Cancer has caused me to face a great number of things, mostly all difficult, some unexpected. One thing I’ve found most difficult to talk about is its effect on my fertility. I will not be able to have children after this.
How that makes me feel is still in progress. I didn’t have a strong desire to have children for the sake of them. I’ve always maintained that if I found the person I determined worthy enough to combine DNA to create offspring we’d make those decisions together. I was also open to deciding with my partner to remain childless. I intended to put it out of my mind until such partner was discovered and I did. So, when I was sideswiped with the realization cancer would take that option away I didn’t have a plan.
At first I felt that I should do something so I met with a fertility specialist. He had options, the recommended being find a donor and freeze fertilized eggs before treatment. A less recommended option was to freeze unfertilized eggs. These options took time and/or a relationship I didn’t have.
Finally, there were drugs I could take that would suspend fertility in the hope my ovaries would regain function post-treatment (Lupron was one recommendation). This method would entail a very fast, brutal decent into temporary menopause. I considered it. I even spoke with Livestrong Foundation about financial assistance as fertility treatments are not covered by my insurance.
In a moment of courageous defeat, I simply said no. I was too overwhelmed, too scared, too heartbroken for any more decisions or procedures or drugs.
I told myself I don’t have to feel sad about never being honored by my partner to have our children. I told myself I don’t have to feel left out of the pride I know parents feel. I told myself I might not have been good at it anyway. But, that’s a lie. I would have been great at it.
So, I’ve settled into telling myself that something more terrible than cancer would have happened should I have been a mother. For something to happen to your kid is very likely the most painful experience. In fact, I’ve seen this pain in parents that have lost children. I see it in my own parents’ faces as they help me through my disease. I think of cancer as sparing me that pain.
I also realize time is running out for me and perhaps the parent path was just never in the cards for me. I accept the decisions made in my life without regret, including my decision to value quality relationships and spontaneity above the biological gift of bearing children.
I’ve gotten used to the idea of not being a mother I think. When I’m honest with myself, it is a bit of a relief. I wasn’t completely sure I wanted children so really, the only thing taken away is the option. There are plenty of benefits to being childless, benefits I’ve been enjoying for 35 years. I’m sure I’ll be fine and, on the flip side, I maintain families are made of love and commitment, not just DNA.
One thing that continues to bother me, however, is the unfairness with which parents sometimes treat the childless. I may not know what it’s like firsthand, sure. But I can comment on some children’s issues. I do have a stake in the future of humanity after all and I’m not beyond spending time with young people as a non-parent. In fact, I feel I have a lot to offer.
So, parents, please do not pour salt in my tiny wound by assuming I don’t “get it” because I don’t/can’t have children. You never know who might end up feeling you don’t “get it” when you strike a nerve with someone that had their mother’s day taken from them without permission.