And, that was our beginning. Today marks the one hundred and twenty-second day or our marriage. He is still music to my soul. I crave his presence, his nonchalant ways and his never-ending rebellion to conformity. I owe him the deepest parts of me and I am wading through the moments in life, happy just to do that.
The day we found out that I could not have children was the hardest on us both. I was trying, we were trying… We wanted to give the world a blend of us, but… I could not. After four months of trying and rendering nothing, I made the appointment. My OB/GYN is a slim man. Frightful in some ways, yet has the most reassuring bedside manner. To this day, if anyone was going to tell me that I was barren, I would need it to be him. I didn’t even know the term “barren” was still in use. However, he is ancient, many years under his belt. Would I have felt better if he said, “sterile” or “infertile?”
He leaned into my personal space, pulled out my file, and showed me a diagram of my uterus and fallopian tubes. He tried to best describe what mine possessed versus a normal image. You are experiencing what we call, Premature Menopause. This is what he said to me. I heard it floating about the air, trying to find a place to land. I do not think I was following while he talked. I think I must have stopped listening after he said the word, “barren.” Yet, I tuned back in just in time to hear him say, “Aja, this is no one’s fault. These things just happen sometimes.” In my mind, I was saying, “had I gotten married ten years ago and attempted this then, I would have gotten pregnant? However, I didn’t say anything. I let my words get stuck in my throat. I wasn’t going in to retrieve them. I am 31…
I left his office discontented. It was supposed to be a minor visit, a way to see what he and I could do to have children. Surely, there was a way. I did not ask him to come with me because I did not think I would need him. He pleaded with me that morning to let him take the day and simply spend it with me. But, I shooed his offer, knowing full well that he had a presentation at his company that could not be delayed. But, in the moment of leaving the office, getting into my car, starting the engine, and crying… I should have said, “Yes.”
I picked up my cell. I pressed the number linked to speed dial. I longed for his voice. *He should be done with his presentation by now.*
“Hi baby. How did it go? What are we up against?”
What are we up against? He was so involved. Never making me feel alone. I still felt alone.
“I… I will have to tell you when you come home. Can you just come home?”
“Sure, baby. Let me clear my afternoon, close out this account, and I’ll be there. Don’t worry. Whatever it is, we’ll conquer it. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
I hid the tears, wiping them abruptly the moment they tried to make an appearance again. I was going to be strong telling him this. I was going to stand firm, place my hands by my side, and say, “Ty. I cannot have children. We will never be able to. Not from me. Not now. Not ever.”
But, he came home and he took one look at me and instead of my affront, the shackles fell and I was a mumbling/bumbling/crying piece of a soul. I fell into his embrace, and whispered to him, “I can’t have kids.” He didn’t say anything. He just held me tighter and before I knew it, I could feel his tears hitting my shoulder. We stood there for fifteen minutes. No one spoke. Not a word was needed. Then finally, he said…
“As long as I have you, I’ll be all right.”