I like to consider myself a strong individual, one to brush things off, one to take adversity in stride, one to not let many things break me. I also pride myself in being an open book, a no-holds-barr kind of gal. Roughly three year ago, I was admitted to the hospital. The 3 months prior, I was suffering with debilitating pain.. the kind that stops you in your tracks and keeps you bent over, can’t see straight kind of pain.

I had gone to countless doctors for tests and it was determined I needed abdominal orthoscopic exploratory surgery. I was hoping for an answer, for some absolution.. but when I was diagnosed with adenomyosis, the world as I once saw it was gone.  The internet states: “Adenomyosis (ad-uh-no-my-O-sis) is a benign disease confined to the uterine muscle. It occurs when endometrial tissue, which normally lines the uterus, exists within and grows into the muscular wall of the uterus. The displaced endometrial tissue continues to act as it normally would which makes the uterine walls grow thick. This, in turn, causes an enlarged uterus and severe pain. Symptoms most often start late in the childbearing years after having children. The cause of adenomyosis remains unknown but a hysterectomy is the only cure.”

There were no options for me to choose from.. I had to give up my hope of having a larger family. I held on to the fact that my dear sweet James is my greatest blessing… and even took solace in the fact that the devastating miscarriage and coinciding D&C I experienced in the Spring of 2014 was indeed NOT my fault, but a product of this disease. In comes the mantra: “You cannot control what happens to you but you CAN control how you react to it.” I decided to take this in stride, to allow this to shake my vision I had of the future up on its backside, and to enjoy the family I have. Like REALLY, TRULY enjoy it in the chaos.. not waiting for the family I had once hoped for to be completed, as I had come to know that in my heart of hearts, it already was.

So I spent the better part of 36 hours in the labor & delivery wing. This wasn’t a whim to reenact the 27 hours of labor I was in with my son but more of a forced wake for my childbearing days. As I was being wheeled from recovery to my room after my hysterectomy at the age of 34, it wasn’t lost on me that they found it appropriate to put me next to the nursery of beautiful, crying newborns. However, the irony quickly turned to frustration then down right anger as the staff’s level of sensitivity continued to be absent.

I was forced to sweat all night as I was placed in a room meant for a mother and child to practice skin-to-skin contact. They continually come in to inspect my non-existent ‘C-section’ incision prior to referencing my file. Then, on numerous occasions, they made me wait for pain meds as they prioritized aiding new mothers in breastfeeding. The real piece de resistance had to be them forcing me to do 3 laps around the Labor & Delivery wing and only around Labor & Delivery wing amid the congratulatory signage and balloons. Let’s just say they made a sensitive situation I’ve tried my best to accept, albeit out of my hands, so much more difficult.

While at home, I allowed myself one day of grief…one true day of wallowing in what could’ve been and what would never be. I allowed myself grace to grieve so I could move past it and allow room for my new normal and what was to come. That one day of grief just so happened to fall on the exact day President Trump was elected, so my supply of the tears was in abundance. I took solace and refuge in my pain meds… but mostly in my little guy’s arms.

Once on the other side of recovery, I realized I was much stronger than I gave myself credit for. Not only did this not kill me but it actually gave me a bit of a freedom, it took the pressure of ‘what if’ off of my shoulders that I didn’t know was there. It also allowed me to talk freely of my experiences and bring to light this struggle, to allow others going through it to not feel alone.

However, every now and again, I have reminders that I’m still very human, that I’m still healing, that this is a process. Today happened to be one of those days. You see, November 2nd was my peanut’s due date. She would’ve been 5 today. It’s not really something I think about as often anymore, but when it pops-up, it has more of a surprise factor. It’s really similar to the ‘punch in the gut’ feeling I get when I’m told “why aren’t you giving James a sibling.. he needs a sibling”. The answer is yes.. I have been asked this.. yes.. numerous times.. and yes.. it hurts every stinkin’ time I hear it. For the record, it is IMPERATIVE that we please be mindful when expressing opinions of other people’s reproduction (or lack thereof) as we don’t know their journey, their struggle… and frankly, their who-ha’s aren’t any of our business! …but please pardon me as I step off of my soapbox..

Although, now when this date rolls around, I see it as a beautiful reminder… reminder that I am so truly blessed to have the child I do. I am blessed to bring awareness that having a miscarriage is hard, really hard.. and having a mandatory hysterectomy is life altering, too. I’m blessed to live such a joyous life not in spite of what happened, but because of what happened. I know that what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger (SING IT all you Kelly Clarkson wannabes!). I am grateful that I have the wherewithal to recognize and appreciate such reminders.

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