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Praying the Rosary for My Ovaries

December 21, 2017

“And when are you having children?” inquired the nurse who was taking blood for my yearly exam. Not willing to risk upsetting someone who was poking a needle into my arm, I responded, with a forced smile, “Only God knows.” I wasn’t thrilled with yet another reminder that my biological clock is ticking its supposed last tock yet, shortly after, the absurd happened: a distant relative gifted me with DIY knit baby clothes to, in her words, “encourage me.” I went home with the baby clothes and cried.

At thirty one, I’ve been bombarded with inappropriate questions, infertility horror stories, and encouragement to from well-meaning family and friends to freeze my eggs before Mother Nature f*cks me over. Instead, I’m being f*ck by the anxiety to fulfill their wishes over not just a life-changing event but THE life-changing event.

I also think about my family and colleagues that have shared their experience with miscarriages and stillbirths. How do they feel when they are asked by “well-meaning” strangers?

As the holidays approach, I don’t expect others to butt-out of my uterus, so you may find me responding,

“Not in this economy.”

“Only God knows.”

“Not within the next nine months.”

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