The Similarity Between Writing a Novel and Going through Inferility Treatment

What do writing a novel and going through infertility treatment have in common?

You're probably thinking NOTHING.

I've done both. I went through infertility treatment twice -- to conceive both my daughters -- and I've written a novel, Child of Mine, (coincidentally about infertility) to be published in March.

When you go through infertility treatment, as when you attempt to write a novel, you learn quickly that your hard work -- no matter how hard it is, how long you try, how many hours you toil -- may result in nothing.

That's the opposite of everything we hear growing up. If we try hard enough, we will be successful. If we work long enough, we will be rewarded.  If we just keep at it, we will get better and better and eventually it will all work out.

Except in both instances, infertility and writing a novel, these adages are not necessarily true.

The first time I went through infertility treatment, once we discovered the problem and followed the necessary course, I got pregnant quickly.  The second time I went through infertility, it took months and months, pregnancy losses, and much more aggressive treatment. I was shocked. Hadn't I done enough the first time around? Wasn't I still young enough to have a baby? Why was it turning out this way? What if -- what IF -- I could never have another baby, what if my daughter would be an only child? The what ifs pounded in my brain and didn't let up until I was thirty six weeks pregnant and knew that no matter what, this baby would be born.

Truth be told, Child of Mine is not my first novel. I won't even say what number it is, because that would make you think I am either crazy or not actually a very good writer. (I am.)  I've tried for years to write a novel that agents would fall in love with, that editors would fall in love with, that readers would fall in love with.  And each time, I found out that particular work was not right.  It was the most frustrating experience of my life, other than, of course, infertility. I wondered if I would ever get published? Would I ever see my name on the cover of a book? Would anyone ever like it enough to write me an email and say that they enjoyed it?

And then, just like in infertility treatment, when you think you can't bear to do it again, I tried once more.  And this time I got an agent. And she loved my work.  And other people started reading it and saying, "I love your work."  And like with the positive pregnancy test, I couldn't believe it. And like someone who's gone through miscarriage, I didn't want to tell anyone, lest I jinx it.

But now, like my pregnancy at thirty six weeks, my novel is here to stay. I conquered the I-can't-get-my-novel-to-work-right struggle and I conquered the I-will-never-have-a-baby struggle even though at times I wasn't sure I 'd conquer either. I still don't know how the novel will be received, but I do know the pregnancies produced two beautiful girls. I was lucky with those, truly lucky. Maybe I'll get lucky with my novel, too.