My official cause of infertility is unknown.
It could be my body.
It could be my husband's.
Doctors have been surprised that we haven't been able to conceive so I think there is just something about the two of us together.
I've known this for years. Adopted twice. Been off birth control for over a decade. Had surgeries. And yet there is a part of me that is still in denial about my infertility. Especially since it is unexplained, I think that maybe it will just go away. Or maybe there is a 3% chance of me conceiving and it may just happen. Maybe I'll be 46 like Halle Berry and completely taken by surprise. Joci will be in college.
When my friends talk about their birthing stories, there is always a voice in the back of my head that makes plans for when I have the chance to give birth.
My endometriosis has the unpleasant side effect of really heavy periods. My sister told me to get an IUD. It would really minimize them. I dream of how nice that would be...but I just can't justify any kind of birth control. If there is that tiny chance I might get pregnant, I better not prevent any pregnancies no matter how painful and awful my periods are.
Lately, I've developed an allergic reaction to certain brands/types of tampons. I keep praying I won't have a problem with ALL tampons because I don't think I could do this without them. See the above paragraph about super heavy periods. I've semi-joked about getting a hysterectomy if that were the case. Part of me thinks, heck, why not? That uterus is done broke anyway. If it's causin' so much pain, get rid of 'er. But then again...what if?
I am so hung up on the "what if" that I can't consider the idea of birth control - temporary or permanent. In a perfect world where I had perfect control over my fertility, I would probably be done having children by now. Or at the very oldest, 35. I would be more than happy to put my uterus out of commission until menopause decided to kick in. But being saddled with unexplained infertility, I just can't do that. Maybe someday, I'll feel differently. Maybe when I am 35 or encroaching 40 I'll decide that I'm done with hope and I'll be ready to purposefully block the teeny, tiny chance of a miracle pregnancy. But for now, I'll deal with the pain of periods and the pain of the unknown.
Hope is painful.