A story of betrayal
My husband and I have been having treatment for 4 years now to have a
baby. After one year of tests, two operations: a laparoscopy, and laser treatment, we
started on the IVF program. During the past four years, I have had many upsetting
experiences with friends making inappropriate comments, but I’ve had one especially
bad experience with my sister. My sister (Mary) has three children, and my other sister
(Vera) has one.
In the past, Mary has made many insensitive comments, and we are no longer on speaking
terms. She does not have an infertility problem, in fact, she described herself as having
a "fertility problem" because she "gets pregnant at the drop of a
hat". For years Mary and I were very close, and I am Godmother to her second child.
By the time her second child was two, my husband and I had been having IVF treatment for
two years. At this time, Mary and I were close, and I was sharing my experiences and
details of my treatment with her - all the while telling her my most intimate hopes and
dreams.
During several of these conversations, the topic came up about baby names, and I
mentioned on at least six different occasions that when (and if) I had a baby boy, I would
name him "Jeremy". I remember one conversation vividly, when she said that she
and her husband didn’t like names with three syllables. I didn’t think anything
of this - after all it was just a conversation.
Several months went by and Mary came to my house one morning with her two kids to tell
me that she was pregnant again. She was not sure how I would react, but I surprised myself
(and her) by feeling genuinely happy for her, but at the same time feeling very sad for
myself. The months went by and we "shared" her pregnancy - she told me what she
was going through and how she felt. Gradually though, I found that I was telling her less
and less about my (continuing) treatment and the sadness and depression I was feeling.
Finally it was time for her to give birth, and again I was genuinely happy and
concerned for her. Two hours after she had her third child, she called me up and she told
me all about her experience - we talked for hours. She was my closest friend. Since she
lived in the country, (two hour drive away), I gave her a day to recover, and decided to
visit her the next day in hospital with my other sister Vera. Considering it was a
difficult delivery, Mary looked well, and the baby was healthy and beautiful. I cuddled
her new baby (difficult for me), and felt glad that I had the strength to share her
pregnancy. In retrospect, she was acting aloof, and I should have realized that she had
something on her mind, but I just put it down to exhaustion and lack of sleep. Nothing
however, could have prepared me for what happened next. Vera and I were asking Mary if she
had decided on a name for the baby yet. Mary was adamant that she and her husband
hadn’t yet chosen a name. Again, the topic of children’s names came up, and Vera
was looking through a book of Baby’s Names, and whilst making suggestions. Vera
suggested to Mary that she call the baby "Jeremy". (Vera was unaware of the
previous conversations Mary and I had had on this topic.) As soon as Vera made her
suggestion, I said "Oh no, she can’t name her baby Jeremy, as I’ve been
saying for years that I would call My child Jeremy." Mary’s reaction to this
was: "Well Sister, you’ll just have to get used to it because I’ve already
decided to call the baby Jeremy." Her tone of voice was cruel and calculating.
Now, you have to understand that if she had told me this news in a more understanding
and kind-hearted way, I’m sure I would have reacted to the news very differently. I
felt like I had been punched in the stomach, and the sadness of my own infertility once
again hit me like a ton of bricks. I felt sick. I felt that she was playing a cruel and
nasty joke on me. I asked her, "Mary, if I didn't have a fertility problem, and had
been able to have a child already, and had named that child Jeremy, would you still have
called your baby Jeremy?" She said she didn’t know, but the answer was clear to
me - she wanted to hurt me.
I was in shock and I couldn’t speak - a scream echoed inside my head. I had to get
away. At this point I made a quick exit - I got into my car and drove for a few minutes
before I allowed myself to "feel" anything. After a while I stopped the car and
cried and cried. I cried for myself, for my husband, and for my unborn babies.
Two years have passed since then, and Mary and I still aren’t on speaking terms. I
will never forget how devastated I felt that day, and how much it still hurts. Sure, one
day I will talk to her, but I will never again trust her. For years my husband had been
saying to me: "Dont tell people your feelings because one day they will use it
against you in order to see you suffer." My mother’s words came flooding back to
me: "People love to see others fail." Actually, I never did agree with these
opinions, and I certainly did not think that it applied to friends and family. But since
then, I have seen evidence of truth in my husband’s and mother’s words, and I am
constantly surprised that people, and especially family and friends, can be so cruel and
hurtful.
Thank you for listening.
