One, maybe two, possibly three, what do you think about four? Part II

This is the second post in a series. You can read the first post here.

"R, you need to sit down. I have something to tell you . . ."

And there we sat, for the next hour. I poured out my heart and told him everything! No need to paint a rosy picture -- I just gave it to him straight. Basically, there's no hope. And what little itty bitty hope that I have, is quickly fading as my years roll by me at lightening speed.

So, I finished the conversation, fully expecting him to be in total utter shock. And then, when he regained consciousness, he would realize that he's wasting his time and effort with me -- a lost cause. Move on, count it as a loss and try to find something better before his time ran out. I mean, face it, I'm 10 years his junior. He's no spring chicken. He didn't have a lot of time to waste either.

But, would you believe that after he had a couple of moments to process all that I had just said, his main point of contention was that he was upset that I had not called him to let him know that I was at the emergency room the whole day. He said that I should not have sat there by myself. He could and would have come to accompany me. But, he was upset that he wasn't even given the chance. He felt like he was "cut out" of the whole situation. And that, was the major issue. In fact, he said dealing with the possibility of not having children was easier than dealing with the fact that I shut him out. Our relationship was what was losing hope. If I couldn't be straight forward and completely open and honest, well then, we couldn't move forward.

And I understood what he was saying. I completely understood that, if the table was turned, I would have been upset if he had not showed some common courtesy and told me what was going on.

So, I apologized. And apologized. And apologized. And promised never to do that again. And assured him that he knew EVERYTHING. And he did. I had told him everything. And he didn't run out the door, or pass out at my feet, or have any of the bad reactions that I had built up in my mind.

No, he did exactly what someone who loves someone else would do --- he said, "We'll figure it out. If we need to try to adopt, we will. If we want to try fertility treatments, we will. There lots of options." And he even said he would give up his possibility of hair plugs so that we could use that money for fertility treatments or adoption. What a guy! If you know my husband, then you know about his obsession with his hair or the lack there of. Giving up the possibility of hair plugs in the future is a big deal. Now that's love!!!

So, the next day, I made a follow up appointment with my doctor. I needed to figure out my next course of action. And it looked as though we needed to schedule the surgery. And then decide what medication would be needed post surgery to keep the endometriosis from getting out of control again. You know, basically, to buy myself some time.

And so, we met, we discussed and surgery it was! We needed to burn off the existing endometriosis, adhesions, lesions and scar tissue. And then, I needed to make a decision on the medication following the surgery. I could be put on a high dose birth control shot, where I would feel like I was thrown into menopause at the ripe 'ole age of 27. Or, I could take a pill, which would not be as effective and therefore, causing me to need this surgery to be repeated with a year or two.

Wow, what wonderful options! R and I discussed these options until we just couldn't discuss them anymore. We decided that neither the pill or the shot was a good option and that we would pray about it, continue with the surgery and then make a decision on a medication method after the surgery.

I liked that R was involved in the decision making. He did his own research, scouring the internet to try and read as much as possible. At this point, we were already talking about marriage and I was so glad that he was sticking around and going through this with me.

We knew that we wanted to elope. Take off, just the two of us and do it. And then, tell everybody after it was done. And that's what we did.

As far as the surgery is concerned -- it never happened. I went in to see the doctor as a pre-op measure, and found out I was pregnant. We were all stunned to say the least! God is good!

Oh and my second pregnancy . . . happened only 7 months after giving birth to my first child. I didn't have any complications with either pregnancy and both girls were born healthy.

Now . . . have I experienced a miracle or what! And I'm hoping to experience a couple more in short order. If that's what God has planned for me.

One, maybe two, possibly three, what do you think about four?

