Wait… You Don’t Want to Have Kids?

Part 1: The Decision

Since entering adulthood, I never wanted to be a mom.

Well… that’s not really true. I often toyed with the idea of being a mom, but I never wanted to have my own babies.

The truth is: I’m a wimp, especially when it comes to medical procedures. Such a wimp that at the age of 28 I took my mom with me to get my Nexplanon arm implant removed. I can hardly get blood drawn without making a huge deal of it. Doctors and dentist appointments get wildly neglected because I am so afraid of them. I couldn’t even prick my own finger to figure out my blood type. The ironic thing is I wanted to be a doctor and spent 2 years studying pre-med.

Medical procedures + my body = one big fat nope.

So to grow a baby inside of me and push it out of me? Nope. To have a child feed from my breast for 1-2 years after that? Absolutely not. The countless doctors appointments, blood-draws, IVS, epidural? No way in hell.

To the women out there that have birthed children, you are rockstars and I have no idea how you did it. I look up to every single one of you.

But for me? That was always out of the picture. So it was hormonal birth control since I was 16. That’s 13 years of hormones in my body, and as every woman reading this knows - IT SUCKED. For years I looked forward to the day when I could be sterilized, but everybody told me it wouldn’t happen.

“You’ll need your husbands approval.”

Or

“You need to be older.”

Or

“You’ll change your mind.”

I even had one person say “You probably shouldn’t call it sterilization…” which I couldn’t understand. That’s what it is! Why can’t I call it what it is?

But after 13 years of birth control, my mind hadn’t changed. After having my Nexplanon removed I was ready to have the talk with my doctor about when I could have a tubal ligation.

I prepared all my arguments:

1 - I don’t want to pass down my genes.

2 - I’ve never wanted to have my own kids.

3 - I’m almost 30.

4 - Please, please, please, please do this for me.

Luckily, I didn’t need any of them. I asked my doctor about Tubal Ligation and she immediately gave me all the information I needed about the procedure, asked if I had any questions, and reminded me it was permanent. I couldn’t help but cry. After so many years of people questioning my decision, I had learned to always be on the defensive. I thanked her for being the first person in my entire life to respect my decision. She responded,

“You know your body. A family isn’t a man, a woman and a baby. A family can have step-children, adopted-children, pet-children. I trust that you know what’s best for you.”

(Doctor of the year award right there).

Part 2: The Procedure

I waited 6 months to have the procedure. Partly due to my schedule, partly because I needed time to explain to friends and family, and to reassure them that yes, this is what I want. No, I’m not rushing it. I also needed those 6 months to emotionally prepare myself. Remember, medical proceeders terrify me, so I really had to sit with the knowledge that they’d be cutting into me. I also had to confront my biggest fear (or as my partner called it: The Final Boss) which is my belly button. Call me crazy, but even typing those words make me light-headed and nauseated. I’ve had many therapy sessions to get me a little more comfortable with the concept, but I still hate belly buttons with a passion. And they would be cutting through my belly button to do the surgery.

(Pause while I go throw up)

Unfortunately, those 6 months did not prepare me and I was just as nervous as ever.

My dad took me to the hospital and in pre-op I met with the loveliest nurses who got my IV set up (horrible) and gave me some Tylenol. As I waited for my procedure both my doctor and my anesthesiologist came in to ask questions and brief me on what was happening. I was asked multiple times what procedure I was having, but I suppose they wanted to make sure that I knew there was no going back from this.

I waited for a while with an IV in arm for the doctor to be ready for me. I replayed all the hospital tv shows I’d watched in high school and nervously asked my dad if the bed had wheels on it. He paused from what he was doing, glanced down, and nonchalantly said “yup” before going back to his phone. For some reason this frightened me beyond belief. I guess thinking I could walk in there on my own gave me more power, but having to be wheeled in made the whole process feel out of my control.

Eventually a nurse came and wheeled me towards the operating room. Again visions of hospital TV flashed before my eyes as I asked her,

“Are they going to put a tube down my throat?”

