There is a simple dream we are taught by this society from childhood.
One day we will grow up and be very beautiful, perhaps meet Prince Charming, and just like our parents got to be mummies and daddies to us, we will have little ones of our own. But sometimes fairy tales become twisted, not everyone gets to follow this magical gradient of a life.
I was told when I was sixteen a slice of information that would send me searching for information on adoption, and then again, more firmly this time, at nineteen. The second time was worse. There were tears, tantrums, and tribulations. I had a certain familiarity with physical pain but had never experienced emotional hurt quite this strongly. Why did it hit so hard? Didn’t I already know this? Yes. But it’s one thing for the mind to understand a blow, another for the soul to learn it.
I believe wholeheartedly in the value, importance, and rightness of adoption and foster care. I am grieving, but this is not an attack on the children who I will one day enjoy the privilege of calling my own.
For me, the upset of being unable to carry my own children has little to do with biological relation. Instead, it relates to the first steps, words, kisses, birthdays, dirty nappies and sleepless nights I am so afraid of missing. It also has a lot to do with the way this decision has had to come about.
I am not typically infertile, at least not to my knowledge. I have a genetic condition. Because of the statistical likelihood of passing this on to my children, and because of the failing connective tissue which would likely make pregnancy dangerous for both myself and my child, I sadly call myself honorarily infertile. Being forced to this decision has been difficult, but I have no doubt that I make it for the sake of my child.
The condition is Ehlers Danlos Syndrome, it has a range of sub-branches, but it is a genetic condition affecting collagen and connective tissue, and therefore most bodily systems.
Since learning the difficult path my future will follow I have shed many tears and have found it difficult to care about much other than children I am wishing for. In many ways, this event feels like one with a clear before and after; I suppose that this is what grief does.