F.U.Q.

Daniel Kohler ·

Frequently Unanswered Questions

  • I am…ok. Yeah. I’m ok. I’m not great, to be honest. But I am ok. Which is really new. I haven’t felt ok in a long time. I have no new fires to put out which has given me some time to process the past few years. There’s smoke on the hill behind me, but the horizon seems clear for now.

    I write this as much to answer your question as to remind myself: I am ok.

  • It seemed like the polite thing to do. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to talk, but I didn’t want to leave you hanging and just not respond. I never ghosted folks while I was deliriously dating online, why start now?

  • Years of attempting to become a father. Multiple miscarriages and the calamity of infertility. Frustrating rounds of IVF. The pain was overwhelming.

  • For me, it wasn’t shame that kept me quiet. I was angry, I was hurt, I was depressed, but I wasn’t ashamed. And to be clear, I wasn’t not talking about the trauma, I just wasn’t able to share it with you. The logistics of infertility are a full time job. In addition to the emotional calls made to my parents and sister, I had to manage communications between us and our doctor, his assistant, our nurse, the clinic director, five therapists, four lawyers, three health insurance agencies, two pharmacists, a case manager, our surrogate, and her family.

  • Think about it this way: as much as you wanted to be there for me, you were! I knew I could call or text and you’d respond with loving support. Thank you for being part of my team, waiting just outside my castle walls with hugs and high-fives. Knowing you’d still be there on the other side of this helped put my mind at ease.

  • We’ve reached a natural break in the narrative and I’m finally able to resurface for fresh gulps of air. I’ve had some time to process my grief and would like to slowly start reconnecting with folks.

  • This is one of those questions I desperately want to avoid. I’m comfortable talking about the past, but not the future.

  • See previous answer.

  • Yep, and as hard as this was for us, it had to be exponentially harder for her. There is not a day I don’t think about her with an overflowing heart.

  • Doctor’s orders. Seriously. We trust our doctor and it was his advice to stick with our surrogate.

  • Watch out there, that’s a future-question, and we don’t deal with the future right now.

  • Thank you, I love your enthusiasm, but this sort of support is not helpful. This Facebook post raises so many red flags it’s practically a pinwheel of deal-breakers. We really don’t know what we’re gonna— oops, there you go, getting me talking about the future! Let’s move on.

  • I do! My husband and I have been working on becoming parents together since 2019. I began the process on my own in 2018 and decided to put it on hold when I met him. If you want to read more about our first year together, I wrote this letter to him for our anniversary.

  • Getting a marriage certificate was part of our surrogacy journey. It was compulsory; we had to be hitched before we could legally start the process to become parents. It’s not that I’m not happy about it, but our marriage is inextricably tied to the inequity of Queer parenthood. I love my husband and hope we can both announce and celebrate our union with a wedding one day.

  • Want to experience true marital stress? Try asking your husband to chew with his mouth closed after more than a year of devastating infertility setbacks.

    All joking aside, this has been really tough for us both individually and as a couple. We’ve each spent a lot of time caretaking and being taken care of and we’re eager to find a daily rhythm that doesn’t include the low-rumble of constant bad news. I’m proud of our work together and know we’ve still got a long road ahead.

  • Oh, I haven’t found joy in a long time. You’re correct to note the humor laced throughout this F.U.Q. page, but don’t mistake it for true happiness. My humor has always been a coping mechanism for handling disappointment, dissatisfaction, and depression. I crack jokes to vent some of the pent-up steam. Despite the tone here, our infertility has neither been fun nor light. Just empty. And expensive.

  • Houses. Friendships. Sanity. Dignity.

  • I will definitely need some patience from you as I begin socializing again. The musculature needed for conversation (both intimate and frivolous) has atrophied and I’m a little anxious about starting to see folks again. Will I cry? Probably! Will I make jokes? Almost certainly!

    If you’re feeling up for it, I’d love to hear from you.

  • How kind of you to ask! Here are a few comments that I’d rather not face again:

    • “You’re going to be a great dad!”
    • “Well, at least you’re not up against a biological clock.”
    • (Gesturing to your own kids, running around madly, then said with a smirk…) “Are you sure you’re ready for these little monsters?”
    • “Everything happens for a reason.”
    • “Think of how much stronger you’ll be on the other side of this. This experience will make you a better parent.”

    And here are some things that have been particularly comforting to me in the past year:

    • “I hear you.”
    • “I believe you.”
    • “I trust you.”

  • Well, yes, sure. But that’s not really how FAQs work. Anyway, I know that I missed major events in your life and I hope you’ll feel comfortable sharing them with me when you’re ready. I understand you may be upset that I wasn’t able to support you in a time of need.

    Please understand that up until now I didn’t have the bandwidth to ask about you and follow up. In addition to the chaos of infertility we also had to deal with my childhood home burning to the ground, the death of our niece in-utero a few weeks before her due date, and a life-altering diagnosis of a genetic disorder.

  • Yeah. My dad’s place was torched in the Marshall Fire on December 30th 2021.

  • She did. Her cord got a kink in it that stopped blood flow and she was dead just a day after my sister-in-law had a perfect OBGYN visit. We’re still processing this loss.

  • Oof, honestly, I don’t even think I can go there right now. Know that we’re fine, but this definitely changes the calculus of our future.

  • See answer #1