It started with a question…
You know you can’t have your own kids, right?
That was one of the last things my old endocrinologist said to teenaged me as he finished the visit and prepared to leave the exam room. I don’t remember much else from that visit besides how casually and coolly he made that statement.
At 15 I could have probably explained Turner syndrome better than my parents. So, yes I did know that and had known that for a while. At 15, I was also more concerned about discussing celebrity crushes with my friends or what test/project I had due next.
Fast forward. I am 19/20 being asked if I know how I want to go about starting a family because the closest I can get to having a biological child is egg donation from a close relative. I still hadn’t fully explored my own feelings about any of it all of a sudden was being asked for an answer. I was more concerned about if switching my major was the right thing and what I was going to do with my life in general.
Fast forward again. I am 27/28 and meeting my new endocrinologist. She asked me if I planned on having kids. For the first time in my adult life I realized “oh yeah, I’m at the age where people plan and want that”. I remember giving a real awkward answer because again, it was something I hadn’t fully processed.
I suppose I’m lucky because I have a name and a reason for my infertility. I won’t have to wonder why or blame myself. Not that anyone should ever blame themselves. I won’t have to spend years trying and hoping. I already know my options. I have been able to make decisions without the pressure of a ticking biological clock. I have had more time to process and grieve my situation than a lot of people. There is still pain and grief though.
It’s comes and goes. Often catching me unexpectedly. I felt it watching a new mom get wheeled out of the hospital and her husband helping get her and the baby into the car. I feel it when I see the similarities between my nephews and their parents. Or even myself. I feel it in innocent comments like “by the time I was 30 I had four kids” from older family members. I felt it as I sucked in my breath when I heard a prominent figure say “childless cat ladies who are miserable in their own lives” on national television and realized I was one of those women. Minus being miserable. Just when I got my breath back the comments continued. Comments like, “people without kids don’t have a direct stake in the direction of this country”and “votes of people who have kids should count more. For that reason.”
Those words have swirled around in my mind for weeks now. I can’t figure out why. It’s not like I don’t know that there are many ways to be a mother. Or that my parental status doesn’t lessen or define my worth as a woman. I think it’s because the words were said as if not having children is always a choice. Which even it is, is not a problem. It’s that I never fully had a choice. Suddenly I am forced to face the fact that I may never get to be a mother. IVF costs money and is not well covered by insurance. Even if you can afford it, you’re not guaranteed it will be successful. Adoption also costs money and is not guaranteed. There are also ethical questions around it.
To have something taken away from you before you can fully understand and want it is a unique experience. Even after that first question from my pediatric endocrinologist, I didn’t start to process it. I’m still learning how deep I buried those thoughts and feelings.
At 15, kids and a family was just a nice distant idea. I wasn’t exploring what exactly the sentence the doctor had just said meant. In my mind my future still involved having a child that had the same dark hair, eyes, and freckles I have. That I got from my mom. Who got them from her mom. My child had the same wit, sense of humor, and cheeky grin as me. That I got from my dad. Who got it from his dad. sometimes I still imagine that. Sometimes it still feels like a very distant idea. I keep it that way instead of a real option to consider to protect myself. Otherwise I’d have to feel the deep sense of pain and loss. But, how can you lose something you never even had? How can you grieve something you never had to lose?
Those are questions I am still tying to answer…
Sincerely,
The Chairman of the childless (NOT) miserable cat lady department
thechronicconfessional.com 