We got lucky, and I know that. There were almost 2.5 years of trying to conceive naturally without success. Then with treatment, we turned around and had four kids in four years. I am quite sure that we are done. Completely done. Besides – we’ve run out of room at the dinner table.
Yet still, when my OB asks each year if I’m so certain that I’d like to have my tubes tied, I stop short and pause. I cannot bring myself (or Frank) to do something so permanent. Much of it has to do with the difficulty we went through to get pregnant. Time measured in tears was spent wondering what was wrong with me. Was it so bad that I’d never be able to conceive? Clearly, it wasn’t. Intentionally damaging the parts of us that brought life to our children seems to be the complete antithesis to what we were fighting for in the first place.
Furthermore, I am certain in how I feel today, but I do not fool myself into knowing how I will feel tomorrow. I never want to get to a place in my life where I have to look back on that particular decision with regret. Frank and I are still relatively young. I don’t see ourselves ever starting over, but it is impossible to tell how we’ll feel or what we’ll want five or more years from now. Dealing with infertility the first time around was hard enough, and my PCOS is growing more pronounced as time progresses. Getting around the PCOS again would be challenge enough in and of itself. Why would I want to add another hurdle of heartbreak and frustration? I’d have no one to blame but myself, and self-guilt is already something at which I’m a little too good.
Above all, I can’t help but marvel at how essences of Frank and me came together to produce the Minions. Of all the possible permutations of him and me, we got them, and they are perfect. I can’t permanently end our ability to conceive because there is the lingering idea of “what if,” of the possibilities of what we could create. To do anything that would end those maybes – even if we never intend to turn them into certainties – is too much for my heart to bear.
Irony above all ironies – I never got pregnant in 2.5 years of trying, but I don’t trust the faults in my body enough not to get pregnant now that I don’t want to. The idea that I have to even think about contraception at all…well…it’s almost inconceivable.