It’s exactly a year since I had my ovaries out (do Hallmark make a card for that yet?). I asked if I could keep them in a jar (the answer’s a definitive no) so sadly I have nothing to show for it other than two almost imperceptible scars. Because it’s been a year, I have now officially been through the menopause. They used to call the menopause ‘the change’ and I like that. Because there is so much change. It makes you think about who you are and your place in the world. Your body confronts you with the fact that you’re getting older and some things are lost for good, particularly your fertility. I didn’t think that would bother me much, but it’s had more of an impact than I expected.
Four and a half years ago I wrote an article on childlessness which you can read here. In it I reflected on the heartaches and blessings of not having my own children. There have been lots of little griefs throughout the years – holding other people’s babies, hanging out with teenagers but not being able to be permanently involved in their lives, and wishing I could be more present for my nephews when they live thousands of miles away.
But I wasn’t prepared for a fresh wave of grief as I entered instant infertility. I was struck by the difference between knowing I’m not going to have children through choice and knowing I physically can’t have children. It shouldn’t really matter but somehow it does. It’s a full stop. An irreversible ending.
As a single, same-sex attracted Christian, I’ve never hit the ‘traditional’ milestones of engagement, wedding, birth of children, anniversaries, children leaving the nest, graduations, being mother of the bride or groom and grandchildren. Sometimes I feel like I’ve gone from teenage angst to middle-aged angst (which is like puberty but worse).
There is a lot of sadness, but also a huge amount of joy, and what the Bible calls ‘the peace that passes all understanding’. It may not have been God’s plan for me to have children, but I have been able to mentor the next generation in ways that I never expected. I’ve loved hanging out with my friends’ teenage kids and spending time with my niece. I can relate to them in a different way than they relate to their parents. I’ll be 50 next month and I’m choosing to celebrate this next stage of my life. Yes, it’s important to grieve the losses and bring to God my sadnesses, but I also have lots to be thankful for and I can look forward in eager anticipation to what the Lord has in store for me next.
So my ovaries have gone and I’ve experienced ‘the change’ but change in God’s Kingdom is an exciting opportunity to see what he’s got in store for me next.
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