I have a scan on Tuesday. I am, as usual, a bit nervous. My mind races with scenarios that get more and more optimistic, and when reality comes we deflate like souffles. The news could be objectively good, but we are impatient people.
Thinking about the doctor today I remembered a conversation we had early on. I can still clearly see him sigh, hesitate, and brace himself.
"There is a high chance," *dramatic pause* "that you will be infertile after treatment." I imagine that he saw a young, 30-something with a husband and assumed this would be a blow. Instead, I threw him off with a breezy "That's ok. What else?"
To me, the news wasn't as devastating as it might be to another woman. Since I was a child, I knew I was not destined to be a mother. It was a decision I had already made a long time before my epilepsy, and now cancer, put in the final nails on that decision. And now, since I had no clear idea of what my future was, the prospect of a child would be almost irresponsible. But I feel a strange relief.
Why? Because people are bizarrely invested in other peoples wombs. I used to get the "When are you having kids?" a lot as a young newly married woman. Telling people I was not interested was more trouble than you imagined. "You'll change your mind." "Children are a blessing!" and the most offensive: "I will pray to God that you change your mind" (I am sure he has better things to do!). It was an uncomfortable and circular conversation.
I feel odd relief in being able to just end the conversation with an "I can't". Although, this makes me think of the women that would grieve this. I wonder, how would I feel if I had been someone who wanted children? The questions and assumptions I have gotten as a child-free person are intrusive, rude, and potentially painful. And this was an active choice I made, so I can have a pretty thick skin on the matter. What if this isn't a choice? I would probably punch a lot of people in the face.
I resent the fact that women are painted as somehow "less than" if we are not able to have a child. I resent that this is a measure of being a "true woman". I resent that I am somehow "selfish". I have been more a mother to my brother than lots of woman who have been able to have their own biological off-spring. I resent that strangers feel they can argue with me on this point as if it were their evolutionary imperative. I resent that those who have not made this choice, as I had, are put through this same crap, and worst.
Will I ever miss my chemo-fried ovaries? In the long run, I don't know. I have, in some ways, made a Faustian bargain. I get to see another day in exchange for my hands (and my art), any semblance of comfort, some bits of sanity, and ultimately, my fertility as well. At least I can be content with being a wonderful aunt to someone. But...that was my choice and nature just happened to align with it...but choice is everything.
So next time you go to ask a coworker, a stranger, etc. "Are you having more than 1?" or "Why haven't you had one yet? Children are joyous and beautiful!" I would implore you to shut your mouth unless you clearly know this line of questioning is welcomed by that person. Otherwise, your words could be, at best, annoying, and at worst, extremely painful.
Thinking about the doctor today I remembered a conversation we had early on. I can still clearly see him sigh, hesitate, and brace himself.
"There is a high chance," *dramatic pause* "that you will be infertile after treatment." I imagine that he saw a young, 30-something with a husband and assumed this would be a blow. Instead, I threw him off with a breezy "That's ok. What else?"
To me, the news wasn't as devastating as it might be to another woman. Since I was a child, I knew I was not destined to be a mother. It was a decision I had already made a long time before my epilepsy, and now cancer, put in the final nails on that decision. And now, since I had no clear idea of what my future was, the prospect of a child would be almost irresponsible. But I feel a strange relief.
Why? Because people are bizarrely invested in other peoples wombs. I used to get the "When are you having kids?" a lot as a young newly married woman. Telling people I was not interested was more trouble than you imagined. "You'll change your mind." "Children are a blessing!" and the most offensive: "I will pray to God that you change your mind" (I am sure he has better things to do!). It was an uncomfortable and circular conversation.
I feel odd relief in being able to just end the conversation with an "I can't". Although, this makes me think of the women that would grieve this. I wonder, how would I feel if I had been someone who wanted children? The questions and assumptions I have gotten as a child-free person are intrusive, rude, and potentially painful. And this was an active choice I made, so I can have a pretty thick skin on the matter. What if this isn't a choice? I would probably punch a lot of people in the face.
I resent the fact that women are painted as somehow "less than" if we are not able to have a child. I resent that this is a measure of being a "true woman". I resent that I am somehow "selfish". I have been more a mother to my brother than lots of woman who have been able to have their own biological off-spring. I resent that strangers feel they can argue with me on this point as if it were their evolutionary imperative. I resent that those who have not made this choice, as I had, are put through this same crap, and worst.
Will I ever miss my chemo-fried ovaries? In the long run, I don't know. I have, in some ways, made a Faustian bargain. I get to see another day in exchange for my hands (and my art), any semblance of comfort, some bits of sanity, and ultimately, my fertility as well. At least I can be content with being a wonderful aunt to someone. But...that was my choice and nature just happened to align with it...but choice is everything.
So next time you go to ask a coworker, a stranger, etc. "Are you having more than 1?" or "Why haven't you had one yet? Children are joyous and beautiful!" I would implore you to shut your mouth unless you clearly know this line of questioning is welcomed by that person. Otherwise, your words could be, at best, annoying, and at worst, extremely painful.
