More than six months later, here's the deal: I am officially barren.
After several months of talks, tests, and the requisite ramp-up hormones, my ovaries refused to play ball. My fertility doctor was even baffled by the fact that I am (was?) still having my monthlies.
While this isn't exactly news, I am still incredibly disappointed, and possibly even depressed. I desperately wanted to be the exception to the rule. I had consciously put a lot of my get-over-it-and-move-on eggs into a procreative basket. I genuinely thought that it was going to work, as shown by the vast number of people with whom I had shared the news.
Most of all, I thought that getting pregnant would give me the final word in my two and a half year screaming match with cancer. I thought it would fast track my battle for physical autonomy. I thought the birth of a child would be a rebirth for myself.
Clearly, I did way too much thinking and too much hoping and now I'm stuck back in my head, which is still attached to this achy, broken, uncooperative body. God, this blows.
And so I go...
3 years ago
