alice and the gentle gardener

I had an appointment with my lovely Surgeon a couple of weeks ago... He has been my surgeon and to a certain point, my friend for the best part of a decade. When at 16, everyone around me assumed that I had an eating disorder (that had somehow managed to cause my morbid obesity- go figure.) or a psychological issue with food he believed what I was saying and made it his mission to find out why my body was failing me.

I see him once a year if I’m well and we catch up over a pot of tea. He is almost manic in the way he jumps from topic to topic, but there is something incredibly serene about him. He laughs a lot, he asks a lot of questions, and pats my mother gently on the hand. He dresses like a gardener, which I find incredibly appropriate given I consider him the caretaker of my insides. He removes the cobwebs and vines that grow inside of me. He repairs or removes the plants that aren’t doing so well and sews me up again. He gives me and my garden a chance to grow.

This year I went in with the big questions. Two big questions and the response I got to both has been lingering about half a pace behind me ever since. The first answer was “Yes. You will need more surgery, and probably more after that- you may end up with a feeding tube later in life. Your fear is not an unreasonable one but we will do our best.” The second was “No, I don’t think it would be in your best interest to have children. You could but I would not advise it. Your body simply can’t handle the pressure of pregnancy. Your digestive system is not strong enough. Your scar is too restrictive.“

I wasn’t planning on having children in the next five years. Absolutely not. But when my biological clock started to tick and I started to ache for the pitter patter of tiny feet I wanted to know I had the option. And it seems that I don’t. As much as he tends to my garden- its beds are to remain infertile. There is a sadness to this I am yet to be able to describe fully. It’s small and heavy and sits to the left of my chest. I’m still processing the news and adjusting accordingly. When I told my grandfather the news through tears and tea his sensible and old school response was “well, maybe next time he is in there he could rip all those parts out too- you know, save you the worry.” It’s certainly an option I’m not prepared to entertain but I can see his point.

It’s a strange new world I’m living in at the moment. I feel a bit like Alice in wonderland because of the enormous amount of change that has occurred in my life over the last month or so... not just this news. I don’t know if I will ever process the fact that I cannot have children fully but I’m surprising myself everyday with my strength and adaptability. It feels like every time I get my footing something else happens that causes me to crouch to the ground for a moment- but I get back up and keep chasing the white rabbit through the garden.