When I first met my husband, I was fresh out of a first marriage. I just couldn't see myself ever really being in love again or having a family. Doctors had been telling me since the age of 16 that for me, getting pregnant and actually carrying a child full term would be highly unlikely. I had been through a surgery or two, had cysts removed, adhesions and lesions had taken over my abdomen and had left a lot of scar tissue. The doctor said that if, by chance, I did get pregnant, the pregnancy itself would improve my condition. This just left me feeling like a cat chasing my tail . . . "hey, it's near impossible for you to get pregnant, but if you could, it'd really help, you know!" Then, throw a divorce in that situation and I felt hopeless. I had pretty much set my mind on not ever having children. In fact, when people asked in casual conversation if I wanted children, I'd say "no, not really." But those who REALLY knew me, knew that wasn't true. You see, I thought that if I said that I didn't want children, there would be no disappointment when I couldn't have them. And frankly, at that time during my life, I began to question what sort of parent I would be --- I mean, 27 and divorced . . . I was truly disappointed in myself. And I remember thinking, I would be a horrible mom. #1 - I have no patience --- seriously, I was about the most impatient person I'd ever seen. #2 - I was selfish. #3 - I felt awkward around babies. I grew up babysitting children. Heck, I even had a niece and nephew. And I was fine with children. But babies, I just didn't know what to do. And I wasn't one of those sappy, baby talking, adults. I.JUST.COULDN'T.GO.THERE. And that worried me.

Anyway, getting back to when I met my husband, he wanted a family -- the whole kit and kaboodle -- wife, 3 children, house on the farm with a horseshoe driveway and white picket fence. And in my mind, I could envision all of that. But, eventually I'd have to tell him, that those 3 darling children that he dreamed of having --- well, they wouldn't come from me.

I guess we'd been dating about 7 months when the endometriosis starting acting up. I had horrible pain in my abdomen. I remember heading to work one morning with a heating pad in tow. I sat at my desk in my chair that day with a heating pad on my back, constantly popping ibuprofen. The doctor had given me pain pills, but I was totally against taking those because I knew that I needed to learn to deal with the pain. After all, the only fix for my problem was pregnancy or a hysterectomy. And neither of those were an option for me right now. So, ibuprofen it was.

That day, the pain got so severe that I ended up leaving work, at the urging of my friend and co-worker Teena, and headed to the Urgent Care center. From there, they ran some tests, and sent me to the emergency room so that they could do an ultrasound. I received the results from the ultrasound that evening. They said I had another cyst. And probably more endometriosis that needed to be burned off. You see, 6 years prior, I had surgery to burn off endometriosis and some of the adhesions and lesions. Little did I know that in order to keep myself in good working condition, I needed this surgery every 4 years or so. Huh? That surgery was quite painful and the recovery was all but fast. Every 4 years . . . are you sure?

So, I left the hospital with that news. By that time, I had missed a phone call or two from my now husband -- we'll just call him R. So, I returned R's call, agreed to a dinner date and began to wrack my brain to figure out how I was going to tell him all of this. Y'all -- I liked him. No . . . I REALLY, REALLY liked him. And this news could possibly be a deal breaker. I mean, we were getting serious. We had talked about marriage. And yes, I know. I know that I should have told him the full extent of my condition a long time prior to this moment. But how do you say that.

"Hello guy who I'm dating. Since the age of 16, doctor's have said that I would have a hard time getting pregnant. Every month, I have a miserable day or two with endometriosis that sends me to my bed to lay on a heating pad. There is no definitive answer about my status of becoming pregnant -- I've never tried. But hey, it's stuff you need to consider before even thinking about marrying me."

Ok, well, that was pretty easy -- but actually saying it to him and wondering whether he'd walk out the door -- it was a scary thought. I mean, I'd explained some of my condition before -- and I think he understood and knew more than I gave him credit. But, I felt like I needed to lay it all out on the line. Tell him everything. And hope for the best. I kept thinking, what if the doctors were wrong. Who gave a doctor the authority to tell me what God had planned? In any case, R needed to know.

So, I arrived at R's place, determined to sit down and be fully honest about the situation. He greeted me at the door in his normal fashion -- a kiss, a hug and a "how was your day?" I felt my stomach flip flop. "R, you need to sit down. I have something to tell you . . ."