It is official: I will not have children.
I had my Fallopian tubes removed Thursday afternoon. (I went with a full removal because it drastically reduces risk of ovarian cancer). I’m presently home, resting in sweats and binge-watching History of Westeros videos on YouTube while Winter Storm Harper rages outside. I’ll return to work Tuesday morning.
So. How does it feel?
It dawned on me Wednesday evening. In the shower, I looked down at my body and thought “mine.” For the rest of my life, I will be its sole dweller. I dipped my shoulders under the scalding hot water, letting steam and relief wash over me.
As well wishes rushed my various inboxes, I remembered writing the following:
But there they were: friends and followers and people I never met telling me they were proud of me and supported my decision 100%.
Maybe it was PMS.
Maybe I needed to hear “I’m proud of you.”
Either way, I teared up.
“Can you confirm what we’re doing for you today?” my gynecologist asked as I lay on the operating table. I was draped in hospital garb, staring up at bright lights and masked faces, minutes from receiving anesthesia.
“Removing my Fallopian tubes,” I replied, firmly.
She nodded to the anesthesiologist. “Alright. Let’s get started.”
Mine, I repeated to myself one last time before I closed my eyes.