I Don't Know...

Why I’m so upset. I don’t really.

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I mean, obviously, I would prefer not to have Cancer, that’s kind of a duh statement. But the hysterectomy… it’s exactly what I wanted- like, a year ago. Longer even than that really.

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But the more I think about it, the more upset I get. I’m 30 years old. 30.

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30.

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I’m 30 years old and I have Cancer and they’re going to rip out my womb, and my ovaries, and everything tied along with it and leave me with what?

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A shell?

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I wanted a hysterectomy because I knew it would definitively fix my pain, and my discomfort, and my constant, never-ending fuckwad of menstrual issues. But what will be left when they take out my womb? What happens to that space in my body?

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Is it just… empty forever? What does it feel like when it’s gone?

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I’ve never… not noticed my uterus. Or my ovaries. It’s just always been such an issue… I can’t fathom those pieces of me just… not existing inside me anymore. And I know it’s for the best, I knew that a year ago… but now that it’s happening I can’t seem to stop wondering—

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what happens to the place where my babies were supposed to grow? what happens to the space it leaves behind?

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What kind of hole is that going to leave in me… truly? I’m not talking about the physical ramifications. I just mean…

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I don’t know what I mean.

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Who am I without that part of me?

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Who am I without that… potential?

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And yes, I decided a long time ago I wasn’t the “mom” type. That parenthood wasn’t the road I’m on. I decided a long time ago that by the time I was ready for a relationship it would be too late for kids anyway.

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But all of a sudden, now, for some reason… I’m devastated that the door is closing. That that choice will no longer be there for me to make in 5 years, in 10. And I can be as forward-thinking, and feminist as I want about it and spout all the things I’ve said about my uterus not making me a woman, about parenthood not defining a woman, about how those “biological imperatives” aren’t what define me as a woman.

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But at 12:30 at night on the day it was decided that my reproductive system needs to be scrubbed clean from my body… I look at my soft white breasts and think— no child will ever feed here. I touch a hand to my swollen, pain-racked belly and think— no child will ever kick inside of me. As cramps ripple my abdomen I think… this is the closest I will ever come to labor.

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And for the first time in my life, in all of the times I’ve railed against it, in all of the speeches I’ve given about not wanting it, not needing it, not having any desire for it—

I am desperately, achingly sad that I will never be able to change my mind. Because Cancer stole my choice.

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So to the babies I’ll never have, I’m sorry. Maybe there would never have been any, maybe not even one child. But maybe… I’m sorry. Because maybe someday I would have loved you spectacularly. Because despite all this pain, and anger, and frustration— I am soft, and warm, and loving. And maybe you would never have existed by me anyway… but maybe. I’m sorry. Because maybe someday I would have believed you were the best thing I ever made.

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I am 30 years old. And I have Cancer. And a single surgery will cure me. And for the first time in 10 years… I wonder if maybe I did want to give birth after all. And maybe I’m not sure how to process that loss. Maybe I’m not sure how to deal with losing that option. Because maybe secretly I thought someday I’d change my mind. And now I’ll never be able to.

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I don’t know how to process all of this. I don’t know how to handle it. And I feel very, very alone.