Let's hope for the best

Chapter 19: Everything

Between my first and second surgery, I was told I wouldn't probably be able to have children.

One of my ovaries was gone: I had an ovarian torsion, probably because of a big cyst I had. That was the terrible stabbing pain I had experienced.

The other was severely damaged by other smaller cysts.

They were going to put me through surgery again, try to save my second ovary. Open up my tubes, also closed by post-inflammatory adherences and endometriotic tissues.

But they couldn't promise me anything.

Theo was holding my hand through it all.

He had just started to tell me, before that happened, that he wanted to have children someday.

That it was one of his biggest dreams.

He wanted to be able to build a peaceful, happy, loving family: the one that we both didn't get to enjoy much in our childhood.

And then.... That.

No children.

I remember, I kept telling him, please, Theo.

You've been nice and all.

But be serious now.

It is not going to last, anyway.

You want children.

I won't be able to give them to you.

Just, let's stop now, before it hurt us even more.

He was adamant, of course.

First, the doctors said I might not be able- there was still a chance.

And second, we could adopt, in case we couldn't have them naturally.

And third, he wanted only me to be the mother of his children, the family he envisioned was with me, and me only.

The only person that he truly loved. The only person that truly knew him.

....

Waiting for my second operation was not pleasant.

I was hysterical.

First, for the children thing.

And then, I thought maybe I was never going to be able to have sex without crying in pain, anyway.

Theo was soon going to be fed up with me.

I was useless: as I had always suspected.

Broken.

And plus, I hated for doctors to touch me.

It disgusted me to the bone.

I couldn't stand anyone to touch me, besides Theo.

Theo could touch me anywhere... but only him.

I was having nightmares. Panic attacks.

I thought about how painful it was when that doctor had visited me, and it was not my first gyno exam.

I usually ran away in the middle of them, because I couldn't take the pain.

But the pain was not the worst, the worst was the idea of being touched.

Once, I took a bath.

And I started cutting myself... all over.

Trying to rip that dirty, dirty skin off me.

Skin that had been touched.

And I'm... I'm not sane. I'm aware of it.

But I felt that way, no point in lying to you guys.

...

Theo was mad at me.

That night, we talked a lot.

About everything that was wrong with us.

All the little pieces of our broken sanity that will never stick back together.

Mine, you know. You've been riding this rollercoaster of life with me, readers.

And he confessed his own; how he felt the need to always "prove himself", and the idea of not being "successful", or not being able to provide for himself and his family, kept bothering him. Or how he felt inadequate, that he was not "good enough" for me.

We talked until our eyelids couldn't stay up anymore.

He held my hand through the night.

And the following nights.

Eventually, I stopped cutting myself.

....

You see everything, you see every part;

You see all my light, and you love my dark;

You dig everything, of which I'm ashamed;

There's anything to which you can't relate:

And you're still here...

That's for you, Theo.

Thank you.

...

And then, I had my second surgery.

The doctors said the ovary was still there, but they couldn't be sure it worked.

After a few months of observation, they told me that everything seemed alright: my ovary had recovered.

It appeared I would be able to have children... after all.

Then, I started taking hormonal pills. I had tried before, but they hadn't worked. But now, with this new gynaecologist that was following me, everything was going well.

All of my symptoms were disappearing.

I could pee again, with no pain.

No more dreadful periods.

My red blood cells count shot up.

I was feeling healthier than I ever did: throughout the ordeal, I had lost so much weight, I looked as if I was straight out of a Nazi concentration camp.

I had lost my hair, as well: most people thought I went through chemo, but it was probably anaemia.

When my hair started falling off, I thought that it was the last straw: Theo would surely leave me.

He adored my long, blonde hair: he had always been upfront about it.

He liked to play with it, and it was one his major turn-ons.

And now, it was gone.

But of course, he was a stubborn little fool: and he refused to leave me, once again.

...

After a few months, my hair was starting to grow back. I was gaining weight. I took a big test that I had been postponing because of the surgery, and I passed.

With top grades.

Life was smiling at me... finally.

I felt like I was on top of the world. I felt like Leo DiCaprio, screaming on top of his lungs, standing on the bow of the Titanic.

I was the Queen of the world now.

And Theo was with me, over an ocean of possibilities ahead of us.

First of all, there was a little something that we were both very willing to try, now that I was getting better.

And we couldn't wait any longer.