Coming to terms with not being able to have children has been the biggest challenge life has hurled at me, thus far. Having to embrace an identity as a non-mother has taken not months, but years. It has been three years since I was told my fallopian tubes were redundant and had one removed, and 12 years since my health troubles started. My entire thirties were plagued by uterine fibroids – non-cancerous growths – which resulted in a bumpy ride for my poor uterus. I underwent surgery to remove them and then more surgery to fix the post-op aftermath – undetected adhesions caused my organs to stick together. Irreversible damage had been done. It has taken nine operations and one determined surgeon to finally deliver me to a healthier, happier place. Now, at 42, I am the fittest I’ve ever been. I may have the resting heart rate of an athlete, but what I don’t have is the offspring that women my age are still expected – under society’s scrutinising lens – to have tucked under their life belt.
On reflection I am amazed that I’ve been able to transition over to the other side. The woman who would burst into tears at seeing stranger’s baby bumps has gone. I still have occasional pangs for that life – wondering what it would feel like to carry a child and give birth; what kind of mother I would have been – but I’ve had to accept my non-mother identity and celebrate my body in a non-reproductive light, and have found other rewarding ways to channel my nurturing, maternal instincts. I am an inspiring aunt and teacher; a mentor and confidante. I impact on young people’s lives in another way, just not as a mother.
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