AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Dr. Tomlinson usually has a big, bright smile when she treats me, but today, she looks serious and maybe even a little sad. If I were stuck staring at vaginas all day, I wouldn't be all that chipper either.
"Not great," I reply. "I haven't started my period yet, but I've got terrible cramping."
I explain my symptoms to the doctor while Mom sits attentively. Dr. Tomlinson makes a few notes on her iPad and nods along. I tell her how irregular my period is, about the pain, and how crazy heavy my flow is. She purses her lips, and I can't help but feel like she will give me bad news.
"How long has this been going on?"
"Well, I've never been regular. But the pain started to get worse about a year ago, and now it's so bad that sometimes I miss school."
Dr. Tomlinson turns towards me, her face drawn and subdued. I'm about to get shitty news. Her eyes are missing their usual brightness, and that's when I know. Something is wrong.
"Avery, have you ever heard of endometriosis?"
Nope.
Dr. Tomlinson goes into a long explanation of how some women suffer illnesses caused by abnormalities with their endometrium, which is the lining of the uterus. Symptoms can go unnoticed for ages. In my case, I've had this disease for years and only recently developed symptoms.
Endometriosis sounds gross.
It's when tissue starts growing on the outside of the uterus where it is not supposed to grow. The tissue builds up and it can cause cysts, blockages, and manifests in pelvic pain, excessive menstrual bleeding, fatigue, and even nausea. I've experienced all these symptoms.
"The good news is it's completely treatable."
"And the bad news?" Mom and I ask this at the same time. Dr. Tomlinson looks at both of us and grimaces. I immediately think I'm going to die, develop cancer or something equally terminal.
"The bad news is that your ultrasounds show you have excessive scar tissue built up in your fallopian tubes and some damage to your ovaries."
Okay, that doesn't sound too bad. It's not cancer, and it's treatable. Dr. Tomlinson pulls out a diagram of a woman's reproductive system and continues talking.
"You see, Avery, every month your ovaries release an egg that passes through your fallopian tubes in hopes of being fertilized by male sperm. When fertilization does not occur, our bodies shed the uterine lining, we get our period, and the cycle begins again."
I remember all this from sex-ed class, but I still don't understand why she's giving me a biology lesson. Mom makes a weird little sound, and I glance over at her. Her face is grim.
"Because there is so much scar tissue blocking your fallopian tubes, it's doubtful one of your eggs would be able to pass through undamaged, or at all. And because of the damage to your ovaries, you also have a limited number of viable eggs."
My mom makes a choking sound, and my eyes dart toward her again. Her eyes are a little too bright and slightly watery. She is trying to keep it together. At first, nothing sinks in. My brain is working at a fraction of its normal speed, trying to protect me from reality. Suddenly, the fog clears and I understand.
If there is no way for my eggs to get from Point A to Point B, they will never have a hot date with Mr. Sperm. My eggs, whichever ones are still healthy, will forever be single.
I can't have children. I can't get pregnant.
It's a weird feeling.
I'm eighteen. I've barely even thought about having kids beyond the vague idea that one day Ryan and I would have an unruly bunch of kids running around our home. I've always assumed I'd have time to figure it all out.
But that's not going to happen.
Dr. Tomlinson keeps talking about treatments and the possibility of scientific innovations in fertility research, but somewhere along the way I just numb out and nod.
Holly and I used to joke about growing up, getting married and watching our kids play together. Now, I'll never have that. It's a lot to digest at eighteen.
Mom and I are silent on the way home. There's not much to say. I mean, what can I say? I'm never going to be a mom. I've always taken for granted that I'd have a choice, and now that I don't have one, I feel empty inside.
Ryan.
He'll be a wonderful father someday. He deserves to be a father. He deserves someone who can give him everything.
Can Ryan still love me when I can never give him a family? I know he wants kids. He wantsourkids. I know we’re young, but he’s always said he can’t wait to see me in a few years, pregnant with a cute baby bump, waddling around. I wanted that too and I always took it for granted that I would be able to give him that dream—a little person that is half of me and half of him. We could adopt, but it’s not the same. And I can’t help but feel like I am failing in the most basic way. It’s stupid to think womanhood is based on the ability to conceive child, and I honestly don’t believe that. But it’s something Ryan and I wanted. And I can’t stop the little voice in the back of my mind tauntingly asking,Why would anyone want you when you’re broken, and there are perfectly normal women out there who can have babies? Women with healthy uteruses and fully functional ovaries.
