The word for today is giving up, done, over it. I have been fighting this battle, the battle to keep my uterus for the hopes, dreams of one day carrying my own children, but last week I’ decided I no longer want it. They can extract it and use it as a soccer ball for all I care. It’s clearly broken and at this point ruining my life. I’ve tried some of everything believing that something, anything would come of my efforts. Do you know what it’s like to not know your own body, to not be able to trust your body, to constantly wonder what it will do next? Well that is the life I’ve been living for several years now. Every time I think I’ve gotten her down packed, she switches things up on me. Recently I reached out to my doctor. I had high hopes that she could help me by putting me on some type of medication, that would ensure that I would enjoy my upcoming vacation, without worrying about the impending takeover of (Aunt) Flow, and I use that term loosely, cause she aint no aunt of mine. I figured if I started soon enough the medication would get a chance to get into my system and therefore we could have a trial to see how things would go before the trip. So Thursday came I was already tense because, I have to admit I was very nervous, and concerned that the medication wouldn’t work. Then it happened, that feeling where you know, that feeling that no matter how tight you squeeze your thighs together you can’t stop it from happening. I wanted to collapse, I was so distraught but had to suck it up and stick out the work day even though I was literally dying on the inside. One more thing that I had attempted, had once again failed! Failed! Failed!!!! I e-mailed my doctor to check and see how long it took for this medication to get into my system to actually work, her response was swift as she told me two weeks, and it had been exactly that. I tried to go about my day and do all of the necessary things. I sat in the chair at the hair salon getting my hair done, when that feeling only intensified and I knew my period was starting. As I stepped inside my home I lost it. I yelled, I screamed, I beat my hand against the kitchen sink as hot salty tears ran down my face. Then and there I decided I was done! I was done fighting, done trying, done, simply done. I said that a hysterectomy would be my very last resort, but in that moment I chose to give up!
Earlier that week I had already began the process of accepting what to me was unacceptable, the fact that I may truly never be able to carry my own children. A thought that not long ago I refused to even entertain! Surly God wouldn’t allow me, me of all people who some referred to as the baby whisperer. Not me the person who started babysitting before the age of thirteen, not me the person who had help raise and loved on children that weren’t my own, not me the person who as a teen would pick out her maternity clothes and baby accessories. I knew the type of crib that I wanted, the car seat for a girl or boy and even how I wanted to decorate their rooms. Not the person who once wanted nothing more than to be a wife and a mother, NOT ME! He just simply wouldn’t allow that to happen to me, he couldn’t! He couldn’t know my heart and allow such a travesty, he just couldn’t. But I sat there looking out over the lake thinking, maybe it’s not in the cards, what if? Even now thinking of such I’m torn between rage and intense morning. So I told myself you have loved many children and you are more than capable of loving a child that you didn’t carry. I told myself if these are the cards you are dealt then so be it, who knew just a few short days later I would be having a breakdown in my kitchen and finally giving up the fight. I honestly don’t even believe it myself, but I need relief, I can’t keep living my life like this. It’s almost feels vengeful, that as I’m typing this message, a group of my co-workers are visiting with one of our colleagues who just recently had a baby, talk about adding insult to injury. I guess I have to face the music I’m broken and I'll never get the chance to carry my own children.
Earlier that week I had already began the process of accepting what to me was unacceptable, the fact that I may truly never be able to carry my own children. A thought that not long ago I refused to even entertain! Surly God wouldn’t allow me, me of all people who some referred to as the baby whisperer. Not me the person who started babysitting before the age of thirteen, not me the person who had help raise and loved on children that weren’t my own, not me the person who as a teen would pick out her maternity clothes and baby accessories. I knew the type of crib that I wanted, the car seat for a girl or boy and even how I wanted to decorate their rooms. Not the person who once wanted nothing more than to be a wife and a mother, NOT ME! He just simply wouldn’t allow that to happen to me, he couldn’t! He couldn’t know my heart and allow such a travesty, he just couldn’t. But I sat there looking out over the lake thinking, maybe it’s not in the cards, what if? Even now thinking of such I’m torn between rage and intense morning. So I told myself you have loved many children and you are more than capable of loving a child that you didn’t carry. I told myself if these are the cards you are dealt then so be it, who knew just a few short days later I would be having a breakdown in my kitchen and finally giving up the fight. I honestly don’t even believe it myself, but I need relief, I can’t keep living my life like this. It’s almost feels vengeful, that as I’m typing this message, a group of my co-workers are visiting with one of our colleagues who just recently had a baby, talk about adding insult to injury. I guess I have to face the music I’m broken and I'll never get the chance to carry my own children.