As a Man With Chronic Illnesses, Should I Father Children?

As I’m writing this article, the discomfort in my body is surging to the forefront of my mind. My small intestines ache. They’re bloated and sore from my horrible IBS. My eyes are heavy from poor sleep, caused by the IBS pressure pushing up on my heart, making it difficult to drift off. Originally major depressive disorder and generalized anxiety disorder were the main causes of my sleep deprivation. The moment I learned how to manage those illnesses, the IBS got way worse.

It feels like there is wet but rapidly drying cement in my arms and many other places, because of a strange fascia issue that has been hard to diagnose and harder to treat. My urinary system, the original illness, aches as well.

I’ve been dealing with one or more of these chronic illnesses — as well as a few more issues a bit too graphic to mention in a non-medical article — since I was 12. If I biologically father a child, there’s a chance this person will suffer with at least a fraction of my bodily hell. There’s a chance my illnesses will worsen in a way that interferes with my ability to be a present parent.

I’m not sure exactly when these possibilities formed in my subconscious, but it must have been many years ago. My wife and I started dating when I was 23, and now I’m verging on 34. During one of our first few dates, I told her I didn’t want children. I don’t remember the initial reasons I offered. All I can say is that they weren’t genuine. I did want children, but I couldn’t admit it at the time.

After years of therapy, I came to the simple truth: fear.

Due to my illnesses, I had been struggling just to make it to work at a reasonable time. If I could barely take care of myself, how could I be responsible for another human being, especially one who might have my health issues or worse?

While grappling with these fears, I went through a sort of mental bargaining phase, as well as some literal bargaining. At first, I told my wife we should only adopt. That way our genes won’t be the culprit of any health problems. Again, the conversation went back to what I actually want, and I do want at least one biological child. I love my wife so much, so I like the idea of having a platonic relationship with a person who resembles her. Also, adoption doesn’t guarantee the avoidance of health issues.

After agreeing we would try for at least one biological child, my strategy shifted to naive optimism. If I invest as much time and resources as possible in ensuring the child will be healthy, I thought, then they shouldn’t have any big issues. My health issues all stem from psychosomatic reactions to trauma, lack of preventative treatments and a gap in self-care education. I’ll just ensure my child doesn’t have any of these causes in their life.

I’m going to do my best regardless, but it’s not realistic to believe I can completely negate the possibility of stressors that might plant the seeds of health problems. Here’s what I do know for certain: I will have help. My parents, my in-laws, my friends — all of them have volunteered to help me and my wife. If my symptoms spike, I can rest and allow a loved one to pick up the slack.

Having chronic illnesses is awful, but it doesn’t have to be tragic. Now that I’m ruminating on the matter, my life has a lot of happiness and peace in it. I owe much of this positivity to my parents. Sick or healthy, why wouldn’t I be able to provide the same to my child?

I am the founder of The Rauch Review, a publication that publishes articles and reviews about the world of literature and politics, including topics such as historical fiction, biracial characters and literary fiction.

This content is brought to you by Joseph Rauch

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