I have HPV. I found this out a few years ago, and because of that, I have the distinct pleasure of annual “lady doctor” visits which, you know, whatever. I am also the only student from my women’s health class who took the professor up on the offer for my very own (new, still wrapped) plastic speculum. Anyway. Last year, I had a biopsy & colposcopy, and everything came back fine. This year, there was something not normal but not ABnormal about the cells (atypical, I guess), so I got to have another biopsy & colpo. Only this time, thanks to some scarring on my cervix, she had to really dig around in there trying to snip the samples. It… didn’t feel good.
I’d already been feeling a little low after yet another, what will likely be my last, visit to the fertility clinic the week before, where they – bless them – have been nothing but kind. And HONEST. I am 45 years old, with 45 year old deteriorating eggs; on top of that, a low egg count thanks to a low-functioning ovary, and what appear to be polyps inside my uterus (which we discovered after doing the HSG/fallopian tube dye test). At this point, my parts appear to be no longer viable, although there is one more procedure (hysteroscopy) I could endure on the off chance I might be one of the VERY FEW women who, at my age, is still producing quality eggs. Otherwise, if I wanted to have a baby, then it would have to be donor eggs (~ $20K) or a donor embryo (~$10K).
I’ve already talked about how much I wanted to be a mom. I had the chance when I was 18, but I ended the pregnancy, and I don’t regret it for a minute. There’s no way I’d want to be tied to that guy for the rest of my life, not to mention I just wasn’t anywhere near ready to be a parent 27 years ago. Besides, there was no attesting to the quality of that dude’s DNA, considering the “shotgun in a trailer park” incident, the stalking, the cheating… yeah. Even now, faced with the reality that I probably can’t have a baby of my own, I know I did the right thing back then; there have been no second thoughts, no regrets, and I wouldn’t change a thing (unless I could have met C 27 years ago… that would have been nice).
Anyway. I don’t really need to get into all that again, but suffice to say, I am still working to let go of the embedded disappointment of having finally found my person but then also having to accept the fact that we won’t get to create a life together. There are, of course other options – including adoption, which we agreed probably makes more sense, if we do anything at all. If we’re even thinking of dropping that kind of money at all on a baby that isn’t biologically ours, we might as well find one in need of a family. I mean, C already has kids, and I suppose I get the consolation prizes of: freedom to travel and only being responsible for two cats; having some expendable income; not risking my body being permanently affected or damaged by carrying or birthing a baby; and not worrying about raising a child in our current mess of a world. Selfish, but that’s all I got.
On top of coming to terms with my body no longer being a viable baby maker, I’m also having to come to terms with there being potentially cancerous cells trying to form on my cervix, and I just can’t help but feel like… I don’t know. Saying I feel like less of a woman doesn’t really fit here, but it’s something like that. And it sucks. After last week’s appointment where the doctor was digging around to get her samples to send off to the lab, I just started crying. It was a little scary, but more than that, it was just a goddamn lonely experience. Even though I know I have the support of C and family and friends, none of that seemed to matter. My heart hurt.
So that’s what brings me back to feeling at odds with my body and AND my brain. And differentiating between facts (like, knowing I’ve got so many loved ones on my side) and feelings (feeling totally and horribly alone on that exam table).
In the piece I wrote last year, I talked a lot about how I’d already come to peace with not being a mom, and that’s true. How I’d started to mourn the loss a 2nd time because of having met someone I could have totally seen procreating with, and having another outlet for the huge love we have for each other. All of this is true… but if I’m being honest, I’m totally good with it. We have a great life already, and it just keeps getting better. We will absolutely be okay, no matter what happens. Admittedly, it’s still a little hard being around all the pregnant women at work – clients and coworkers alike – but I don’t begrudge them the happiness so much as I just wish I could have been able to participate in that part of being alive and human and a woman. To relate to that experience. That said… the feelings of loss I’m feeling are more like memories of what I used to want/feel, as well as acceptance of what’s reality now.
Facts vs. feelings.
Something else I’ve been thinking about are all the ways people try to be supportive. In my case, people have tried being supportive by reminding me that *plenty* of women have babies at my age (that’s not actually true; it’s possible, yes, but not probable, and certainly not typical and absolutely not likely for ME). And part of the problem there is that I haven’t been broadcasting all the information I have about my body and what’s working and what isn’t, so they’re basing their comments on assuming I’m just being flippant when I say I’m too old. I get that people think they’re being helpful by trying to offer hope… when what I really need is just a heartfelt, “I’m really sorry, I know that must be hard.”
And none of the silver linings people like to offer, either: “Well, at least you met the love of your life.” Yes, and I’m eternally grateful for that. Doesn’t change how I feel about THIS, though, and I don’t appreciate being told to stop feeling a certain way because I am blessed in another area of life and should just focus on that. It would be like if I tried to not feel the disappointment because I don’t have a right to feel that, when most of my life is really going so well… like, how dare I want for more?
I get that people don’t really know what to say in the face of difficult things. I am, admittedly, terrible about holding presence for people during hard times. At least, I feel like I am. I assume people want to be left alone, when that may not be at all what they want or need. I assume people will come to me if/when they need me to be there for them, when I know damn well I tend to hibernate and not reach out when I need people the most. So, I shy away at the risk of saying or doing the “wrong” thing. Other people just can’t shut up, and feel like they have to talk their way through someone else’s pain, instead of just being there for them.
And people really just say terrible things meant to be helpful ALL THE TIME. In fact, I’m going to write another post about that.
Back to body and brain betrayal, I guess what I was getting at up there is that most of my brain has come to accept my physical reality. But there are parts of my brain that seem to want to dredge up old feelings, beliefs, assumptions, desires… all of it, just for the sake of ruminating and trying to convince me I’m still not over it, when I really am. Like, I really am good. There are little waves of lamentation and mourning, sure, but it’s primarily acceptance, with some old memories of wants and desires, reminding me of what I used to want, and am I SURE I’m okay with it? Don’t you actually want to continue to wallow and be sad and beat yourself up a little bit while you’re at it?
NO. No, I don’t.
It’s like part of my brain is a pusher – of bad ideas, of self loathing, of cravings, of poor choices, of bad thoughts – and the rest of my brain is the resistance. It’s weird. But by compartmentalizing the way I think about things, by understanding where it all comes from (like, cravings come from basic genetic programming but resisting the cravings is a learned behavior), my hope is that I can get better at resisting urges and cravings. Get better at letting the thoughts and feelings pass when I know that to let them stay is to invite the devil in.
All of that to say… I’m actually doing pretty damn well with all of it, as long as my brain stays the hell out of my way. ❤