This month’s installment is about something that affects us
all in the Turner’s community and many women that do not have Turner’s: infertility.
If you have read my book, Short Chick with Glasses, thank you
for the support. If not, it is available
on Amazon, or catch me at one of the book signing events I’m hoping to set up
this spring. (Shameless plugs. Gotta
love ‘em.). In those memoirs I related that
I have been through it all accepting my “no biological children” sentence: the
anger at the unfairness, the wondering WHY I had to be born different. The now not so secrete fears that no man
would want me once he found out.
Indeed, I felt just about every emotion a person will feel when forced
to accept something that is just…crap.
Then I realized something.
I was spending enough time lamenting a life that I saw everybody else
having – mourning a life that I could not lead - that I was in danger of
completely missing the life that I was leading.
And it is a good life, all in all. I have friends. I am lucky enough to have good relationships
with my family. A job where I am in some
small way helping people. A cat that needs
me to come home and feed her after that job.
I enjoy music, a good laugh; and instinctively stand up for the “little
guy.”
Do my parents love my sister more because she provided them
with three grandchildren and the best I could come up with is a “grand-kitty?” Of course not. That very thought is ridiculous.
(I’m the favorite, always have been)
I am not able to spread my genes or continue the family line
– but nobody gets to tell me that the life I have is of lesser value because of
it. And if I someday adopt, nobody gets to tell me that the relationship won't be as meaningful because I did not birth the child myself. NOBODY.
And that includes myself.
So, go ahead and acknowledge those moments of sadness when
you see others celebrating a birth. Acknowledge
it, but don’t wallow in it. There are
many paths to happiness. Be open to the infinite paths your life can take.
Be well,
J
