August 8, 2013
I have a bruise on my arm from where they drew blood for blood work. I can still smell that icy gel from the ultrasound, even though I spent half an hour in a warm, bubbly shower. I feel sick to my stomach with worry. I may be overreacting and overthinking, but I cannot shake this feeling of dread and despair.
I spent two hours in a hospital getting tested and examined. The doctor thinks I have endometriosis, and there’s something on the ultrasound that has them baffled and asking for another round. I just want to know – do I have it or not?
My wedding is three months away. We’ve been together for three years. We’ve been talking about children, thinking about names for boys and girls and looking at nursery room designs. A French parlor, with pinks, golds, and creams, and vintage furniture and decorations for Victoria Louise, our little Vicky Lou, and a coastal boathouse, with blues and greys, and seascapes for Bruce John, or Justin, or John, or whatever else he has picked out. The only reason we aren’t waiting for one of them to arrive is because of school and the economy.
I’m a senior-sophomore. I was supposed to graduate this spring, in May. Well, school kicked my ass and forced me to change my career path. I’m happier, and it’s easier than bio-medical science. English with music is what I should have done from the beginning, and then I wouldn’t be in this situation. Now I won’t even intern until fall 2016 or the next spring. I’ll be 25 when I finally graduate.
We aren’t stable, either. I enjoy sales and my coworkers at Farmer’s Furniture, but my age is a hindrance. Or, more accurately, my external age is a hindrance. It’s both a blessing and a curse when people assume you, a struggling 21-year-old woman, are a mere 15- or 16-year-old. They don’t respect me, so they don’t buy from me, and when I don’t make sales, I don’t make my budget. Working at Arby’s doesn’t do much good either. My ankle is not well, and if I keep going, I will have to have surgery. The surgery will kill off my last hopes of getting a degree. I won’t be able to walk.
Jeff isn’t happy. Hopefully, he will get that job he wants so much. He’ll hear back about his interview tomorrow. I pray constantly that he will come out successful.
But even if everything settles and our life drastically improves, can I even have children? Will I be able to? My greatest fear right now is that…I won’t.
August 9, 2013
It wasn’t as hard to get up or eat today. I may not have done much or eaten enough, but the point is I did. I got myself up at 9 without help. I would have liked it better if I had seen Jeff, but he had to be at work by 7. I sat at my computer for about an hour, talking to Tylor.
I was so angry that I blamed God. I was wrong, I know it, and nothing makes that as clear as being reprimanded by an atheist. I called my Father out, despairing, “If you wanted me to be such a good mother, having raised my own cousins, then why is this happening to me?” It both shocked me and thrilled me when Tylor responded, gentle but blunt, “Aren’t you always telling me that God has a plan for us, in His own time? You becoming a mother isn’t over yet.” Tylor then went on to talk about other means of getting pregnant…freezing eggs and doing invitro, surrogate mothering, adoption. He broke my heart and left me bawling like a baby when he followed with this:
Audra, you’re my best friend in the whole world, and it hurts me that you have to go through all of this and there’s nothing I can do to help. I know it’s a long shot, but if I am fortunate enough to get rich from my books in the new few years, and you’re up for the procedure, I’d like to pay for it for you so you can have the chance to have the family you’ve always wanted. You and Jeff both mean a lot to me.
I think I cried for twenty minutes. Between that, talking about children and timing with Jeff, and Christy reminding me that I won’t find out anything out for certain until my follow-up on Thursday, I feel like I can make it a little farther in this day.
August 10, 2013
I’m not feeling sick anymore. I didn’t wake up as easy, though. I suppose that’s because of how I was feeling last night. Yesterday was hard after I went to work. I forgot to wear my ankle brace, so by the time I made it to Arby’s, my ankle was swollen and aching. Arby’s was rough, too. It was Friday night rush, coupon week, and the bathroom flooded. I was ready to pass out once I got home, but I never could get comfortable enough to sleep.
I’m beginning to have hope again, but these morbid thoughts still plague me. I dreamed so much last night…
The first one I remember, I was at the doctor’s office with Jeff. I could see myself, internally, and it was unsettling. It was scarred and bloody, from either a surgery or from the endometriosis. I could see a child trying to hold on, but it couldn’t. I couldn’t.
It merged with the next dream. I couldn’t stop crying, because the baby that I’d had for two or three months, just before we could even determine if it was Vicky Lou or a boy, had separated from me. I had lost it. It was no longer mine to carry.
The last dream woke me. I was old, with Jeff still by my side. Our house was our dream house, with rich color and culture, but we were alone. The pictures on the walls were of us, over a lifetime, and our pets. There were no children…no grandchildren…no one else. We would die alone.
I know these are just lower-grade nightmares, but what if they aren’t? I do remember that vibrant, vivid, story-like dream I had months ago. It was so detailed that it felt real, like a premonition or promise. I pray that it is so, now more than ever. It was a beautiful dream. Jeff and I were married, and I was wearing my teal wrap-around dress in every scene. Every scene, I looked the same, except for my makeup and hair. The scenes felt like a timeline. I was at the university, singing in choir and beaming joyously. In the next scene, I was beginning to show, probably three months pregnant. It was midterms, and I was writing an essay while sitting with my friends – Beth, Stephanie, Hannah, Nathan, and David, namely – in the lounge area of the science building. By the end of the semester, we had put together a pink nursery, and I was in the choral concert, barely able to fit in my dress because I was several months pregnant by then. The last scene, Jeff was standing by me in a hospital room, and I was holding a precious baby girl.
It had felt so real, with the faces and the setting and the events, that I was disappointed when I woke up. I just hope that it was a promise, because God wouldn’t be one to break His promises, would He?
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