I hurt for the young woman I just saw as a patient.
Her wisps of blonde hair so baby fine and short trying to grow back in after the ravages of chemotherapy, a pink, nubbly scar from her port-a-cath peeking out from her shirt. Status post double masectomy after a diagnosis of breast cancer. A rare complication of deep vein thrombosis in her internal jugular vein that nearly killed her during treatment. Just finishing her radiation treatment--exhausted beyond my comprehension--and gearing up for a total hysterectomy.
And my job was to tell her that "Oh yeah, your arteries are pretty horrible, too."
She has four young children.
So it's Infertility Awareness Week.
And I'm aware of my infertility, but it is not cancer.
It may break my heart into a million pieces but it will not kill me.
It may have taken me into dark places that I never wish to go to again but it will not kill me.
It may have robbed me of hopes, of dreams, of idealized visions of how I thought my life would be but it will not kill me.
It has not killed me.
I'm aware of it. I hope others are aware of the ravages of infertility as well.
But I wanted to scoop that woman into my arms and hug her tight and tell her everything was going to be ok, that she would be a mother to her four children long enough to see them grow big and strong and to an age where they don't need her so desperately but I couldn't.
Infertility sucks, but I have to say that cancer sucks worse.
3 years ago