On Becoming a Mother With Endo

Blessed.

Lucky.

Fortunate.

These are words that flash inside of my head whenever a fellow #EndoBabe tells me she’s unable to have children. The young ages they suffered through hysterectomies, the doctors who told them they would never have kids…it shakes me. Because I was once that 20-something whose doctor told her it would be extremely difficult, if possible at all, to get pregnant.

After two laparoscopies he didn’t find Endometriosis on my reproductive organs, but he knew more was in there. He told me to stop taking my birth control and let my body free. He said there may be a small chance I could get pregnant on my own, however, I would need my system to regulate. (As much as it could with this disease, I suppose).

So, I said what the hell, and I threw the pills away. My period didn’t follow the rules, anyway.

Two weeks later, I thought I had the flu. I had a fever, I was vomiting, and I had body aches and shakes. My migraines were intensified and all I wanted to do was lie under the covers and fade away.

I began feeling better, but it didn’t last. My parents came over to celebrate my 28th birthday. But, my throat began to hurt before the night was done. After a few more days of this never-ending flu, I went to the hospital. (Accompanying the sickness was my screwed-up period.)

I was bleeding, cramping, and alone in the ER.

The doctor came in after asking for the usual – a blood and urine test. I just wanted medicine and to go home.

“You have a UTI.” Awesome. “…and an upper respiratory infection.” Getting better. “You’re six weeks pregnant.” I froze. “No,” I said (hands shaking). “I have Endometriosis.”

The doctor nonchalantly gave me pregnancy-safe antibiotics and told me to follow up with my OBGYN. Didn’t she hear me? As soon as I got out of there, I bought two boxes of pregnancy tests. The doctor had to be wrong. But every test confirmed the impossible – I was pregnant.

Six years and three laparoscopies later, I’m a proud mother of three. 

Getting pregnant with Endo is hard for many. For those of us who actually achieve it, pregnancy can often be a nine-month relief. After giving birth, the relief may come back, but for some lucky women, the relief lasts forever.

I was excited. I could have a baby. I could be a mom. I could even have little to no pain for nine whole months. WRONG. I was beyond miserable.

I was crying from the hormones, the pain, and the vomiting. You know those Sarah Mclaughlin commercials? Yeah. Everything made me sad. And, my ungratefulness for being able to have a baby made me sad. After our second child, my husband and I decided two was enough. We went as far as scheduling a vasectomy, but just five days before he went in, I felt paranoid. Not to mention my period pain was unimaginable; the bleeding was awful.

I called my mom and wept outside because I felt weird and a little bit off. Then it hit me. I was pregnant again.

After a few weeks of being in denial, I figured it was meant to be. But this pregnancy would be the worst yet. It made all those years of ER visits with Endo pains like a cakewalk. I lost 12 pounds in one week. I couldn’t leave the bathroom – I was in agony from being in pain all day.

No sleeping, no eating, and no going anywhere without my joints and skin burning. Was I a bitch for feeling so shitty about having this disease and being able to have kids?

What about my “sisters” who couldn’t? Their heartache? And there I was complaining? Should I feel awful? What about when I was suffering from being sick with Endo, or even without, and chasing three kids? Should I still feel so horrible?

There were days I wanted to die. Days I would call anyone who could listen and complain about how crappy I felt. I would feel guilty for feeling sick, guilty for wishing someone else was watching my kids, and guilty for knowing there were women out there who wished they felt this shitty with kids of their own.

I am blessed and lucky. Yes, and fortunate. I have children who fill my life with a love I never knew could be felt. I also hold the ache of those who can’t within me – as a sufferer of this disease, as a woman, and a mother of two girls.

All I can offer is hope for a progressive future in medicine so that no one has to fathom a morning waking up knowing they’ll never be a mother.