moving forward

I'm having my first pelvic ultrasound tomorrow. This is one of the few procedures that I actually haven't had during my frequent flyer days and since I told one of the nurses that I was going in, the department now thinks I'm pregnant. Several have had the guts to ask - which I love - because they look at me with that inquiring face and just speak the scary words: "are you expecting?" I give them a definitive "no" and would like to hunt down whoever told. They are all lovingly supportive and since our department is literally 100% women, things like this come along. Now that the pregnancy thing is out of the way, I've been able to show them the huge rash that's graced my abdomen for the last week and a half and ask them all kinds of bizzaro questions. They continue with "are you sure you're not pregnant?" to which I reply that I'm 200% positive that there is no way on God's earth that I am. They're satisfied with my answer and get back to answering my stupid questions. My doctor thinks it could just be ovarian cysts. I have heard since I was 17 that I might not be able to get pregnant easily and that the period of time where I can get pregnant will probably be pretty small. Those issues have given me plenty of reason to pause over the recent years to consider whether or not I really did want biological children at all. Would I give them something funky? Could I endanger them? Would I even be a good mother?

These last couple years I've held firm that I did not want children. That they weren't in the cards for me. This was largely why Josh and I broke up - he wanted them and I was just certain that I couldn't provide. Things have a way of ironing themselves out, but given the multitude of health issues I've had since the middle of December, it's hard to see a happy ending here. I have known for a long time that these weird days could come, and if I'm honest with myself, it was really starting far, far before December. I was too embarrassed to say anything to anyone, even those I loved the most, and only recently did it become scary enough for me to call someone about it. Over the past year or so I've heavily fretted with trusted friends over my ability to be a parent. I have learned that a lot of what happens in your life has to happen at a certain time for your life's story to be accurately written. If I'm not able to have children, I have to trust that there's a reason behind that. Vice versa also applies.

as I'm puttin' out the flame, somebody brings up your name
baby, baby, baby, bring me down