PCOS is a horrible disorder. The body turns on itself, sugars are processed in funky ways, and it pretty much can drive you insane. I’ve been living with it for a very long time and I hate it as much as I hate my endometriosis. One of the symptoms in particular can be taken as either a blessing or a curse. PCOS can cause infertility.
I’m one of those for whom the disease caused subfertility. At first that was fine with me because I never wanted kids in the first place. Coming from the life I’d had, I knew what a huge responsibility children could be and I doubted my ability to shake off my apathy enough to care for and love a child. I didn’t think I had enough love to give a little one. I never thought I’d find someone who wasn’t abhorrent to have a child with. And with all of the minority categories I fall into, I feared any child I did have would be taken away eventually.
I was so used to being poor, to being depressed, to being forced, and to being an outcast that a child just didn’t make sense. So I was a bit relieved when I first realized I couldn’t conceive. But then a number of things happened. The first was that my endometriosis grew worse. One of the treatment options was to undergo fertility treatment. Basically, having a baby helps to keep the endo at bay for a year or two. Being sensitive to most medications in general and being fed up with birth control that still left me with debilitating symptoms, I figured why not try a different path. I took medicine for my blood sugar and progesterone to level out my hormones.
I didn’t really expect to get pregnant. I never really thought it was possible. But in just a few short months I discovered that I was with child. It was a shocking moment for me (and fairly embarrassing. I found out I was pregnant because I’d tried to drink a wine cooler and at the first sip grew horribly nauseous. I’m not much of a drinker because with certain beverages I have seizures but I do enjoy wine every now and then. Anyway, I immediately told my big sis, who I’ll write about later, and she picked me up a pregnancy test that very night). I had a lot of thinking to do.
I thought about my nieces, who gave me such joy. I thought of the way they brightened my sister’s life and how for the first time I saw a family that was not torn and ugly and broken. I thought of how I’d always said I’d try most anything at least one, just to experience and learn from it. I thought of how much I loved my partner and how curious I’d be to to see what we’d be as one person. I thought of how a child would force me to confront my weaknesses and fears and be motivation for me to do better. I thought of how I didn’t want my line to die out, of how I wanted raise a child with the compassion and critical thinking skills that could help change the world, of how I’d told myself if I ever had a kid I wanted it to be a boy.
You see, I was terrified of giving birth to a girl. I was terrified of the life she would live. I feared that she’d be the 1 in 4 that would be abused or raped. I feared that she’d put up with the same horrible treatment I’d grown up with. And I realized that was my biggest fear. All of my other concerns were only mild in comparison. I didn’t want to bring a child into the world because I feared they’d grow up like I did, that the cycle would repeat itself.
I already loved to research, so I did what I normally do; I researched the hell out of pregnancy and parenting. I talked with my sister. I talked with my partner about what he knew and encouraged him to study up. But all the information in the world would never let me know what that little creature really gave me.
My little person. My little buddy. My creature. My baby. You have to love yourself if you’re going to love them. Seeing him let me see the past and future all at once. Seeing him with his cousins is indescribably lovely. I remember the childhood my sister and I had, I remember how close we siblings were, and I loved that the bond between this next generation wasn’t formed out of necessity and pain but out of joy and delight. I was inspired to dust myself off and keep going.
I think people often miss the amazing things that children do. They don’t see their resilience. They don’t often think of how amazing it is that these tiny people have the courage to face a completely unfamiliar world every single day. I think children are so incredibly brave. They remain open to the world and try again no matter what happens. They’re definitely smarter than most people give them credit for (my boy first said “hi” to me at four months. It creeped me the hell out). Their minds, their brains are literally building working models of the world that they’ll rely on for the rest of their lives. It’s a miraculous thing to see a mind developing.
It’s a miraculous thing to give birth. It’s a beautiful thing that the body can produce nourishment and care for another living being for such a long time. It’s amazing that one could feel so fiercely about such a tiny little thing. He’s my little miracle. The joy of watching him grow and learn reminds me of what I love most about life. He is life, an act of pure creation. He is my miracle. He is my reminder of what is possible. Even though I may never be able to have another I’m glad I was able to have at least one.
I never expected much for my life. Being able to know him is something special and more than I’d thought possible.
Also, knowing that he’s not a scaroth vampire certainly lets my mind rest easy (that’s a terrible joke because scaroths are notoriously incestuous. That will be important in one of my later books. Let’s just say I thoroughly embarrass myself).
In all seriousness, though, I love him more than anything and I miss him so much. This is the longest I’ve ever been away from him and it kills me every day. I never thought I’d be able to miss playing and talking with a child but I do. He and his cousins are all so amazing and wonderful and I can’t wait to see them again. Stay strong, little one. We’ll be reunited soon.