Mom and fertility stories
I often think I’m fortunate to be pregnant as planned, having prepared my body and mind for this journey. Yet, my thoughts frequently turn to my mother, whose own fertility struggles cast a long shadow over my expectations. After having me, something went awry with her ovary, uterus, or hormones, and doctors warned of a possible genetic issue.
For a decade, starting when I was eight, she tried relentlessly to conceive again. She traversed a litany of IVF clinics and hospitals, but hope remained elusive. Information was scarce then, without the luxuries of YouTube, Facebook groups, or perhaps even Google. We lived far from the city’s hustle. I remember one rainy morning, the downpour reminiscent of an unleashed torrent, yet she embarked on a two-hour bus journey to the hospital, heart brimming with hope and solitude. She had asked me, then a 14-year-old with frivolous plans, to accompany her. I refused, a decision that has haunted me since, especially as I watched her silhouette disappear into the rain.
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Despite numerous attempts with renowned hospitals in the North, she even ventured to the South, a journey entailing hours of flight and drive. That day, as relatives gathered to wish her luck, the air was thick with sorrow and unspoken fears. I couldn’t bear to watch her leave, knowing tears were shed by her, my father, and my grandmother. The collective pity was palpable.
You might wonder why she persevered against such overwhelming odds. In the North of Vietnam, where we’re from, there’s a deep-seated belief, which she internalized, that a woman’s duty is to bear multiple children, especially sons. Although my father sometimes pleaded with her to stop, her fixation with this societal expectation drove her to exhaust every possibility.
As I get ready to be a mom, I think a lot about my mom’s story and how different our experiences are. There’s so much more to say about all that she went through and what I’m learning now. I’ll share more of these stories with you later. They’re about not giving up, about hope, and how what people expect from us can change over time. For now, I keep all these thoughts and stories in my heart, reminding me of where we came from and where I’m going.
