“Why did you give this to me? What purpose can it serve?”
That’s how I felt. I thought maybe the universe had decided I wasn’t good enough to be a mother or to reproduce. Then I decided to tell the universe to go fuck itself (‘scuse the language) if it really did think that.
Each month I will hope, I will break down when my body says no but I will continue. It’s going to be hard, it’s going to mean shifting my lifestyle and making sacrifices. I’m just glad that after reading all these blogs tonight, I know that I’m not alone.
I pray to all the gods, old and new, that each of us gets there.. one way or another.
I close the door, the empty apartment echoing with loneliness. I drop the keys on the table and sink into a chair.The doctor’s words flow through my mind. I rest my head in my hands.
Why me? I don’t understand.
I blink back the tears. I don’t want to wallow in self pity. I only want to understand. I only want to be comforted.
The cold embraces me as I hug my knees.
So many others could easily start out with child. I want to, more than anything, but I can’t. I can’t. Because of this curse I was given.
What did I do?
I eat healthy. I’m the proper weight.
It was in my genes. The disease . . . no, “syndrome” I carried.
And nobody would understand. How could they? They can’t feel the lonely fingers of hopelessness. Things would be harder for me, just because…
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