“You need to make an appointment to see a Doctor first thing Monday morning.” My friend was the most serious I’d ever seen her. Even though this was my second fainting spell, I assured her I was fine; “I think my sugar levels got low.”, I complained. “Okay, let the doctor tell you that!”, she snapped. So, at 19, I let a doctor tell me: “you have Hypothyroid disorder and Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS). Among the list of things she told me could come from this, “can cause infertility” was the only thing that stood out.
My whole life, even as a child, everything I did or wanted to do was to be a better mother. I wanted to go to school to get a good job and to be able to afford all the babies I could have and adopt. I wanted to have experiences to share with my kids. I wanted to love myself to love my kids better. Everything.
I just couldn’t imagine a world where I didn’t have babies. “Not even one, God?” My mind was flooded with questions that I didn’t have answers to. Everyone around me was trying not to get pregnant, and my mind was confused and overwhelmed, stuck between not wanting to get pregnant now and not wanting to face the possibility of never having a baby. “Did I do something wrong?”
My native language is transparency. If someone seemed even remotely interested in pursuing a relationship with me, I’d sprinkle in conversations of infertility as if we were talking about the weather. But in your early twenties, talks about children seem so far off that it was often met with a simple “okay.” As I got older, I began focusing on my health. I learned how I could heal my body with medicine, mindfulness, exercise, and nutrition. I began working out, training for a half marathon, and feeling great physically. PCOS was still there, but I stopped centering it in my world. The conversations about infertility became more serious with acceptance vs. avoidance. There was no minimizing it. It was what it was and I had fallen so in love with myself that I knew I’d be a great mother, like mother earth and community mothers, even if not biologically.
“So… There’s something important I need to tell you. There’s a chance, because of my PCOS, that I may not be able to get pregnant. I am okay with it. I’ve been coming to terms with it for seven years, but I want to let you know so you can decide whether or not you want to pursue a serious relationship with me that could lead to you wanting to have kids. It’s more likely that I can’t; not biologically, anyways.“ A long pause followed, but the pressure in his hug did not change; I still felt safe, so I waited.
“Thank you for letting me know. I can’t give you a concrete answer right now. What I know is that I really like you and still want to pursue you and see where this goes. We can talk more about that as we get to know each other more.” Kevin was the first man I’ve ever felt completely safe with. We had only known each other a month when we had this conversation, but I knew he was the real deal. “Oooof,” I thought, “It’d be awesome to bring another him into this world.”
One month turned into four months of being in the healthiest relationship of my life when I began feeling different physically. “You’re not pregnant, are you?” my brother asked after I mentioned it to my brother. “No! I mean. I can’t. I mean, I don’t think so.” With this possibility planted in my head, I went to the store and purchased a pregnancy test.
I almost passed out when, within seconds, I saw the word “PREGNANT” pop up on the test, again on the second and on the third. There was nothing else left to do but to call Kevin. “Babe… Um, guess what?” I held my breath. “You’re pregnant?” Kevin asked. “Yes!” I yelled. “Alright!” He said, “Let’s do this!
Looking forward to reading part 2, sis. Thank you for your vulnerability and strength…it is why I’m so drawn to your spirit. ❤