Tuesday, May 27, 2008

• Getting Older

  In a week and a half I meet that milestone known as 35 years old. Most people wouldn't consider this to be significant, but for me this is an age I have been contemplating for a long time. I decided about 10 years ago (or perhaps I just began thinking about deciding) that if I had not carried a child to term by the time I turned 35, I would have my uterus removed. Four days ago it dawned on me that this birthday was but two weeks away. And this comes after two months in which my monthly cramps have been decidedly worse than my usual not-fun-at-all.

  I came home from work on the day this occurred to me and called my favorite aunt, who was unable to have children, to talk about my proposed plan. She fully agreed that with the family history I have on both mother and father's side, I should have the operation. She told me more about her feminine problems and those her own mother (my grandmother had). It boils down to the fact that no woman in my family has made it to age 35 without having multiple miscarriages and/or a medically necessary hysterectimy.

  On Sunday my mom came up for the holiday, and I was not going to mention this to her at all, but I was so nervous that I finally called and blurted it out to her on the cell phone about half an hour before she arrived. She also was completely positive about the procedure, with the one concern that complications from the surgery could result in some lost time at work (truthfully a pretty low risk though).

  So today I find myself in the peculiar position of having no good reason not to procede with plans I made years ago and yet not wanting to follow through with them because of the tiny, tiny hope that I might some day be able to carry my own baby (despite the added complication that the very idea of sleeping with a man turns my stomach). It just doesn't make sense that I am so sad, so reticent to visit my doctor and set this ball rolling when the real result will be far less monthly pain for the first time in 25 years. And if I ever get to the place that I am able to emotionally and financially care for my own self, there are plenty of little ones needing families and I could adopt. It's just the issue of this annoying womb of mine. It's given me so much grief being here and active all these years that just pulling it out and throwing it away seems like a waste of agony, seems like something that was supposed to be productive being denied by my choice.

  Oh SH*&! I thought this decision would be easier to make. At least there is the possibility of no longer missing work because of abdominal cramps.

  • 11:47 AM
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