I spent most of my life looking to have children.  As a child I loved playing with my dolls, pretending they were my little babies, thinking that one day they will be real kicking, screaming, giggling bundles of pure joy that will love me as I will love them. Even my Sindy doll had a child. I had a tiny baby doll, just a little too big for Sindy's arms, but good enough to serve as her baby in my games of adult life played through Sindy in her posh townhouse with her Action Man husband. In fact, the games I played always revolved around motherhood and family. There was absolutely no question in my mind that one day, I would be surrounded by a brood of well brought up, intelligent, beautiful children that adored their mother. In my daydreams there were always at least 4. Their personalities, looks, academic and career achievements were mapped out in those daydreams. I had fun choosing their names.

However, as I write this, I am 48 years old, and as a result of years of gynaecological problems that led to a total hysterectomy in 2019, along with bad relationship decisions, those dreamed of and longed for children are not here.

When I had my hysterectomy, I had been suffering with Endometriosis, had only one ovary (that was useless), had fibroids in my womb and scar tissue (a left-over from several operations in my 20’s that were to try and solve the problems preventing pregnancy). Every period was torture and I’d be knocked off my feet for days.  When a gynaecologist suggested a hysterectomy, I felt I was ready. Anything to free myself from the monthly suffering. Every time I considered a psychological impact, I told myself it was worth it to get my life back. I genuinely thought there was nothing to lose, and I thought I’d already accepted my own children were not going to be part of my life.

There were weeks of recovery after the surgery, and I concentrated on that, determined to get fit.  There was also the HRT to get right.  The surgeon couldn’t save my remaining ovary because it was damaged and felt it best it was gone to save further problems down the line. Due to my young(ish) age, HRT was needed to replace the lost ovaries. My focus was totally on the recovery, getting back to being me and what I genuinely thought would be the better version of me.

There was then a complication which was misdiagnosed by my GP causing delays in getting properly well. Months after first reporting symptoms, I was referred back to the surgeon. Granulation tissue was discovered, silver nitrate was applied which didn’t work and I was told another surgery was needed. COVID-19 then hit and the surgery to correct it was delayed for almost a year. So, I was again distracted by the ongoing physical problems that needed to be sorted out before I could be this fantastic new version of me. In December 2020 I finally had the surgery, the granulated tissue was fixed, and I had no other physical symptoms. My HRT was balanced and so with nothing else to distract me and as 2021 began, I could get on with the business of being the new me. 

And that’s when the full force of childlessness grief hit me. It’s when the children that had lived in my mind since my own childhood died, along with the hope of ever hugging them in the flesh. They were ghosts, still living in my mind, still out of reach, as they were all those years ago. The only difference was that the hope of them ever appearing in the flesh was long gone. My loss was a weight in my chest, a sadness that will always even now - without fail - make me cry big, fat tears should I dwell on their unlived lives for too long.  

As 2021 plodded through January and February, I started to question my purpose in life constantly, wondering what the point of me was if I wasn’t going to be a mother. I couldn’t concentrate, I had no enthusiasm for anything and became very tearful.  This graduated into anger, at me, at the world, and at my poor husband.  The slightest thing could overwhelm me, causing rushing thoughts that I couldn’t get a hold of. I either ate comfort food or kept busy to stop myself thinking too much. I put on weight which made me hate myself even more.

I discovered the Jody Day book “Living the Life Unexpected “and started to work through it, but it was hard going. I knew it would help me, I recognised what was happening to me within those pages, but I still felt stuck. It did help me realise that I’d been living in denial since way before that hysterectomy. The gynaecological issues I’d been battling with were enabling me to suppress the grief way down, providing a distraction from what was really going on in my mind.

Then one day at the beginning of this summer I was at home and a trigger caused me to give in to the rush of feelings inside me and I couldn’t stop it. I now had no choice but to face this. I had to take sick leave and find a counsellor to help me. I am trying to practice some self-care and to acknowledge what I am feeling instead of pushing it down out of the way. But it’s hard. I feel that if I take the lid off completely, there will be such an explosion of messy feelings I’ll never be “normal” again. So, for now, one day at a time.

The book by Jody Day helped me enormously because it opened my eyes to what is going on with me, led me to discover World Childless Week and that there is a whole community of childless not by choice women and men out there, speaking up and supporting each other.  That alone is a huge step towards my new life, and it’s helped me take a small step towards a new future.

Tracey 

Image by Silviarita from Pixabay