Next Friday I'm having a hysterectomy. It's not unexpected, I've had a few issues and we're hoping that removing my womb will sort those issues. I've been through menopause, so I'm not going to have hormone replacement therapy to deal with the loss of hormones.
I have a complicated relationship with my womb. Due to a genetic issue I have a unicornate womb - it's only half a womb. And I only have one ovary. I've often joked that I'm only half a woman, and attributed my love of rugby union, car stuff and beer to my missing half! I hate think how much worse my periods would have been if I'd had the whole thing!
Because of my issues I couldn't have children, so my womb has never really been used as it was intended. Dont get me wrong, I'm sad but not devastated that I couldn't have children, but I am still mourning the imminent loss of my womb and, potentially, my only ovary (my surgeon has said he will try to save it but he's not super confident). They signify to me that I am a woman. Without them what do I become? (I understand that my chromosomes actually make me a woman, but it seems that actually having the kit is also a big signifier for me.)
I'm not sure my husband understands why I'm so tense and snappy at present. I told him it's the same as if he was having his testicles removed.
So next Friday looms large. I'm not looking forward to the possible pain that will follow this surgery, but I am looking forward to not having to worry about how my womb issues are affecting other parts of my body.
Thursday, October 6, 2016
Tuesday, March 15, 2016
On not having had children
Last night I watched the first episode in the documentary/reality series "Keeping Australia Live". The series focuses on healthcare in Australia and how it impacts our lives. One of the stories in the episode followed a couple who were trying, as many do, to have a child but the only way that was going to happen was through IVF. During the episode the woman was told her IVF treatment had failed. Her grief was overwhelming, you could almost see her slumping to the floor based on the jagged crying and denials that were issuing from the phone. The IVF specialist delivering the bad news obviously felt for her.
This despair was balanced out by another story following a mother of 3, who had decided to donate her eggs so that another woman could have the chance to become a mother. Her altruistic gesture was one of generosity and from a place where she had children and wanted another woman to be able to experience what she had. She too, cried. Possibly tears of grief for the children she was giving up, or overwhelming feelings of sadness for the woman who's only hope was to receive an egg from another woman.
I met my husband when I was on the cusp of 30. He took a year to move to the state I live in and then 2 years to propose and then another year to organise the wedding and get married so by the time we were in a position to start trying to have children I was 34. Then we tried for a couple of years with no result. At 37 we found out that we couldn't have children. It wasn't a huge surprise - I have "issues" and it was always going to be a challenge for me to carry a baby to full term. But when the specialist said (after the investigation) "your insides are a mess" well that was it. We could have had surgery to try and fix some of the problems but there was no guarantee that would work.
To be honest I've never had an overwhelming desire to have children, but to not have the option at all was tough. We told all our friends and family so they didn't have to wonder. The first time I went into a baby shop, after getting our news, to buy a good friend a special gift for her first born was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. As was hearing from friends and family they were pregnant - a mix of joy for them and envy as well. Holding a baby for the first time was quick "let's get this over with" process (I could cuddle them for hours now). As a frustrated dancer I would have loved to have been a dance mum! Or to have a son who, potentially, could have played rugby (union, of course) for Australia!
But there is an upside. My husband has stood by me (I did give him the option of leaving). As time as passed we've discovered that he also has "issues" and our combined issues could have made life interesting for any children we had. We love watching our nieces, nephews and friends children developing in to beautiful young men and women. We are able to act as a safe haven for them and their parents.
So, to the woman trying to have a baby I hope you succeed, but I also hope you can choose when enough is enough. And that you can embrace your childfree life. You will mourn the children you could never had but don't let it define you, because children grow up to become adults and move on to their own lives, sometimes leaving you alone. (One of my ongoing sources of anxiety is who will look out for me as I age as I now look out for my own parents.)
This despair was balanced out by another story following a mother of 3, who had decided to donate her eggs so that another woman could have the chance to become a mother. Her altruistic gesture was one of generosity and from a place where she had children and wanted another woman to be able to experience what she had. She too, cried. Possibly tears of grief for the children she was giving up, or overwhelming feelings of sadness for the woman who's only hope was to receive an egg from another woman.
I met my husband when I was on the cusp of 30. He took a year to move to the state I live in and then 2 years to propose and then another year to organise the wedding and get married so by the time we were in a position to start trying to have children I was 34. Then we tried for a couple of years with no result. At 37 we found out that we couldn't have children. It wasn't a huge surprise - I have "issues" and it was always going to be a challenge for me to carry a baby to full term. But when the specialist said (after the investigation) "your insides are a mess" well that was it. We could have had surgery to try and fix some of the problems but there was no guarantee that would work.
To be honest I've never had an overwhelming desire to have children, but to not have the option at all was tough. We told all our friends and family so they didn't have to wonder. The first time I went into a baby shop, after getting our news, to buy a good friend a special gift for her first born was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. As was hearing from friends and family they were pregnant - a mix of joy for them and envy as well. Holding a baby for the first time was quick "let's get this over with" process (I could cuddle them for hours now). As a frustrated dancer I would have loved to have been a dance mum! Or to have a son who, potentially, could have played rugby (union, of course) for Australia!
But there is an upside. My husband has stood by me (I did give him the option of leaving). As time as passed we've discovered that he also has "issues" and our combined issues could have made life interesting for any children we had. We love watching our nieces, nephews and friends children developing in to beautiful young men and women. We are able to act as a safe haven for them and their parents.
So, to the woman trying to have a baby I hope you succeed, but I also hope you can choose when enough is enough. And that you can embrace your childfree life. You will mourn the children you could never had but don't let it define you, because children grow up to become adults and move on to their own lives, sometimes leaving you alone. (One of my ongoing sources of anxiety is who will look out for me as I age as I now look out for my own parents.)
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