When I Grieve the News That I Probably Won't Be Healthy Enough to Conceive


I have thought about having children many times before. Like many (I assume), I have dreamed of my perfect house, filled with a family for me to love. When I was little I always used to say I wanted eight children. Mad! I know, and who knows what will happen. My family used to laugh, but my mom, with pain in her eyes, always reminded me that “because of your heart, it’ll be a miracle for you to have one.”

Last week I was given the news that my body is deteriorating. Not in a huge way, but it’s not the nicest thing to know. In the same conversation, I was also told that it is going to be next to impossible for me to conceive. Stab. Right through the heart. I was sat with my mom and the room turned to a cold silence.

In the moment, I stared that doctor in the eyes and laughed it off, but it was really painful. Those words were like poison to my ears. I didn’t come home craving a baby or anything like that. It just hit me and went straight through me. A ton of bricks hitting the soul. I haven’t even started that chapter in my life and it feels like it’s being snatched away from me.

As a newborn, I lost my best friend. At 6 months old, a limit was put on my life. At 6 months old I started my journey with a damaged body. At 21, I am told that the one thing a woman’s body should be able to do, mine probably won’t.

I know that a lot of my body doesn’t work already. I have used it to my advantage in many ways, but at times it hurts more than you know. I am tired. I am so tired of walking around with a body that will never be healed. I would never change it, but I am tired. You think you are doing well, getting better and then you’re brought back down to earth. You are reminded of how ill you really are. Stab. Right through the heart. What’s more, you are hit with more bombshell news.

There wasn’t and isn’t much anyone can say or do, but I needed to reach out. I’ve been told not to think about the news I was given. I’ve been told I’m too young at the moment and there are always alternatives. Thank you, I know that. That’s not the point. I need my space to grieve, grieve an opportunity that I may never get to have.

I am surrounded by people who have beautiful souls. Friends who care for me in ways I could only imagine. Friends who would stop everything just to make sure I’m OK. However, it’s times like this where that simply isn’t enough. That’s painful to say.

The truth is, no matter what you say or do to help me out, it’s not going to work. I appreciate the love, help and support always, but this is my battle. While you may tell me it’s OK or not to think about it, for a time that’s the only thing I can think about. The only person who can understand my body is me and the only person who has to consume that news is me. The only person sitting in that bed with the curtain drawn was me. The only person living my life is me.

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That kind of news must be painful for anyone. I want to block out that moment from my mind as much as I can. Yes, I know there are other ways to have kids and I know it may not be true. There is always hope, but I want to hold hands with anyone who has been through that moment. I am so sorry. If, like me, you need time, then take it. Grieve in that moment. Those words were the most harmful to my ears and crushing to the soul.

My heart is heavy to know of how many young girls and women have been through this gut-wrenching moment. May we hold hands to find courage and hope in our hearts to carry on. Take your time, ignore advice for a while. Grieve. Once that has settled. Not passed but settled. May we rise.

Wherever you are in the world, when your heart is filled with grief and pain, when you are overwhelmed with feelings of loss, anger and fear: I’m here with you. I’m opening my heart to you. I’m holding your hand. My being has been broken, but I am not alone. #Holdinghands


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