My husband is going in for a vasectomy next month. This is a good thing. We know I shouldn’t have more children. This is our “right” thing to do.
So why is it so hard? It’s like a step backwards – a step away from the dreams of having an “accidental” baby. It’s an acknowledgment that there will be no babies at all, ever. Sure, vases can fail, but our urologist has a 100% “success” rate. The chances of the tubes growing back together are very, very little. There is a 0% chance of failure and a 0% chance of me having another baby.
Well meaning friends have told me, when I told them I was not to have more children, that I could adopt. I can’t. I know that it’s not just the physical act of having a baby: The morning sickness that would put both of us at risk for Lithium toxicity. The inevitable trips to the psychiastric hospital to check and discontinue my meds. One health care professional told me I’d have to go off everything. Without my meds I become a suicidal, homicidal monster. And with meds my life can be a train wreck too. I can see myself frustrated with colic and throwing a baby on the bed. I don’t know what could happened if I dropped the sister off for school and came home to fall asleep for the morning. Can’t do that with a newborn. A toddler would be even more difficult. I have yet to hold a newborn without wanting to throw it.
Jealousy. A beautiful woman at our church told me they were expecting a baby in November. Their only other child is eight. This sort ot thing does a number on me too. I am happy for them; but sad for my impending vasectomy.
I met a woman in the Raley’s Friday who told me she was schizophrenic, was planning a tubal ligation, and would kill her baby if she had one. Then she would feel bad about it. Also, she was dating a 23 year old. She was nice and friendly. She asked me when my baby was due. (I put on some weight in Mexico.)
I told my friend, S.T. that people like her facinate me. I felt like I was two steps away from she. My friend didn’t seem to understand.
Back to me: When I think I’ve reached the top; the highest pinacle of acceptance and grace, something comes along like a vasectomy to remind myself where I really am.