Update On Kids...
So if you’ve been following my mind ramblings here, you’ll be aware that my stance for a while has been firmly in the “no kids for me” camp. (You can read more about that here).
But, again, I have to be honest.
Something happened.
I wasn’t expecting it, planning for it, and frankly, am still in the midst of it.
About a year ago, I was diagnosed with PCOS. Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome. (You can read more about PCOS here). I had been having symptoms for years and basically ignored it until it got to a point where I needed to take action as it was affecting my day to day. My symptoms went from being annoying to interfering with my life at a level that I had trouble managing.
So long story short, I went to the doctor to bite the bullet and find out exactly what was going on (although I had my suspicions) and sort out my treatment options.
Let me tell you a bit of a story on how the rug got ripped out from under me:
Since I don’t have a family doctor, I went to a walk-in clinic looking for a referral to a specialist who could help me. I walked into that treatment room ready to chat about my symptoms and expecting a quick, painless, and routine referral. For the most part, it was. I went to go get testing on testing on testing. And right as we began our follow up appointments to go over my test results before he gave me the referral, I was very sure that everything was on track and would go as expected.
I was wrong.
As we were discussing the results and he was asking questions again. So, I was sharing my symptoms, their progress, and what was bothering me. I knew the question was coming:
“Are you pregnant?”, he asked.
“Nope.” I replied ready to move on to the rest of the paperwork for testing and referrals.
“Are you sure?” He prompted.
“Yes, very sure.” At this point I wondered if I missed something. My heart was starting to race.
“Are you planning on having kids?” He followed up.
Knowing that this might be relevant but also getting a little irritated at his patronizing tone and the way he was pushing it, I replied, “No, not planning on it.”
He quickly exhaled and said, “Good.”
—Wait. Did the world just stop for you, too? Cause that’s what happened for me in that moment.
I was expecting a neutral answer or to be asked another question, or for him to “make sure I’m sure” kind of thing. I was even thinking I could have been mistakenly pregnant. But I sure as heck wasn’t expecting the “Good.” response from him.
I missed his next comments because it felt like my brain came to a screeching halt and I was just snagged on that comment.
“Good.”
Good. Good? Good?! What does that even mean? Is there something else going on here? Why did I come to this appointment by myself? What is he trying to say? Am I missing something? Hold on, why am I stuck on this? I didn’t even want kids…right?
I stopped him and said, “I’m sorry, when you said ‘good’, what did you mean by that?”
He replied, “Well, given what’s going on here, you probably won’t be able to have kids.”
Well, let me share something with you.
My world kinda stopped. It got real quiet in my head and in my heart.
Things look different when you think you have a choice. When you feel like you have options, time, and the whole world at your feet to decide, at your leisure, yes or no. When you feel like you have control, when the decision belongs to you.
And things also look very different when you feel that choice get taken from you.
For many years, my husband Jake and I debated children. Even though we debated we felt firmly in the “No” camp for a myriad of reasons. However, that all started to shift. When that choice gets made for you, in an instant, when you feel that choice slip through your fingers, when you feel your heart start to race and your world tilt — sometimes it can give you a different perspective.
I literally felt the floor leave from beneath my feet and looking at the world from that view — it looked different.
It’s like this:
Do you know how it feels when you’re not sure what to order at the ice cream shop? And you’re debating this flavour or that, this or that, this or that. You think you have all the time in the world, you can imagine each one, you weigh the pros and cons, and when you think you know what you’ll order — someone swoops in and orders for you.
And in that moment, it all of a sudden becomes clear, which flavour you really wanted. You know very clearly if they ordered what you truly desired, or if they missed.
Well, in that doctor’s office, in this case, they misordered. And it kind of felt like that ice cream shop. But, like, times a million.
In a daze, I left that appointment thinking to myself, “Oh no, what is happening here??” I kept thinking over and over that maybe I’m just being stubborn and having that knee jerk reaction I feel to when someone tells me I can’t do something, I want to prove them wrong. Maybe it was me feeling offended by his lack of tact in answering. Maybe I was just shaken because this wasn’t what I expected.
The thoughts were racing and as I got back into my car and went to put the keys in, I realized I was breathing so hard. I stopped and sat there in the parking lot with the keys frozen in my hand and it hit me.
I was terrified.
Maybe instead of “not wanting kids”, I was just scared to explore what truly wanting them would feel like when a part of me knew, deep down, what my symptoms would mean for my ability to have kids. And how that would be devastating.
That it was never really about not wanting them, but not wanting to be hurt by wanting what I couldn’t have. And maybe all the protesting was just about needing time, needing less pressure, and trying to protect myself from the crushing possibility of infertility.
I’ve walked with family, friends, and loved ones through journeys of infertility and I know how heartbreaking and painful it is.
Sitting there with the keys frozen in my hand, it became all too real.
I was terrified of that heartbreak and pain.
Since that day, Jake and I have been discussing and discussing. Talking and weighing. Dreaming and praying. And then discussing and discussing some more.
We thought it’d be best to double check with the specialist about what this doctor said off hand.
Waiting on more test results about my health, I brought these concerns up when I met with my specialist who said, “Yes, if having kids was something we wanted, there’s many women with PCOS that can have, and have had, children. That previous doctor was mistaken. The journey may look different for you, but you do have options. The sooner you can decide, the better.”
I can’t tell you how much relief and simultaneous pressure I felt in that moment.
Jake and I felt like there was more we needed to process and we decided to give ourselves a few months to continue to discuss and really dig up how we truly feel.
What we want. What we dream. What we’re afraid of. And come to a decision on our own.
We kept this whole journey very private. Away from our friends and family, away from social media, and just between us.
A couple months actually turned into 9 months.
During that time my health took another dip and I lost my period for over 6 months.
Remember when I thought I had a choice and it got taken away and given back? It was like it got taken away again. We had no idea why this was happening, I felt betrayed by my body all over again.
I had all of the fears pop up again:
If my body isn’t even ovulating or menstruating, how can I even have children at all?
Did they get the diagnosis wrong?
Am I going through early menopause?
What the heck is happening in my heart right now and why is this so painful and scary?
As all these things were swirling, I woke up one morning on the other side of the fence. Speaking with Jake (again), we finally came to it.
We want kids.
That initial gut check at the doctor’s office was right. The fear of wanting to take that decision back was right. The voice in my heart getting louder and louder and louder is right.
We went through every single reason we previously had for not wanting children and they didn’t seem like reasons anymore. We pictured our future and dreamt together. We saw kiddos and couldn’t not see the kids we wished were there.
Now, this isn’t to say that we aren’t still terrified. That we still have so many moments of doubt. That we have accepted that we might not ever be completely sure, or ready, or whatever. But what we do know, even in those moments of intense panic and doubt and fear is this —
At the end of the day, our years, our life — we both want to bring life into this world, we both want a family, together.
So, that’s where we’re at.
We’re at the beginning of a fertility journey that I hope will go well. So far we’ve been having fun trying with no results and now waiting to meet with our specialist again to take the next steps.
And let me tell you, it’s already painful and scary, and we’re still not sure and wish we had a bit more time. But, amongst all those feelings, we’re also excited, connected, and as close to ready as we’ll ever be.
Wish us luck, please?