Acute endometriosis struck me in my late teens. It is a painful disorder in which the tissue inside the uterus, the endometrium, grows outside of the uterus. Endometriosis most commonly affects the ovaries, fallopian tubes and the tissue lining the pelvis.
My gynaecologist explained the disease to me and my parents. However, almost all people with whom I discussed my diagnosis gave me a strange vibe, as if I were an alien. Before undergoing a complete hysterectomy in my early thirties, I had to undergo a number of laparoscopic and laparotomy procedures to clear the fibroids, non-cancerous growths in the uterus. My doctor consoled me every time by saying, “it’s not as bad as it sounds".
Hysterectomy is the surgical removal of the uterus and ovaries, depending on the severity of the situation. It is a permanent solution for fibroids, and an option only if other treatments have not worked or are not appropriate. For many women, the biggest drawback to a hysterectomy is loss of fertility. Once a woman has a hysterectomy, she cannot conceive, and for many women of childbearing age, this is a significant loss.
I recall pacing my room as my doctor described the hysterectomy procedure which would treat the fibroids. What I did know for sure was that I was tired of these rapidly growing fibroids, tired of my slim physique gaining weight, tired of the heavy menstruation. Therefore, I simply wanted these fibroids gone. My doctor could make that happen. He just had one critical question to ask about my plans on getting married and consequently conceiving a baby.
Given the gravity of the situation, my gynecologist gave me two days to decide whether I wanted to carry a child in the near future, as my endometriosis required an urgent hysterectomy. Since I had always wanted to get married for love and not to validate my social existence, I hardly had any choice.
My stance was clear: I did not wish to get married. I asked myself another fundamental question: What if I am not ready to be a mother, that too in haste? It was the question I had asked myself at 25 and again at 30. What if I would never be ready to be a mother? Living in a conservative country like Pakistan and being a Muslim woman, a child born out of wedlock is itself a sin.
I come from a culture where the majority women assume their roles as mothers early, whether or not they want to. They wear motherhood like a well-fitted gown, moving the way their mothers and grandmothers did before them. Women gain respect with their mastery of motherhood, developing a mastery of life itself.
I am blessed to have liberal and unconventionally forward-thinking parents. However, contemptuous grunts from other elders are directed at me, the woman over the age of 30 without a marriage or a child. My mother had me at 19, the average age at which women in Pakistan have their first child. When I was 19, I was in graduate school, going to parties, and jobless.
Opting out of biological motherhood is anything but selfish. Rather, considering medical situations like mine, which forced me to muster all my strength to tell my doctor to go ahead with a complete hysterectomy, was nothing but bravery. My lips purse and feelings of guilt well up inside me every time I am asked at reunions when I’ll marry and have babies.
Patriarchy has instilled in women that parenthood is life’s deepest meaning, from the first day a girl holds her toy doll. So, when I express my desire to be voluntarily childless, I was met with criticism and pity. Still, there are women like me, who despite the shame and stigma, stand strong in their unorthodox beliefs. Not being able to have children does not mean that I do not like children. I love kids, but just never felt the need to have them myself. I have always been interested in working with children and have always been the one who can catch the shy kid’s eye and make them laugh.
When I think about why I never wanted to have my own, I can only think of the many adults that I had in my life who were not my parents. Those people had, and continue to have, a great effect on my life. Does this make me less of a woman? The truth is, I love the idea of adoption and am ready to accept adoption as my path in life, to bring a child into my life who might otherwise never find a place of their own to call home. A child whom I shall tell that he or she was conceived in my heart. So many children in Pakistan need good homes.
As I wait to fulfill the rather stringent adoption requirements for single women, I am not deterred but truly believe that adoption is the best decision I have ever made. I cannot imagine my life without a little bundle of joy, a miracle gift from God. Maybe I shall regret it, maybe I will not. What matters is that it is my choice, not one made by somebody else who will not have to deal with the consequences.
I cling to the fact that if we have courage in our convictions, happiness, in whatever form, will find us. I know the gift children are to the world and just because I many not be a mother biologically, does not mean that I do not wish blessings on all who want and deserve it. Our ancestors fought for our right to be whomever we want to be and do what makes us happy. It is time we stopped judging each other for our choices, and started celebrating our wondrous diversity. After all, for every amazing kick-ass mum out there changing the world by raising a family, there is an amazing childless woman living her dreams and changing the world in her own special way.
