She asked,

I replied, No, I don't have any,

I was 21 years old when I had my first, and only, pregnancy.

I was meant to be a mother

But if that isn't now to be

I'm not sure what happens next

What is it now that defines me?

Anger’s a motherfucker, tearing through my chest,  
Ripping out the bullshit I tried to digest.  

Finally, the day had come: the awareness event for being childless not by choice that I had wished for since so many years at my workplace was announced for the 8th of July.

When I was 18, a friend of the same age became pregnant. My mum described her as a “silly girl” because “she had her whole life ahead of her and she has ruined it.”

I’ve known since I was a teenager that having children might not come easily to me. PCOS was the label I was given. I was told it might affect my fertility, but no one could say how or when. At that age, it's hard to understand what that really means.

So the final diagnosis would be “unexplained infertility”.

Follicular Atresia.

I roll the words over in my mind and in my mouth.

I don’t  want to sing no more

I don’t want to dance

Dearest reader, can you imagine as an involuntary childless person having the words ‘I can’t talk about my kids because of you!’ hurled abusively across a staff canteen at  you during your lunch break.

I am childless because I had a hysterectomy to treat cervical cancer.

I was 35 years old.

I often wonder to myself: How long has it been that I have felt so overwhelmed by life?  How did I get so far behind on the things that need to be done? 

Not a sister. Not a mother.

'I told you to cut your stick' Peggy's soft words came to Mairead’s ear once more like a whisper.

As a child I have been lined up with my brother and cousins and these have always been my favourite photos.

I refuse to believe the first one.

It’s the same tech as yesterday

the one who’s scared of my tears.

Rivers don’t always flow. Swirling whirlpools form due to irregularities in the riverbed, constrictions, and differential current speeds.

You can take mine off my hands at the weekend,

if you’ve got nothing else on, that is.

One black eye

One split lip

And more tears than I care to remember

They tell me that I’m choosing this

as though I have a choice.

I was pregnant once.

A long time ago.

Dear Kirby, It’s been 6 months now since you crossed the Rainbow Bridge; I am still struggling to explain to others how hard it’s been since you’ve been gone.

A hollowness invades my being.
Emptiness that should be filled -

Been here before.
An old path worn.

You are so fragile

like lace given life.

I step back from the window

having joined the group of strangers

in sticking up post-it notes,

A collection of four poems addressing the emotional turmoil of a cancer diagnosis leading to childlessness-not-by-choice.

(Like mother, like daughter) I was born in Sri Lanka in 1977. It was a time when they called Sri Lanka a “third world country.” It was also a time when you had to be married to get pregnant.

I’ve worked so hard on myself – to build the life I have now.

As he grouts the white marble tiles

Our builder helpfully reminds me

She talks, and her hands are in flight, they light

on his hands, her soft face, the rosebud’s flame,

You would have been almost fourteen now

You would have been full of adolescent hormones

How do I start writing about something that has had a profound impact on my life in a matter of hours since I decided to write just hours before the deadline.

Do all women secretly fear they're
infertile?
I did and I guess I am.