It's my fault that we can't conceive. It's not that I'm doing anything to prevent it; far from it, as I have done everything our doctors have asked. But medically, biologically, I am the only one with medical problems that are interfering with our ability to conceive.
Husbandido doesn't see it that way. In his mind, fault implies deliberate action, conscious choice; since I am not trying to prevent us from having children, I am not at fault. In his mind, it is no one's fault; it's just the way it is.
Much as I might wish to, I can't see it the way he does. Our ways of looking at the world are too different. I can understand his way of looking at it, but it isn't mine. I don't think he can quite wrap his head around my way of looking at it; it makes no sense to him. Granted, I've always had an overdeveloped sense of responsibility. (If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say it was due to a combination of perfectionism and people-pleasing, with being first-born part of the mix.)
Each new diagnosis has felt like a new link added to the chain weighing me down. Poor quality ovulation, Hashimoto's syndrome, type III luteal phase defect, endometriosis, uterine polyps... I'm starting to feel like Marley's ghost! As we come closer and closer to stopping, the weight of the chain grows. And now that surgery has not corrected the abnormal bleeding, I suspect there are more links that we do not yet know about.
I can't say for certain what will happen to this chain of guilt when we stop. I can only hope and pray that in time, as we move on with whatever comes next in our lives, that its weight fades.