My gynaecologist explained the disease to me and my parents. However, almost all people with whom I discussed my diagnosis gave me a strange vibe, as if I were an alien. Before undergoing a complete hysterectomy in my early thirties, I had to undergo a number of laparoscopic and laparotomy procedures to clear the fibroids, non-cancerous growths in the uterus. My doctor consoled me every time by saying, “it’s not as bad as it sounds".
Hysterectomy is the surgical removal of the uterus and ovaries, depending on the severity of the situation. It is a permanent solution for fibroids, and an option only if other treatments have not worked or are not appropriate. For many women, the biggest drawback to a hysterectomy is loss of fertility. Once a woman has a hysterectomy, she cannot conceive, and for many women of childbearing age, this is a significant loss.
I recall pacing my room as my doctor described the hysterectomy procedure which would treat the fibroids. What I did know for sure was that I was tired of these rapidly growing fibroids, tired of my slim physique gaining weight, tired of the heavy menstruation. Therefore, I simply wanted these fibroids gone. My doctor could make that happen. He just had one critical question to ask about my plans on getting married and consequently conceiving a baby.
Given the gravity of the situation, my gynecologist gave me two days to decide whether I wanted to carry a child in the near future, as my endometriosis required an urgent hysterectomy. Since I had always wanted to get married for love and not to validate my social existence, I hardly had any choice.
They wear motherhood like a well-fitted gown, moving the way their mothers and grandmothers did before them.
My stance was clear: I did not wish to get married. I asked myself another fundamental question: What if I am not ready to be a mother, that too in haste? It was the question I had asked myself at 25 and again at 30. What if I would never be ready to be a mother? Living in a conservative country like Pakistan and being a Muslim woman, a child born out of wedlock is itself a sin.
I come from a culture where the majority women assume their roles as mothers early, whether or not they want to. They wear motherhood like a well-fitted gown, moving the way their mothers and grandmothers did before them. Women gain respect with their mastery of motherhood, developing a mastery of life itself.
I am blessed to have liberal and unconventionally forward-thinking parents. However, contemptuous grunts from other elders are directed at me, the woman over the age of 30 without a marriage or a child. My mother had me at 19, the average age at which women in Pakistan have their first child. When I was 19, I was in graduate school, going to parties, and jobless.
Opting out of biological motherhood is anything but selfish. Rather, considering medical situations like mine, which forced me to muster all my strength to tell my doctor to go ahead with a complete hysterectomy, was nothing but bravery. My lips purse and feelings of guilt well up inside me every time I am asked at reunions when I’ll marry and have babies.
Patriarchy has instilled in women that parenthood is life’s deepest meaning, from the first day a girl holds her toy doll. So, when I express my desire to be voluntarily childless, I was met with criticism and pity. Still, there are women like me, who despite the shame and stigma, stand strong in their unorthodox beliefs. Not being able to have children does not mean that I do not like children. I love kids, but just never felt the need to have them myself. I have always been interested in working with children and have always been the one who can catch the shy kid’s eye and make them laugh.
When I think about why I never wanted to have my own, I can only think of the many adults that I had in my life who were not my parents. Those people had, and continue to have, a great effect on my life. Does this make me less of a woman? The truth is, I love the idea of adoption and am ready to accept adoption as my path in life, to bring a child into my life who might otherwise never find a place of their own to call home. A child whom I shall tell that he or she was conceived in my heart. So many children in Pakistan need good homes.
As I wait to fulfill the rather stringent adoption requirements for single women, I am not deterred but truly believe that adoption is the best decision I have ever made. I cannot imagine my life without a little bundle of joy, a miracle gift from God. Maybe I shall regret it, maybe I will not. What matters is that it is my choice, not one made by somebody else who will not have to deal with the consequences.
I cling to the fact that if we have courage in our convictions, happiness, in whatever form, will find us. I know the gift children are to the world and just because I many not be a mother biologically, does not mean that I do not wish blessings on all who want and deserve it. Our ancestors fought for our right to be whomever we want to be and do what makes us happy. It is time we stopped judging each other for our choices, and started celebrating our wondrous diversity. After all, for every amazing kick-ass mum out there changing the world by raising a family, there is an amazing childless woman living her dreams and changing the world in her own special way.