I found out late last night that OH is off to the Dr this morning to book in for ‘the snip’.
I actually sobbed this morning with the realisation I will never be pregnant again, never experience those beautiful movements from within, never experience birth again, never hold my own tiny baby again.
Don’t get me wrong I knew he wanted to do it, and I agree with it to a certain extent. I feel at 43 (very nearly 44, but still hanging on) alone we have rolled the dice twice and risked so many age related ‘complications’ that maybe a third time we wouldn’t be quite so ‘lucky’. Then there’s the actual getting pregnant bit, coupled with the very real risk of yet another miscarriage meaning we could be heading into late-40s territory if we did do it again and I already feel I’m too old for the two I have. I don’t want to leave my children parentless at a young age and being the age we are this is more likely than their peers.
Yet still I sob.
When I finally decided that I did want children, I wanted three children. I’m one of three and probably this is why I wanted this amount. In recent times I’ve found myself ‘knowing’ that had I started earlier I may well have ended up with even 4 or 5.
However, I didn’t and this is where we find ourselves, yet still I mourn.
Many years ago my SIL had to have a hysterectomy, she was in her mid to late 40s. My brother and she had, years previously, already decided they weren’t having children but she struggled. I remember (in my unknowing youth) wondering why she was so upset when she didn’t want children anyway, but my mum told me that it was their choice not to have children but now her body has taken that choice away and decided for her and that’s where she struggled.
I now know how she feels.
I know that we’re not going to have more but once this procedure is done it’s final.
There’s no going back.
The decision is out of my hands.
I find myself realising that I like to live with a glimmer of hope. Something to hold onto even when you know that it’s not going to happen.
When my mum was in her final weeks and days I clung on to a belief she was sooooo sick because of an infection, not the cancer that had rampaged through her poor body. It got me through and I find myself now realising this is how I deal with everything in life.
It’s funny, when we were trying for Peanut, and actually even when we were trying for DS, I kept saying that if it happens it happens and if it doesn’t then that’s that and I was okay with that. I would have no regrets for not atleast giving it a go even though fate chose a different path for us.
I find myself there again, wanting to leave it in the hands of the gods, but this way I know, absolutely know, that I will never birth another child again, and with this I struggle.