Gently, she affirmed that they would put a tube down my throat but that it made it easier for the anesthesiologist to monitor me during the procedure. She spoke about it as if it was the easiest thing in the world, but I began shaking as I imagined a GIANT TUBE INVADING MY WINDPIPE!

I very anxiously kissed my dad goodbye and entered the operating room where I was greeted by my amazing doctor, the anestesiologist, and two nurses. My doctor could see how nervous I was, and held my hand and looked into my eyes as she gave me instructions to slide off my bed and onto the operating table. Everybody was moving about me, but her and I were perfectly still. Her holding my hand, our gaze interlocked. I felt afraid, but safe. She explained that my anesthesiologist would give me something to help me relax, but I felt no different. She asked how I was feeling, I said I didn’t feel calm and she said I’d be given a little more.

After that, I was out.

I woke up with only the memory of my doctor holding my hand and looking at me with so much love. Even though I was terrified in that moment I felt comforted beyond belief.

I also woke up with the worst pain I had ever felt in my abdomen. It felt like period cramps times a million. A nurse was by my side and I complained of the pain and she said she’d give me something to help with it. I also felt like I was going to poop, which was the LAST thing I wanted to do while laying in front of this nurse. She assured me that it was probably just the pain making me feel that way but that she’d get a bedpan if I needed it (absolutely NOT).

A few moments later after some friendly (and probably delirious) small talk, the nurse asked me how my pain was. Significantly better, and I no longer felt the urge to go to the bathroom (thank God). She gave me more medication and we continued to talk about other things. I was coming out of my haze and her and I were having wonderful conversation, so much so that I forgot about my pain entirely until she asked again,

“Now how are you feeling?

“Oh, I feel great!”

“Okay good, you’re on the maximum dosage of fentanyl I can give you.”

Damn. So this is what Fentanyl feels like. A drug that had taken many people I knew and always terrified me. I guess I realized why it was so addictive. All my pain gone, but none of the head-high.

The nurse and I continued to chat for a bit until she felt ready to send me to my next recovery room.

“Thank you for the good conversation,” she said as she handed me off to another nurse, “I rarely have people who can talk so well post-surgery.”

I guess even coming out of anesthesia I still have the gift of gab.

As my new nurse got me situated in the recovery room, I felt like I could cry. I was finally unable to have kids. The thing I had dreamed of for 10 years. All the pregnancy anxiety I had experienced was finally gone and an incredible since of ease washed over me. I explained to her how happy I was to have this procedure, to which she responded,

“I wish I had done that.”

“Oh, do you have kids?” I awkwardly asked.

“Yeah, four,” she said begrudgingly. At this point I didn’t know how to respond. So I asked her about her kid’s ages, interests, and hobbies and tried to be as encouraging as possible. I’m sure she didn’t really regret her kids. I’m sure she was just exhausted, but something about that incredibly awkward interaction affirmed tome that I had made the right choice. Had I given into the societal pressures, I too may have struggled with regret as she had in that moment.

I sat happily in my recovery room eating saltines, and catching up with my dad. I had no pain, and was excited to get home and bum out on the couch for a few days. My nurse informed me that before I left I would have to pee, so I began chugging water so I could get out of there as soon as possible.

I finally peed, very slowly, but successfully and the nurse reassured me that it was probably due to swelling and I was good to go home. They took out my IV, wheeled me to the car, and I happily loaded up.

Halfway home, the Fentanyl must’ve worn off because once again I was in excruciating pain. For the rest of the day I laid in bed, medications beside me, and resting the best I could.

Part 3: The Aftermath

Recovery was more difficult than I thought. I didn’t realize that even minor abdominal surgery can make it very difficult to move, because you use your core for literally everything. Sitting down, standing up, rolling over, everything was a struggle. For 4-5 days I had to take a stool softener due to the medication I was given, and I continued to pee fairly slowly. But I healed, slowly but surely. And I can’t tell you how this process will go for you, because I think we all heal differently. I know that I am hyper sensitive of my body, and I also heal slowly. I also chose to take this time to be gentle with myself and for two weeks I took things slow.

