Just the day before yesterday, I received some news that changed my life forever.
The news: I will never, ever conceive a child of my own or give birth. Yes, I am over forty years of age. Yes, I had hope that it might just could possibly perhaps maybe probably happen. An inkling of faith, it was indeed as small as a mustard seed. That tiny
piece of sun you see shining through a wall of clouds.
I've pondered once again whether I should really discuss this publicly. However, when I think that my words may actually help another woman or even myself, I have no regrets.
So, I've decided to be transparent and open about what's been happening with me.
After a couple of years of chronic pain, I learned that I had uterine fibroids in 2018. At that time, there was no cause for concern because they were only few and small in size. However, as time has gone by, the pain has increased in severity. Not a week has
gone by where I didn't feel like I was having a daily period.
Upon my finally getting an MRI about a month ago, my gynecologist was alarmed to see "innumerable" fibroids. Alarmed to the point of referring me to a gynecologic oncologist. Yes, one who usually treats women with cancer. Not the words a hypochondriac like
me needs to hear. In the meantime, I had my yearly physical with my PCP, who had my MRI results. He's so kind and professional, but he blurts out "oh, you're going to have a hysterectomy." I'm like, "ummmmm, no I'm not!!!????" In that moment, I felt annoyed
as if he had dropped the ball but looking back, I feel inadvertently gave me a heads-up about the news I would have to digest a couple of weeks later. Which is now.
So, I tried my best to keep a cool head up until I met with the surgeon, who was kind and warm as a surgeon could be during the coronavirus era.
I extended my hand to shake hers, but she kindly and understandably rejected. She had to wear a mask, so I couldn't totally decipher her facial expressions. So when she dropped the bomb on me, I couldn't tell if her mouth was frowning or if she was smiling
in sympathy. All I can remember the sad way her eyes looked when she told me that my MRI results all pointed to the need for a partial hysterectomy. That my uterus is distorted by too many fibroids to count and that she's concerned about the speed and intensity
with which they've grown.
I will never be pregnant with a child of my own or experience giving birth to a child of my own.
Never.
Don't cry, Charmin. Don't cry, Charmin. Don't cry. Don't cry. Do not cry. Don't cry. Hold it in. Don't cry in front of this woman. Be strong. Get it together.
I cried. Freely and sadly. The surgeon sat quietly and patiently after futilely searching for a non-existent box of tissues to pass to me. As I reached in my purse for a loose napkin to blot my eyes with, I quietly blubbered to the surgeon that I thought I
had a chance. That although I'm over 40, that I still have a chance to meet someone special, that I still have enough strength and energy in my body to grow a baby. That although I'm pretty selfish and set in my eternal bachelorette ways, that I'd be open
to the idea of a baby changing my life at this late point in the game. She seemed to understand. But she can't understand
I will never be pregnant with a child of my own or experience giving birth to a child of my own. Gone is that little glimmer of hope. Gone
is the dream of experiencing pregnancy. In my late thirties and early forties, despite kind of snubbing my nose up at such late motherhood, I secretly harbored a desire that I too, could become a mother. I've always admired/envied the way everyone caters to
pregnant women. The attention. I just always figured, my moment will come too, just wait and trust in God.
But no.
Tearfully, I asked if she just couldn't do the myomectomy (surgical removal of fibroids) and spare my uterus somehow. Through the angry hazy cloud of sadness and disbelief I was suddenly engulfed in, I managed to ask if at least my fallopian tubes and ovaries
would be spared. She said that they would. Not really satisfied in my sad state of shock, I further inquired if I would be able to have a child via a surrogate. She told me yes and that she would refer to me to a fertility specialist to discuss those options.
Is this real life? I thought. Am I really hearing this shit right now? A fertility specialist? For me? I am going to lose my uterus, that's why.
Do you want to talk about ADHD-grief fueled thoughts? Why the hell do I need a fertility specialist? Hell, there's not a husband, let alone a boyfriend in this picture. Even if I did, I couldn't afford it anyway. I don't want to be a single mother. This
is so fucked up. Why me? There goes my womanhood. In a medical plastic bag destined for wherever they dispose of medical waste.
However, now I'm feeling that being a single mother would be a far more superior fate than being a childless woman. I'm one of those dumb broads that have psyched herself up over the years who thought she was above it by not being burdened by children or their
worthless daddy. I admit it. I'm not proud.
There's something else that's bothering me.
Surgery.
Never in nearly 42 years life have I ever had to stay overnight in anyone's hospital. I may have had a couple of ER visits in my life, but they always resulted in me going safely home afterward. I do feel this is definitely a blessing, but yet a curse because
I am just that scared. Being on the edge of the medical field for my entire adult career, you know that I know about anesthesia. That some people experience complications. That some people enter vegetative states, never to return to consciousness. What if
I have a bad reaction and vomit afterward? For those of you who don't know, I'm emetophobic (look it up). You know they're cutting me low. How bad is the pain going to be exactly as I recover? Four to six weeks out of work and off my feet? What's the scar
going to look like? Will I ever be able to wear a bikini again? What will my hormones do? And the question of all time.......
....will I enjoy sex after this????
Luckily for me, the question should be yes, as I will get to keep my ovaries. I've learned these past couple of days,
they produce hormones and are what make you a woman (not your uterus). I'm trying to embrace the upside amidst my disappointment. I will get to keep my ovaries; I will still produce eggs. However, I will never have a period again. While it sounds great,
I do feel a sense of mourning about it. It was something I couldn't wait to get when I was 11, 12 because all of the other girls had it. And although it's not been something I particularly enjoyed experiencing on a monthly basis for nearly three decades, it
confirmed in my mind that I was okay. That I was normal and that my body was functioning as a woman's body should. And now, I may experiencing two or three more periods before I never do again. I do feel some type of way, as weird as it may sound.
The word that keeps getting thrown my way is adoption. While I would be open to the idea for sure, I kind of had
Another upside is that the handful of people I have told, have been so golden in their sympathy and kind wishes of warmth and hope toward me. My sister and a couple of other folks have jokingly? told me that they'd happily be surrogates. I know pregnancy is
no picnic and I wouldn't expect anyone to go through it (with someone else's child!) without demanding a hefty price tag (once again, I cannot afford). But just that it would be the first sentence out of one's mouth is so kind.
Yes, it's the woman who really didn't want kids, but wanted them enough to be disturbed when she realized she can't have any. If that makes
any sense.
I'm actually tired with emotion; I will come to a close with this entry, but will write more soon. There much I must do and much for me to still think about. I promise to keep everyone updated.
Thoughts? Comments? I welcome them.
Thanks much. Love, Charmin
