I don’t know if I’m in the mood to write but I need to do something, and given the fact that this was my way of coping for 4 years it might be worth a try. I’ve always considered myself the type of person who is not afraid to face emotions and process them, often opening myself up to others easily without fear of vulnerability. But lately I’ve been feeling more closed off. It’s as if my brain consists of many doors and each holds a piece of my personality, but the doors to my most important traits keep shutting at inconvenient times.
My mind is trying to process so much I find it really hard to be present around others and carry conversation earnestly — which, from what I know about myself, is very unlike me. Even when I pull it off, I am really exhausted from the effort it’s now taking me to have long interactions. I think it’s making me come off a little sour.
I’m (or we, as in my husband and I – but mostly me) are in the middle of making what feels like the biggest decision of our lives this month. My uterus hasn’t been doing me much good lately and as usual is making it difficult to do everyday things, especially the things I enjoy. This may sound too simple and insensitive given the situation, but just how you let bad friends go, I might be lettin’ this uterus of mine go. As much as I dread going through another surgery for the third (fourth? i lost count) year in a row, I know it’s one last attempt at allowing my body to function at it’s best. And I desperately don’t want to give up on the idea that I can return to a pain-free life.
Unlike some of my friends, I’ve never been the type of woman who dreamed of being a mother. It’s not something I’ve put much thought into throughout my life. Maybe that’s because I always assumed I’d just be able to have kids. I don’t feel by any means that I was “born to be a mom”, although I think I could make a pretty good one. My husband and I still feel far away from that chapter of our lives. Especially since we’ve spent most of our twenties navigating and treating my chronic illnesses. There are so many dreams and aspirations we want to tackle. And the last few years have felt like were going through the motions of life and making decisions but with a weight and chain around our ankles to make sure we can’t go too far or have too much fun.
I wish it was as black and white as: take out your uterus and you’ll feel better, but it’s not. We can’t really know for sure. All I know is that it might, and right now that feels better than knowing I will definitely continue living with pain that is holding me back – us back – so much.
A friend of mine who also suffer’s with endometriosis and adenomyosis was kind enough to share her “Hysterectomy Pro’s and Con’s” list with me. This pro bullet point on her list really struck me: “Don’t have to wait until having kids to live a NORMAL life.”
This got me thinking: Is it really worth it to hold onto something that is causing me so much suffering and sadness, just so I can maybe conceive a child one day? And how can I care for that child when sometimes I cannot care for myself? There are also so many children in need. But I know I can’t escape how much society glorifies pregnancy these days, and how this might affect me for the rest of my life.
I’ve been considering a hysterectomy for over a year and it’s not until now, when I’m in the process of scheduling that this grieving over infertility is hitting me like a ton of bricks. I cry so much. It doesn’t matter what I’m doing – the laundry, cooking, reading, driving – you name it, I’ve probably cried while doing it this week. It’s still hard for me to believe that I have to make this decision at all. I’m twenty-six but God I feel like a little kid inside. Confused and not understanding why I’m put in this situation. I think we’re all just kids inside who have learned how to fake being adults, and tricked ourselves along with everyone else.
I’m not sure why I wrote a little letter to my uterus, but I did. It brought up emotions that I didn’t know I’ve been protecting myself from feeling. Oddly enough, I felt genuinely sorry for my uterus, as if it was a person I was letting down and giving up on–or maybe deep down I was also talking to the baby it could possibly create. I’ve had this organ for twenty-six years and I’m just now appreciating it and understanding it’s significance in my life. I’ll leave you with the letter. Thanks so much for reading, seriously.
I tried to make this work, I really did. But it might be time to part ways. You’ve been doing more harm than good in my body and i’m tired – very tired. Just as it’s not my fault i’m sick, it’s not your fault you’re sick either. This has been the hardest decision i’ll ever make. We have tried everything in hopes it wouldn’t come to this, but I’m not ready to give up on my quality of life. It’s hard to be at peace knowing you’ll be gone, but there is peace in knowing that i’m doing what’s best for me and my body. Thank you for being so wonderful to me for the first twenty years of my life. I’m truly sorry I didn’t appreciate you more.