pretty understanding, but “I’ll need off work next Wednesday… or maybe Friday…. for a, um, medical thing” is pushing it.

It’ll make our relationships easier.  A few days after my HSG, Henry and I went to a housewarming party.  It was only when we were walking up to the door and saw others with gifts that I realized that we didn’t bring anything.  Our friends didn’t care, but I felt awful. I see this kind of thing becoming common as we get caught up in treatments; Henry and I are both introverts, so we tend to retreat into our own little world.  It would be nice if our friends knew why.

It’ll give people the opportunity to support us, or at least to not say anything stupid.  If a friend was going through this, I’d want to know.  And although we are lucky to have extraordinarily polite friends and family who don’t really pry about our reproductive plans, the wrong question at the wrong time could be really depressing for me and embarrassing for the asker.

We can control the message.  Henry imagines saying something like, “We need a little help to get pregnant, but we have a great doctor and great insurance so it’ll all work out fine. Now, how about those Ravens?”  That doesn’t sound too scary.

There shouldn’t be a stigma.  One in eight couples will struggle with this, but given our age we’re probably the first in our peer group (or are we?).  We have the opportunity to put a face on the issue, answer any questions people have, and be a resource for others who might face something similar down the road.  It could be a really powerful thing.

Against Telling:

Woman in the workplace issues.  I don’t want my boss to think that my infertility is preventing me from doing my job, and I don’t want her to have my possible pregnancy on her mind when it could be years before we have a kid.  I said something about us trying for a baby a while ago, and now I regret it; I don’t want to regret telling her this.

I don’t want to keep anyone updated.  Right now, visits with friends and family are wonderful little vacations from thinking about fertility issues; once we tell, vacation’s over.  Plus, what if I get bad news?  Do I really want to feel obligated to tell people?  How many sympathetic head tilts can I take?

It’s private. The only three people I want thinking about my fallopian tubes are me, my husband, and my doctor.  Making things worse, the specific type of infertility I have is most often cause by pelvic inflammatory disease, which is most often caused by an STD.  Based on my sexual history it’s very unlikely that this is the cause in my case, but anyone who decides to look up my condition is going to read the word chlamydia.  Great.

It’s awkward.  Since most people aren’t constantly asking when we’re going to get knocked up, we’d have to be the ones to broach the subject. How would we do it? “Sorry I forgot your housewarming present, but I’m infertile”? Talk about your non sequitur.

I want to feel normal.  I want to get pregnant, not pregnant* (*through IVF).  One of the weird perks of my specific condition is that things are moving really fast, and there’s a decent chance I’ll be pregnant within a few months.  If no one ever suspects we had a problem, that’s fine by me.

Did I miss anything?