All of my posts seem so down, so depressing, so hopeless. Anyone who meets me in real life, finds me quite the opposite. A facade of energy, happiness, ability, strength, and having it all together. Even my therapist said I am very PC, sugar coating my life and my feelings when describing things- and to my therapist of all people. Forcing myself to always look at the positives, telling myself I don’t have cancer, or something life threatening. Which is probably doing more harm than good, right? Am I really grieving? Am I really allowing myself to feel, to heal? Mind over matter may not always be the right solution.
Take this IVF doctor’s appointment from a few weeks ago. Have I talked more about it with my husband? No. Did I wallow and mope for 3 days and then tell myself to get over it? Yup. And what decision, did I make, all alone and am now steadfast in? I will not go down the IVF path, I will not put my family or myself through the agony, the emotional, financial, and physical stress, the empty hope that lies at the end of the process. And do I want to start all over with a baby when my amazing step-kids are 13 and 11? I don’t think so.
So here I am, firm in my decision, right? Can’t change my mind. And then tonight, watching season two finale of The Crown, in which The Queen is dealing with the pain and glory of childbirth, her proud husband watching on, tears streamed down my face. No noise, no sobs, just salty, empty tears. I meekly said to my husband, “will this pain of never being able to do that, experience this with you, go away?” To which I received no reply. It probably did sound rhetorical and so melancholy, mirroring my feelings in the moment.
A hysterectomy is imminent, I am sure. My pain has subsided slightly since surgery, but it is there, gnawing and oh-so-not-subtle. My energy level has been horrible, my desire to eat anything and everything within my diet restrictions has been fierce, the stress of rioters at the Capitol and Covid breathing down all over our necks feels overwhelming and causing sleepless nights.
Time to move on, Molly! Pick your chin up, you are tougher than this! I am tougher than this, I will move on. Just a little tougher to do when my monthly friend returns with sharpened swords and estrogen bombs. And a reminder that no life will ever grow in there.
Grief will be constant, my therapist said, but will change over time. Right now it is raw, like a scab I picked at by making an appointment with the fetility specialist. Every day it will heal slowly, but it won’t ever close. There will be a sense of loss my whole life from my infertility, but evolving pain as time moves on.
I hope you can find some comfort in knowing your Endosisters are here for you, we’ve got you! Just like I know you’ve got me.