The Wedding: A Family's Coming Out Story by Doug Wythe, Andrew Merling, Roslyn Merling, Sheldon Merling Read Free Book Online Page A

I
hadn’t been able to get pregnant.
    A little over two years after Sheldon and I were
married, we planned to start a family. It never dawned on me that I might not
be able to have a baby when I wanted one. After many months of trying, it became
clear, it wasn’t working. My body wasn’t working. There comes a moment
when you say... What’s happening to me? What’s wrong with me? I would
compare the panic I felt at that time to what somebody feels when they first
think they might be gay.
    Then there was the anxiety I felt over telling
people about my infertility. I think that’s a lot like what drives gay people
into the closet. I feared I’d be humiliated if people knew the truth that I
couldn’t conceive. So I kept it secret, and created a “closet” of my own. And,
of course, keeping the secret made everything worse.
    Because of our secret, I’d have to take
insensitive comments, like one day, sitting at the hairdresser, held hostage in
curlers, a woman said to me, “What are you waiting for? You’re too into
yourself!”
    The most innocent question could drive my shame
even deeper. We’d be gathered around the table on Sabbath dinner. “So, nu ?
When are we going to become grandparents?” Sheldon’s mother Goldie would ask. We’d
be at a bris. “So, when by you?” an old aunt would ask, expecting a firm answer
that we knew we couldn’t give. Another relative would approach me. “So, next by
you?” I just smiled and shrugged.
    Meanwhile, my friends were almost sadistically
prolific, multiplying like mad. After two years of seeing them, and their
friends, and their friends’ friends, all celebrating baby-centric occasions, from
bris to birthday parties, I wanted to punch them. I longed to scream, “What do
you think? Don’t you know I want to have a child?”
    And of course, as I got more frustrated, I got
more tense. While my anger and resentment mounted, my chances of conceiving
certainly weren’t getting any greater.
    After the doctor’s diagnosis and his
encouragement to adopt, we finally told our parents the truth. “We don’t know
why. There doesn’t seem to be any medical reason, but we’re having trouble
having a baby. We’re putting our name down for adoption.”
    It was such a relief. And once we knew we had
this other avenue, we could put it out of our minds and relax. Once we’d
publicly announced our plans to adopt, the outside pressure practically
disappeared, as if cut off by a secret edict. It’s true that adoption bore its
own stigma in those days, but it was nothing compared to the sin of childlessness.
    It didn’t take long before we’d adopted
Mitchell. What happened next was an enormous surprise at the time. Almost
exactly eight and a half months after we adopted Mitchell, our first daughter,
Debbie, was born. After years of hoping and praying to conceive my first child,
suddenly I became fertile, and with a vengeance. After Mitchell’s adoption, my
next three children, first Debbie, then Bonnie, and last, Andrew, were born in
less than five years.
     
    SHELDON    I had never faulted
Roslyn for our situation. Neither did I feel any shame. I knew she was anxious
about having a baby. So was I. I remember her being tested by doctors. I was
tested too. I know Roslyn doesn’t remember it like this, but I recall one
doctor telling us she was not infertile, and could conceive, but because of
some chemical or acid in her system, her potential was not the greatest. He
added that if we were thinking of adoption, we should go ahead. We were, and we
did.
    When we found out about Roslyn being pregnant, I
was doubly thrilled. First, for having Mitchell, and secondly for the baby on
the way. I felt so lucky to have two healthy babies of our own. And let me add
this thought, sincerely felt: From the day we took him home, I never thought of
Mitchell any differently than my other children. I never gave any thought to
the fact that he was adopted. He’s mine and that’s it. I