Let's Talk about Babies

I'm going to get real here, and it is probably going to make my mom sad (hi mom), but that's ok. We are going to talk about it. We are going to talk about babies.

I am a 29-year-old woman who is almost one year divorced (officially) and 3 months into cancer treatment.

This is not where I thought I would be at 29.

As you can imagine, a majority of friends my age have babies, are pregnant with babies, or are working on their plan for when babies enter the picture.

I, on the other hand, have a really high chance of never being able to have babies. Chemo itself can destroy my chances, or the five years of hormone therapy I will have to have (my cancer was hormone positive) might. And if by some incredible miracle I come out of this and my chances haven't been shot, I may not find a partner for life and get married again. (I know, this is getting depressing. Sorry 'bout that).

While my friends are in hospitals getting ultrasounds of their baby's heartbeat, I've been getting ultrasounds of my tumor. While they are entering the hospital filled with anticipation and leaving with a tiny bundle of joy, I enter the hospital filled with anticipation and leave with less body tissue than I came in with.

It is a super weird thing to wrap my mind around, how similar and yet absolutely different my life is from those around me.

Please do not get me wrong. I am neither annoyed by or angry with my friends' joy. In truth, my situation has made me hold more tightly to how precious and amazing my friends and their babies are. I rejoice with them all the more and I am thrilled for their joy. When you lose something, you often get more grateful to see it in other people's lives. It is not my nature to wish my hardships on others.

In fact, the day I found out I had cancer was the same day one of my best friends facetimed me to tell me she was pregnant. It was the most beautiful moment to have my tears of pain turned into tears of joy by her great news. 

But I would be remiss to not address the elephant in the room and say, this part of the journey is hard. It is quite a blow to the future I always envisioned for myself.

Yes. I know miracles happen. I have seen it firsthand with my friends who were told they would never have biological children and now they have a houseful. I know this isn't definite. But its still hard. 

In choosing my cancer treatment I chose not to do any procedures to save or freeze my eggs before chemo. I was (and am) simply so damn tired of being poked and prodded and hospitalized. I also believe strongly in adoption and foster care and God being a good God who provides.

I know, that no matter what, I will be a mom one day. What that will look like, I don't know, but it is something I believe to be true. I was made to be a mom. And there are thousands of kids out there in the US who need people to choose to be their mom, whether they can have biological children or not.

But in the meantime, I mourn the potential loss of a dream I have had since I was a child. I mourn the loss of the life I thought I would lead. And I allow myself to feel all of the feelings that come along with it.

It is just simply part of the journey.

Even if I do believe in the good things coming.