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.
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 . . ."
