A Farewell To Pregnancy

letting go of dreams & making room for grief

“There are many ways to be a mother.” My doctor is sitting across from me, his eyes looking directly into mine. I am in an exam room with my husband and sister. We are there for a follow up appointment a week from the surgery where we found out the masses on my ovaries are cancer.

I feel my throat close up and moisture begin to build in my eyes. I stare back at him, sensing his pain in having to deliver this type of news. In the seconds that pass from him saying that, the tears begin to fall down my face.

He moves to grab a box of tissues but realizes the box is empty. “It’s been that kind of day” he says somberly as he gets a new box from the cabinet. I think about these exam rooms and all the people who receive life altering news in them. And all of the doctors who have to be the ones delivering that news. It makes me want to stand up and hug him.

He continues to tell me that with ovarian cancer, the first part of treatment is a full hysterectomy. My uterus, cervix and ovaries will need to be removed. With that, an inability to have my own biological children. I continue to sit there, frozen in the worst moment of my life. I glance at my husband and quickly look away, unable to handle the pain in his eyes.

The doctor explains they believe I have stage 2b endometrial cancer. The next surgery will confirm that staging and then I will need chemotherapy. I am still frozen in time from a moment ago and I think my doctor senses this. “I am going to present your case to a board of doctors and see their thoughts on letting you freeze your eggs. My immediate opinion is we are unable to do that, as it will risk spreading the cancer.”

Okay.

All I want to do is run out the door. I can feel the emotions overwhelming my physical body. I sit listening to the doctor continue about logistics and next steps but my brain has turned itself off.

Get me out of here.

Eventually the appointment is complete. I head for the door without looking at my sister or husband. I walk down the hall, into the elevator as the tears stream down my face. I make my way to the exit of the building. The freezing November air hits my face and I breathe it in. The NYC bustle hasn’t changed pace but it feels as though I am outside my body and everything is in slow motion. Sensing I need a moment, my husband and sister walk in silence on either side of me. We walk towards the parking garage and I look up: Wine Bar & Pasta

My legs turn and move me towards the front door. We walk inside. It’s a small little place and nobody is there, which in this moment is exactly what I want. The hostess asks if we want a table or to sit at the bar. I opt for the bar.

We order glasses of wine and pasta as I cry. Sometimes life is horrible and heartbreaking and sometimes it’s beautiful and perfect. I am sitting in one of the worst moments of my life but I am with my loving husband and sweet sister who want nothing more than to take it all away from me. They kept me afloat in that moment, held my hand. We laughed through tears at the absurdity of how good our pasta tasted. The water coming from my eyes did not stop but I know I will smile when I look back on this memory.

When we are young, we occasionally picture our future lives. A wedding, a house, a job. For me, the thing I imagined most vividly was being a mom. When I was 9, I lost my mom so I held tightly to the image of motherhood and all that it brings. The two times I experienced pregnancy were short and I grieve losing a positive outcome. I grieve sitting in bed while my baby kicks, I grieve for my husband being able to feel those kicks. I grieve a baby shower, I grieve the joy of listening to a baby’s heartbeat. I grieve happy ultrasound appointments, I grieve my bodies ability to grow a human life.

I grieve.

Farewell, Pregnancy.