I told myself it was pointless, that I was a hypochondriac, that I was torturing myself for no good reason.
It was the eve of my first surgery ever – unless you count the c-section I had three years ago. (I don’t. That ended with a sweet little bundle in my arms. A real surgery pretty much ends with just a handful of pain pills, right?) As the date of my first real surgery loomed, I was truly a basket case. I’m terrified of needles, to the point of feeling faint at the mere thought of them, and the idea of being completely knocked out with a breathing tube down my throat … well, let’s just say it wasn’t my idea of the perfect way to spend the morning.
My husband and I had been trying to get pregnant again for more than a year and a half, and I had been coping with some serious monthly cramps and awful periods, and yet there I was telling myself in the days that lead up to the laparoscopy that it was all in my head. I didn’t really have that much pain, I told myself.
I was scared and I was doing my best to convince myself it wasn’t even necessary.
My doctor tended to agree, initially, because even though my mom was diagnosed with endometriosis in her 30s, it doesn’t usually hit hard in women who have had children as recently as I had when I started complaining of pain and heavy bleeding. She advised it, though, just to be sure.
Now that it’s over, I guess what I feel (even before the pain pills wear off) is validation.
I have endometriosis. I’m not happy about it, but at least I know, and I know I wasn’t imagining all the bad stuff.
My husband told me after I woke up in the recovery room that my doctor said I was “a mess” inside. Three days post-op she called to say that she was in awe of my toughness. I must have been in real pain, she said, and it’s amazing that I was able to tolerate it as well and as long as I did. (I love her.)
We were trying in earnest before to get pregnant, but now that the endo has been cleared we have a “window of opportunity” – a few months before it grows back and we get knocked out of the running for getting knocked up – so we have to be extra diligent in the weeks to come.
I’m glad to have a diagnosis in hand to explain why my body is failing me just now, and we will work hard at it, but I am conflicted.
I work from home, with no childcare, except my mom who drives up to stay with us for a couple of days once a month or so.
My son, Mojo, and I have a good, solid relationship, mostly. He swings from unbearably sweet and funny to just plain unbearable, just like any 3-year-old, but of course, I think he’s pretty close to perfect. He seems to like me a lot, too.
What I’m trying to say is that the family dynamic thing – it works. Right now.
But what if we’re successful at this thing we’ve been working so hard to make happen? Everything will change.
My husband really wants Mojo to have a sibling. And I’m not opposed – I love kids, I love being a mom. I’m just a little reticent.
On the one hand, I want to see the surprise and joy on our family’s faces (at least I hope those are the expressions we would see …) as we tell them about the possibility of a new baby. I want to feel those first tiny kicks, and I want to see a little face that’s part me and part my husband. I want to get to know a new little person who might be a lot like Mojo, or who might be different from him in every way.
But on the other hand, I wonder if I’m strong enough, smart enough and energetic enough to shake things up with another being.
Sigh.
Trying to remember that what will be, will be …
