thank you all for the feedback, for the advice, for the support in general.
i'm trying to make sense of all this...
I used to think I never wanted children. I swore for years that I’d done my duty, diapering, feeding, helping to raise four nephews and four nieces. My first nephew was born when I was seven. I was regularly babysitting by the time I was twelve years old. I was always responsible beyond my years, always taking care of the latest addition to the family. I liked children, I would tell everyone, but I wasn’t having any.
I don’t know when that started to change; maybe a few years ago, around my mid-twenties. Maybe when Princess Messyface was born, and fell asleep against my chest for the first time, when I suddenly understood that I would do anything in my power to protect and nurture this tiny bundle in my arms. All I know is that one day I moved from never-ever to someday, but not right now. Now was the wrong time, for a whole host of reasons. It still is.
But this past week, I was diagnosed with Polycystic Ovary Syndrome. No one is really sure what causes the disease; there isn’t even an entirely unified definition of the disease itself. I’m still learning about it myself, trying to piece together information from various sources into a larger picture of this disease that will determine so much of my future, now. I may be resistant to insulin and have to change my diet completely. I may develop diabetes, heart disease, and certain cancers more easily than other women. And I may have difficulty conceiving and carrying a child.
It’s this last part that scares me. Having children was always an option, at least, somewhere in the back of my mind. There was always the possibility, even in my adamantly anti-childbearing years that I could change my mind any time I wanted. Suddenly, I have to consider the possibility that I may never have a child, with everything that implies. The possibility of being infertile fundamentally alters my perceptions of myself and my future. What if I can’t have a child? Am I going to end up alone, with my books and my cats for company? Am I destined to be somebody’s spinster aunt?
It’s coloring my view of my past. I’m questioning every decision I’ve made since puberty. Thinking that maybe I should have settled down young, had children early. Worrying that I’ve wasted the only childbearing years I might have had. Wondering what I’ve done to end up this way. If I ignored the warning signs. If it’s my fault for being overweight, for not eating right, for not taking better care of myself. If, I suppose, I deserve this in some way. I know it’s unproductive. I know it’s not going to change anything. But no one said I was thinking this way because it was rational.
I’m angry. I’m angry that there’s no real definition of this disease. I’m angry that there’s no cure. I’m angry that there’s virtually no research, despite the fact that nearly 10% of American women suffer from this condition. I’m angry because I know that if something affected 10% of the American male population, it would be a major health alert. Newspaper articles would be devoted to it. Now, I just get my very own awareness and support bracelet, a few websites, and a lot of conflicting information.
Above all else right now, I’m tired. I’m tired of trying to be healthy and never seeing results. I’m tired of watching my friends scarf down Wendy’s three times a week and never budge above a size four. Tired of feeling jealous of all the women walking downtown with baby carriages. I’m tired of worrying, tired of blaming myself. And I’m tired of people telling me how fine I’m going to be. Tired of people looking for the good in this, telling me to look on the bright side. I’m tired of trying to find a bright side when I’m scared, when I’m still trying to come to terms with the idea that this disease is going to be a big part of my life. I’m sick, and it’s not going to change. I’ll find a way to live with it; I’ll figure out my new way of being in the world. But right now, let me mourn the old way. Let me mourn the beatpoetgrrl who believed everything was an option, and nothing was worth that much worrying over. I’ll figure out the rest eventually.
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