'Maybe I won't have children after all'
Having lost one ovary to cancer, I’m coming to terms with potentially losing the other one too
Children have always been part of my life plan. After my daughter died in 2012 I was sure that I would get pregnant again soon. Friends - including the one who inked my daughter’s name on my rib cage - told me comforting stories of pregnancies after loss. ‘Rainbow babies’, they called them. And so I waited for my own colourful testimony. But he or she never came and I found myself ‘Sex-And-The-City-Single’ in heady London. It was tough but I was determined to fully engage in this unexpected new season, seeing it as an opportunity to live the life I’d missed out on, having been engaged in my early twenties. It would happen when it was supposed to, right?
In my first newsletter, I wrote about learning to embrace other people’s children rather than pining for my ‘own’. And this year for Mother’s Day, I shared that I was now more open to dating men who already had children, a tick box I would usually rule out. Three months ago, I had an operation to remove a tumour in my uterus which was so big it had taken over my left ovary and fallopian tube - so out they went too. But my consultant assured me that I would still be able to have children and as my periods returned I was confident that my body was firing on all cylinders as it should. But then the cancer came back, and everything changed.
A week ago I was admitted to hospital to start what I affectionately began referring to as “therapy”. But that was before I realised that the medically termed chemotherapy deserves every hard edged consonant it has been given. Chemotherapy is an attack on the body, on its cells, tissues, organs and senses. I have been vomiting, lost hearing in one ear, watched my body puff up like a blowfish because of all the fluids pumped into my body and struggled most days to keep my eyes open.
The day I arrived in hospital my oncology doctor was on hand to read out the possible side effects of treatment, and as you may be aware, it’s pretty extensive. Then she mentioned fertility. I was advised that the type of chemotherapy I’m having might not impact my fertility at all. But then again, it might. Because the cancer in my body is a particularly aggressive type, I didn’t have much time to explore other options, but I surprised myself by how calmly I responded. ‘It’s fine’, I said. ‘I’m not worried about it. If I have children, that’s amazing and if not, then I won’t and that’s fine too.’ And as I did a quick scan of my heart I realised I meant it.
I have been on a long journey of, “will I, won’t I”, when it comes to matters of my heart - marriage and children and honestly, I’m exhausted by the trying. (Have you seen the Apple TV show of this name? It will give you an insight)
While I waited for the treatment to arrive I got speaking to another woman on my ward, let’s call her ‘Nicky’. Nicky is in her late 50s and says she never wanted children. She told me she is the youngest of four girls, all of whom have had large families and she has never once felt the need to procreate or regretted her decision not to. I asked her if anyone else had tried to change her mind and she said no, but it took some time to find a man who realised she meant what she said. With the type of cancer she has, Nicky has been given 10 years left and is living every day fully; ‘I’m not worried about who I’m leaving behind. I’ve had a wonderful life.’
I still don’t know what the road ahead looks like for me, do any of us, really? But right now, I no longer demand children as a right. Because while they are undoubtedly one of life’s blessings, there are many others besides and I want to be open to all of them.
Doll x
This past week has been a mixture of overwhelming and traumatic. I really appreciate your love, support and prayers. Without you I would not be #StillStanding