10/31/2006
Trick-or-Treaters Serve as Reminder of Couple’s Infertility
By Billy Pilgrim, Toledo Tales Rogue Editor
The Fitzhughs blame each other, God for their broken biology
Toledo natives Sam and Rita Fitzhugh have tried every conceivable option to increase their likelihood of having children during their seven years of marriage, all to no avail.
And while the pain and guilt of a barren nest “subsides a little each day,” the Fitzhughs seem to grow contemptuous every Halloween, when a seemingly endless parade of healthy, normal children arrive on their doorstep begging for candy.
“Some years Rita just starts drinking at noon,” Mr. Fitzhugh revealed while slowly sipping a mug of steaming Irish tea. “Each ghoul and ghost that graces our stoop is a blatant reminder of our sterility. Jesus—what did we do to deserve this?”
Not surprisingly, Mrs. Fitzhugh found the issue even more difficult to discuss.
“Snickers bars, M&M’s, the occasional Reese’s pieces. This is all I can offer the world now,” Mrs. Fitzhugh slurred during an exclusive phone interview on her lunch break. “My womb is like the jack-o-lantern: its flame has expired with the night wind."
The Fitzhughs blame each other, God for their broken biology
Toledo natives Sam and Rita Fitzhugh have tried every conceivable option to increase their likelihood of having children during their seven years of marriage, all to no avail.
And while the pain and guilt of a barren nest “subsides a little each day,” the Fitzhughs seem to grow contemptuous every Halloween, when a seemingly endless parade of healthy, normal children arrive on their doorstep begging for candy.
“Some years Rita just starts drinking at noon,” Mr. Fitzhugh revealed while slowly sipping a mug of steaming Irish tea. “Each ghoul and ghost that graces our stoop is a blatant reminder of our sterility. Jesus—what did we do to deserve this?”
Not surprisingly, Mrs. Fitzhugh found the issue even more difficult to discuss.
“Snickers bars, M&M’s, the occasional Reese’s pieces. This is all I can offer the world now,” Mrs. Fitzhugh slurred during an exclusive phone interview on her lunch break. “My womb is like the jack-o-lantern: its flame has expired with the night wind."