My Reproductive Story

I started reading "Unsung Lullabies: Understanding and Coping with Infertility" by Janet Jaffe, Martha Diamond, and David Diamond, all PhD's, today. I tend to turn to books to help figure things out.

I read Part I just now. It talks of your reproductive story. We start writing one when we're very young--playing house, wanting to be like/not be like mommy/daddy, and it continues throughout life. While dealing with infertility, it is helpful to write your personal reproductive story.

My maternal feelings didn't kick in until I was in high school. My youngest brother is six years younger than I am. He became my little Spocko (named for one of our favorite Star Trek TOS episodes "Piece of the Action"). Soon my maternal instinct grew a lot--both brothers called me "Mama 2." They still call me that. Awkward moment in the fall when I became Mama 2 in front of their friends and I wan't "cool" anymore (while earlier I was cracking "your mom" comments, making sick jokes, ect). My own mother has been amused at this; she's not the "average" mother and I guess I tried to fill that role. Don't get me wrong, I love my mom, but she's weird. She'll even admit it. Dad will even admit it. It's hard to describe her, really. She wasn't the "soccer mom" but stayed at home and was the perfect mom for us three. She's not really big on emotions and is very down to earth, even if she is still true to her hippy ways. My dad is a very wise, caring guy. He's an accountant, has been for longer than I've been alive. If he didn't become an accountant, he would have gone into social work. He considers himself more Socialist than Democrat. He loves being the provider. One of his biggest accomplishments is that he was able to buy me and my brothers our own car. But material things aren't all that to him, though he does enjoy them. He made a rule that we weren't to get any more pets after our first two cats when we moved to the lake. We now have three additional cats (total of four...Spot is still alive), a dog, and a bird at home. He loves doing our little family things--birthdays, holidays, our annual trip to the Cities to see the Twins. He's embraced the role of being Grandpa to Alex. But getting back to Mama 2. It's a weird tightrope to walk being older sister and another mom. I'm learning as I go.

Before I got Alex, I could never understand how someone could consider themselves to be a parent to a non-human. I became Alex's mommy right away. I took care of feeding and cleaning her, would teach her things (she got a lesson on gravity when she was a little baby when she was determined to climb the walls), would hold discussions with her, try to teach her non-violence, stuff like that. Not saying she's comparable to an actual child, of course, but humans have a tendency to humanize things that are non-human. I was playing Mommy. Andy grew into the roll of Daddy. My brothers are her uncles, and my parents are her grandparents. I was also playing house.

So yeah, I do have a strong maternal instinct. I always figured I'd have my own kids at some point but I never had it planned out. I guess that comes from my parents--they never had a plan for what we were to do at all. I had a few names in mind, imagined playing baseball with them, introducing them to Star Trek and M*A*S*H (I actually thought long on what age would M*A*S*H be appropriate for; I had grown up with Star Trek myself so I knew that one), putting them to sleep with Tom Petty playing, but that was about it. Since diagnosed with endometriosis at 17, I knew it could possibly affect my fertility and it was my deepest secret fear. When I had my excision surgery in March 08, one of the first questions I had was whether or not I would have issues becoming pregnant, and was told I would have the same chance as most everyone else til I turned 35. Sweet. 35. I did some quick math and figured I could still get my doctorate in history and still have a good shot at a family.

I knew I wouldn't have kids until I a)was healthy enough to care for them and b)support them properly. One of the long standing myths of endometriosis is that "pregnancy is a cure" but how could I bring a child into this world just for a possibility of me feeling better? And what would happen if I still felt like shit after the pregnancy? You can't just put a bowl of food and a litter box out for a child. I wasn't going to have children until I was ready. I did so much to insure that an unexpected pregnancy wouldn't happen.

After my excision surgery, my adenomyosis became really, really bad. I can't even begin to describe the pain. It affected everything in my life. I couldn't work part time retail. Narcotic pains meds and heating pads were pretty much a daily occurrence. Andy and I were beginning to have problems due to my chronic health problems. I would never be able to get back to school if this continued, let alone work. I couldn't play with Alex. I couldn't vacuum. I couldn't live.

So I had a decision to make.

I called my endo specialist in Atlanta and we talked for a while. He told me of other things we could try again (and again, and again, and again) but he believed they would be futile. Why? Because the only cure for adenomyosis is a hysterectomy--removal of the uterus. He asked if I would be comfortable with making a decision for that, and I told him that there was no way I could be a good mother while my health like this, and it wouldn't get any better, so yeah, it was time for a hysterectomy. Soon surgery was scheduled and I was back in Atlanta and had a hyst Nov 20, 2008.

A very logical decision, right? The only way to stop the pain was to have a hyst. A very good motherly thing to do, right? I could never be a good mother while being in so much pain, and wouldn't be fair or right to bring children into such a situation.

I am now experiencing what the book refers to as "Reproductive Trauma." Wow, talk about getting your feelings validated and explained! From pages five and six: "What makes the experience of infertility a trauma? The diagnosis of infertility, and the medical interventions often needed to treat it, represent a threat to our physical integrity, our sense of being healthy and whole. One of the most fundamental aspects of our physical selves is our reproductive capability. When that does not function properly, we doubt everything else. Infertility is a trauma because it attacks both the physical and emotional sense of self, it presents us with multiple, complicated losses, it affects or most important relationships, and it shifts our sense of belonging in the world. When you are diagnosed with infertility, the world as you previously knew it crumbles...The trauma of infertility is such that what you had taken for granted and expected is lost."

Doubt. Changing perspectives. Sense of self is different. It's all true. I have never been as self conscious about scars as I am about my hyst scar. I have much bigger scars, but this one is a painful reminder still. I've lost weight since I'm off all the hormones, and yeah that's all good and fine but it's another thing I have to get used to post hyst. It's also weird knowing that there is no reason for me to have wide hips or breasts anymore. Yeah I know that sounds so weird, but it's true. My body was built to bear children, but that isn't going to happen anymore. My mind wanders to stories from Biblical times about women being shunned for not being able to bear children to old Jewish law where a man can divorce a woman because she can't have children to Henry VIII's issues with wives not producing heirs. I know I'm not any less of a woman because I don't have a uterus (and have been assured so by Andy and other friends) but having children is such an expected part of being a woman that it is hard to separate the two at times. I don't dwell on these things, but I am still coming to terms with them.

I even found out why I had such mixed feelings lately about being on birth control for years: because you usually think "if you're in control of when not to get pregnant, you can be in control of getting pregnant" (Pages 36-37). Yeah, I never got to be in control of actually wanting to get pregnant, I never got to that place that I thought I would be at sometime. It's so very odd dealing with infertility when I never tried to have children in the first place.

So there's my reproductive story, well, at least the stuff I've sorted out thus far. The book says that such a story is "a work in progress."