LJ Idol: Black Rainbow
CW: Fertility and cancer.
When I was younger, I made the mistake of having the same therapist as my partner.
As I sat in her office, a pillow in my lap and tears in my eyes, I confessed to her that I was thinking of leaving my boyfriend.
“Why? Aren’t things going well for the two of you?”
“Well yes,” I said. “Very well. I have never been so happy.”
“Then why are you thinking of ending things?”
I struggled to say the words, because I knew what she was going to say.
She was going to agree with me, I just knew it. Anyone with half a brain would agree that I needed to end things sooner rather than later.
“I want to have children,” I blurted out.
I told her about how when my friends were buried in Baby Sitters Club books, I was reading books about pregnancy and babies. There had never been any doubt in my mind that I wanted to be a mother. In college, I studied pre-med with the intention of becoming an obstetrician one day. The miracle of human reproduction and childbirth fascinated me into adulthood, and I had spent most of my life dreaming of having five, six or even eight children. The more the merrier. I switched out of pre-med because I feared it would conflict with my desire to have a large family. Instead, I studied business administration with the idea that I would start my own business one day and be able to work from home - and spend time with the children I so desperately wanted.
“And?” she asked me when I finished outlining just how important it was to me to have children.
“Well, he hates kids, and wants to get a vasectomy as soon as possible.”
I steadied myself for the words I expected to hear. I wasn’t naïve enough to believe we could make it work, we were incompatible. I was happy, happier than I had ever been in a relationship up until that point, but this was not something we could compromise on. You can’t have half a child.
But my therapist surprised me. She didn’t tell me to leave him.
Instead, she said, “I don’t think you should end things. Life is unpredictable, and you would be throwing away a happy relationship without knowing what the future holds for the two of you.”
I stared at her in shock. “Are you saying that he might change his mind?”
She had been his therapist for years. He wasn’t very open with me, even as I tried to get him to let me in. Maybe she knew something I didn’t. Hope flared to life inside of me.
Maybe I didn’t have to end this relationship after all.
She told me some things that she probably shouldn’t have, including why she thought he felt that way.
And yes, she thought he would change his mind. He was just scared, but I could fix that. I just needed to be patient. I needed to give him time to build a life with me, and not get ahead of myself. She was the expert, so I trusted her guidance. She told me exactly what I had wanted to hear, and I believed her.
Plus, I was in my 20s so I still had plenty of time.
So I stayed.
It became clear that children weren’t in the cards for us. Even if he had wanted them, we struggled financially. I couldn't fathom a life where I could afford to have a baby, even if I left - especially if I left him. I didn't want to risk losing the man I loved and still ending up childless.
So I stayed for eight years while lying to myself.
You don’t need kids. Dogs and cats will bring you just as much joy.
But every time a friend announced their pregnancy, every time I held a baby, there was a weight in the pit of my stomach.
I was eaten alive by jealousy, wishing it were me.
That will never be me, I had to remind myself over and over again. My heart broke a million times over those eight years, and none of that was his fault. He had every right not to want children, and I wish I hadn’t trusted our therapist.
We split, and while this wasn’t the main reason, it definitely made the decision easier for me. I was in my mid-30s and it became clear that this relationship was never going to end in marriage, much less children. We had grown apart over the years, so the sting of calling it quits was easier than it would have been at the beginning. If only I had done it sooner…. But hindsight is 20/20.
When I met Sevan, we talked extensively about what we wanted from life. We were just friends when we first started talking, but our emails turned into novels as we talked about everything we wanted in life. I didn’t want to make the same mistake of spending time with someone that was incompatible with me. I was thirty-six, I no longer had “plenty of time” to waste on someone who didn’t want the same things as I did. It made entering into a relationship easier for me, since we'd laid out exactly what we wanted and we found our goals to be compatible. There would be no compromising - he had the same dreams I did.
After dating for some time, we got married and that allowed me to move to France. Finally, I had financial stability and I lived in a country with universal healthcare, free education, and systems in place that made having children a lot easier. After a year of marriage, we had decided to start trying for a baby. Because I was thirty-eight by this time, I no longer dared to dream of having five or six kids. I’d be happy with two or three. Most likely we would have to stop at two, but a girl can dream of having more, right? I sure did. I secretly hoped for twins.
Deciding to have a baby filled me with so much joy. I was ecstatic. I didn’t dare tell anyone, fearful that I might jinx our chances. At my age, I knew it might take some time, but I was happily stocking up on prenatal vitamins as we discussed baby names and plans for our nursery.
It was happening. It was really happening.
Or so I thought.
Not even two weeks later, I found the lump that seemingly appeared overnight. My doctor told me it was probably nothing, but sent me for an ultrasound anyway. From there, I was rushed into a mammogram, and I knew something was wrong by the way the tech looked at me.
A biopsy confirmed my worst fear.
I had breast cancer.
I was swept up into a world of lumpectomies, sentinel node biopsies, genome testing, chemotherapy, radiation, hormone therapies… it was never-ending. One thing after another. I was stage one with a good prognosis. The cancer was likely removed during surgery, but to be safe, I would undergo chemo, radiation and hormone therapy. Chemo often destroys the ovaries, and could put me in menopause so I went through the process to freeze embryos.
One doctor told me that once I finished treatment, we could delay hormone therapy and start trying right away. It's what I had wanted to hear, and it kept me going. I just had to make it out of this hell and to the other side, and we could once again start trying for a baby.
I had so much hope, and I needed that hope to help me through the rough days.
I got monthly injections to put me into chemical menopause to try and save my ovaries, but there’s no guarantee that they’ll ever wake back up again. My frozen embryos are possibly my only hope, and it often takes several retrievals for a woman my age to have one pregnancy.
I only got one chance because chemo needed to be started right away.
I recently found myself discussing my future with yet another doctor. I wasn't able to finish chemo due to infections and a serious allergic reaction, so we need to hit the hormone therapy harder to make up for what was lost by those issues. Realistically, I knew what the studies said, because I had researched it to death before stepping into my doctor's office. Still, I held out hope that she knew something I didn't. I trusted her, she is the expert after all.
But she didn’t have good news for me. Unlike my therapist all those years ago, she didn’t tell me what I wanted to hear.
“You need to be on hormone therapy for at least two years before you can take a break from it to try for a baby.”
“But I’ll be forty-one or forty-two…” I tried to plead with her, as if she could change my fate if I could just get through to her.
Even though I knew, deep down, that she was right.
Part of me feels like it’s just not meant to be. That the universe doesn’t want me to have children. Once again, I’m trying to tell myself that I will be okay if I don’t.
But I know this is a lie. I’ve done this dance before, and I no longer have plenty of time.
I smile when my friends or family share their baby photos with me. I’m happy for them, I truly am. But my heart is breaking for myself at the same time. When will it be my turn?
Will it ever be my turn?
I can’t imagine my life child-less, I just can’t. And it scares me the dark places my mind goes when I even try to conceive of such a life.
I can’t do it.
So for now, I just keep hoping. I tell myself that I have the embryos, there's always a possibility. It keeps me going for now. And I guess we’ll see what happens in two more years.
I went from wanting five or six kids to being happy with two of three to praying that I’ll even get to have one.
My dream keeps changing, but one thing is certain - I’m not ever going to be okay with having zero children. I know myself too well to keep lying to myself about that.
(Please do not tell me, "You can always adopt." No, I likely can't. My age and cancer history will likely make adoption harder - if not impossible - for me, I've looked into this because I would love to adopt. But it's not likely to work out for me and it hurts too much to talk about. My other option is donor eggs and that is one I am considering very seriously and will take that opportunity in a heartbeat if I can).