October 18, 2003 ~ Difficult Decisions
Saturday.
After Morgan left for work this evening, I paced the house like a cage, arms folded across my chest, a tight feeling in my throat, thoughts racing. I went outside and paced the backfield instead, but that didn't make it any better. But that's not where this story starts.
It starts a few weeks ago, one morning, when I was sitting at my desk at work, recording names of prospective students to send inquiry packets to. The phone rang. It was Morgan, who was about to leave for work. "Melissa, I need to tell you something. I need you to think about something." He sounded excited and urgent. "I need to go to grad school. I can't do this for the rest of my life. I need to do something more." he said. This was not a new topic, only one that had been set aside for a time.
I asked him a few questions, we clarified a few things, but he didn't have much time. "Just think about it," he said, before he hung up.
And think about it I did. All day long. But when he finally got home that night, and I asked him if he wanted to talk about it more, he frowned. "I don't know. Maybe not. It doesn't feel so pressing now. We can't afford grad school for me. Not yet. And this job isn't so bad."
I gave him a long hard look, but didn't press. I think, maybe, I didn't want to press. The changes that would come to our life together resulting from a decision favoring grad school for him are not ones that I feel comfortable with. But, nagging, at the back of my head these weeks, sometimes it's not about comfort.
This afternoon, he sat down to read on the couch, and all I wanted was to be with him. I curled up next to him, head on his chest, listened to his heart, and watched his face as he read. Long moments passed, sunlight warmed my back. Pages turned. He smiled at something in the text, the smile slowly faded. "Are you happy?" I asked.
He smiled and kissed my forehead. "Yes."
I sat up. "No, I don't mean just right now. Are you happy with where you are in general, where we are? Are you happy with your job?"
He hesitated. "Well, for the most part, yes. I mean. I'm content."
"What about grad school?"
He sighed. And we ended up having a long talk.
Morgan and I both agree that in ten years we want to see ourselves with our own home and a few children. We have always agreed that we do not want our children to be raised by a day care. Which means that we will need to be in a financial place where we can afford for one of us to be home full-time. We do not foresee that happening with either of our current career paths. One of us is going to need further education. And Morgan is the one who wants it the most.
Morgan wants to become a religious studies professor. We both agree that he really needs to take that leap to be happy in his work. Which would mean that he would have to join a doctorate program. The ones that he has looked at and would be interested in are six-year programs.
Six years. And that's after a year or two of researching, preparing, taking the GRE and other such things. So, realistically, if Morgan goes to grad school, he won't be out until eight years from now. When we're thirty-one. And we both agree that starting a family before he's done with grad school would be a bad idea, both financially, and for the sake of raising a child. Not a stable home environment. And, while he's in grad school, I will need to be working full time in order to keep us afloat.
And starting a family before he goes to grad school would probably mean that he'd never go. And would be bitter about it for the rest of his life. He can't do that. I can't let him do that.
So. Thirty-one. Before we can even start trying. And me with a condition which will make me more and more infertile the older I get.
Yeah. I had ignored that little detail on the list of symptoms for endometriosis. Didn't want to face the reality of it. Give me all the pain, the discomfort, the related health problems, but don't tell me I may not be able to be a mother. I'm not ready to hear that.
"It'll be okay, honey. Ton's of people have children after thirty," he said, pulling me into a hug.
"Yes, but, Morgan. I may not be able to."
"Why not?"
"Endometriosis. It's... Well, I've read that it lessens fertility the older I get."
He frowned. "I don't buy that. You show me some medical studies and maybe then... But I don't think that's true. Look it up."
I nodded. Okay.
So tonight, after he left for work, and after I finally stopped pacing, I decided that I needed to open my eyes and plunge in. I started reading websites about this disease, this time paying attention to the information about infertility. And I was holding back tears after a half-hour of reading. I really didn't want to know. Didn't want to see all that proof lined up. Black and white fact. Depressing statistics. The infected tissue will build up. Scars will form. My fallopian tubes and ovaries will become increasingly blocked, increasingly scarred. The pain is treatable, and surgery can temporarily remove some of the infected tissue. But it just comes back. It is not curable. And the damage gets worse and worse with each successive menstrual cycle. Doctors recommend attempting pregnancy as early as possible, in order to slow the process, and for better chances at conception and a successful pregnancy.
I finally forced myself to minimize all of those windows. So that's how it's going to be, then. I forced myself to look at it realistically. Every case is different. Yes, it does tend to cause infertility, but not in all cases. And several sites did mention that the preventative measures that I am taking are my best bet to reducing and minimizing the damage. Do not use tampons or disposable pads. Do not drink. Avoid caffeine. Eat organic foods. Avoid dairy and meat. Avoid refined sugars. Avoid fried and fatty foods. Have a strict exercise regiment. Keep low stress. I do all of that, and you can bet I'm going to be even stricter with myself now.
When Morgan came home, I showed him the studies, the graphs, the articles, the diagrams. He cringed at the descriptions.
I told him that I wanted him to go to grad school, to study like mad, to become a professor. In the mean time, I will do everything I can to keep myself as healthy as possible. Hold off the inevitable. Look into treatments that delay the onset of infertility. And hopefully, hopefully, it won't be too late.
He pulled me into a hug. "If for some reason we can't, when we get there... we can always adopt. Because as much as I would like to make a child, children, with you, what will really matter is how we raise them."
And he's right. If it comes to that, I'll just need to let go of my emotional attachment to the idea of pregnancy, of breastfeeding, of all of that. Because it may not happen. But maybe it will. I can't know until we get there. And it's obvious that we won't get there until Morgan does what he needs to do.
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