It begins with the birth of a beautiful baby boy. Months went by, and I thought this could not be normal! How do women go on to have two or three more babies if this is normal?
Post-baby obstetrician appointments, numerous doctors appointments, and being told, “This is your new normal. Maybe your postnatal?”
Years of pain and discomfort, weight loss—which was not at all what I wanted—self-doubt and criticism, all to name a few. Being a mature woman and weighing what you weighed in high school sucks. Having people comment, “You’ve lost weight!” when all you want is to return to what you weighed pre-baby.
I know “give me some kilograms, please” is not something you hear often. But, after years of begging to be heard, I eventually was, and the words, “Let’s have a look and rule it out, shall we,” were an absolute blessing and lifesaver.
I’m not crazy, and I’m so happy that I trusted my gut and kept pushing. The diagnosis was endometriosis, pelvic inflammatory disease and two cysts on my ovaries. What did this mean for me? Well, I no longer have the option to have any more babies. The decision had been taken away from me. At 34, I decided that I no longer wanted to suffer from the pain, and as there was irreparable damage done because the infection was left untreated for so long, I had to have a hysterectomy.
My upside-down face
I am left with the scars (my upside-down face), and to me, they serve as a reminder to trust my gut and, if I am not happy with an answer, to keep pushing until I get what I need.
Some days are good, and some are not—this is life.
There are days when my son repeatedly comes home from school asking why he doesn’t have a sibling. This breaks my heart as I know he would have been an amazing big brother, but I am grateful that I have a beautiful baby boy (he isn’t a baby anymore, and he would most definitely correct me when I say this).
My moral of the story, give your gut the credit it deserves. Trust yourself, good and bad, don’t beat yourself up and embrace all your scars as they are your story and no one else’s. You do you—and make no apologies for it.
The author has requested us to publish this anonymously.
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