Learning to Love “One-and-Done”

Today, I no longer have a uterus. No fallopian tubes to carry an egg down for implantation, no cervix to dilate. No breasts to feed a baby. I am no longer a vessel for life.

I never anticipated secondary infertility to happen to me. Pregnancy came easily and safely to me the first time. While carrying my son I was relatively asymptomatic and outright euphoric. The only real hiccup I experienced was trying to get him out — he was over a week late and was going into fetal distress as my labor was failing. My doctors and I had mutually concluded he needed to be delivered via cesarean. Several midwives and OBs assured me that I was a good candidate for a VBAC, whenever I was ready to expand our family. But I never made it that far.

It took about a year and half and two miscarriages before I would finally get a diagnosis of Asherman’s Syndrome. The life-saving abortion procedures I needed for those failed pregnancies caused irreparable scar damage. My uterus no longer had the ability to properly regenerate itself with each menstrual cycle. It was banded together with thick columns of tissue, unable to fully expand. If I had managed to make it further along in any future pregnancy, I could suffer a uterine rupture.

Devastatingly, I was also diagnosed with BRCA2 at the same time. I had no idea any of my children would have a 50% chance of inheriting this cancer super-gene. I never knew my thriving son was at risk. My doctor laid it out for me: she didn’t recommend the treatment of removing the banding from…