The whole process made me extra-aware of my body, which was gross, but it was a little bit of exposure therapy to medical procedures and I feel a little more confident going to doctors offices now. I even had a cyst removed all by myself last month!

Post recovery, the responses I’ve gotten have been interesting. My family had a difficult time with the decision at first, but at the end of the day I know they love and respect who I am and ultimately want the best for me. The way I see it, life for me is already so hectic and busy, I barely have time for my nephew and friend’s children. By choosing not to have my own children, I am choosing to dedicate my energy to the children that are already in my life. Having an extra child-free adult helps the community overall.

Perhaps you saw me post about my experience on social media. I did this intentionally for two reasons.

1. My social media is very much a representation of who I am, not a face I put on, and this surgery is also a very big part of who I am. I feel no need to hide it from the world.

2. I am the only person in their 20s/30s that I know that has had a tubal ligation, and I wanted to share my experience so that others can know what to expect if they every decide to go through something similar.

The responses I’ve gotten have been interesting. After I tell people about my tubal ligation, the first question I get is “Wait… so you don’t want to have kids?” (For the record, this is an inappropriate question. Either no) I don’t want kids, which is why I had the surgery in the first place; or yes) I wanted kids but had to get my tubes removed for medical reasons, which may make me highly sensitive to the topic.)

Some women seemed very thrown off by my decision, and the energy between us was awkward and tense. To clear the air, I do not feel that I am better than anyone, by any means, for choosing not to have children. I think the choice to be a biological mother is a beautiful thing and I fully support every woman who goes through it. Just because our decisions are different, doesn’t mean one is better than the other. We all have our own lives to live, and I support women no matter how they choose to live theirs.

Getting a tubal ligation doesn’t mean I hate children - in fact I love them. With each pregnancy announcement I receive from a friend I am filled with joy. Maybe someday I’ll be a step-mom or adoptive mom, but until then I gladly take on my role as an honorary aunt.

The responses from men has been, honestly, hilarious. The number of conversations that went something like this was astonishing:

Them: Wait, you don’t want to have kids?

Me: (rolling my eyes at being asked yet again). Nope!

Them: Awe, but I think you’d be a great mom.

Me: I would be a great mom, I just don’t want to have them naturally.

Them: That’s sad.

Me: Why is that sad?

Them: Because I was hoping someday we’d meet and maybe you’d want to have my children.

SERIOUSLY? These are men I had never met before, who just saw me as some type of baby making machine. No, I don’t want to have some stranger’s baby. Weirdos.

Another slightly comical comment from men was about the appearance of my scars. I posted a picture of my cute tiny scars on my belly. Women flooded me messages wishing me well and a fast recovery, from men I received multiple messages along the lines of “you can find a good cream to help cover up those scars”.

No, as a matter of fact I won’t find a good cream to cover up my scars. I love my little scars. I did something scary and I have the marks to prove it and I’m proud of them. I want somebody to kiss them and tell me they’re proud of me too. I do not exist to be pretty. I am a human and I want to continue to bear the marks of living this human life.

But for the most part, the people in my life have been very supportive of my decision. I’ve watched the way many people graciously quieted after I told them about what I did, rather than tell me I was wrong even though the situation made them uncomfortable. All we can do when we feel uncomfortable is respond in grace, and I’m grateful for the people who put their own notions aside to support me.

To all those who think I’m going to regret it, maybe you’re right! Perhaps someday I’ll regret it. Or perhaps I won’t. Only time can tell. But I can honestly tell you that I have been thinking about this decision for 10 years - what’s a decision you’ve made in your life that you took 10 years to reflect on? Did you regret it?

• A huge thanks to my doctor who supported me in this decision and made me feel safe and comfortable through the whole procedure. Also thanks to my father who sat in the hospital all day and took care of me in the many days after. I couldn’t have had the courage to do this without both of you.