Spay and neuter your parents. It sounds like a public service announcement to me when I talk about having my tubes tied. I’m struggling with it, you know. I have a scheduled C-section for this Monday and as the time nears, I find my nerves settling on the tubal ligation more than anything- more than the being sawn in half, more than the arrival of a human being, more than the recovery of a C-section. A lot goes into making ones self unable to reproduce further.
As women we are born with every egg we will ever produce. Isn’t that something? That’s why we are considered women of advanced maternal age beyond thirty-five years old. Our eggs are just old. My sixty-four year old husband makes new sperm all the time and has no need for medical assistance in getting them from point A to point B, thank you very much (I know you are all wondering, unless one of his kids is reading this- in which case, you don’t care).
Look, I’m done. I know I’m done. Hell, in my twenties I wanted a complete hysterectomy so as to avoid reproducing at all. I’m glad now that’s not an elective surgery and thankful for my sisters who insisted I remain intact in case they required the letting of my uterus to them.
So what’s the problem? The finality of it certainly weighs on me. The obvious alternative is birth control, but I’ve never been on it and I don’t want to pump my body full of chemicals, or remember to take a pill, or get to the doctor for a shot, or have a device implanted somewhere. I’m done, the tubal makes sense. I think it’s a woman thing to think about the finality of your reproductive life. Even if I were ninety, had twenty kids and reproduction was biologically viable, I would still lament the finality with which a tubal ligation presents itself.
I’m not a happy pregnant person, I’m about to have two boys (exactly what I could have hoped for outside of healthy babies first and foremost), and my husband has four adult children from his first marriage. We are done. I am done. I still can’t reconcile the finality of it though. My mom had her tubes tied when she was thirty-seven, just one year older than I am now (I feel a lot younger than my mom seemed then), and had five kids. She said the same things occurred to her. She even had an older husband too, twenty years her senior, though biologically childless. He took us five girls on as his own- we were lucky that way.
I am going to have the procedure, thus ignoring the screaming of my biological need to reproduce. It was only conjecture in my twenties when I said I would have a hysterectomy. I wouldn’t have been able to go through with it had it been more than just one of my hair brained ideas back then. I’m too enamored with the possibilities, of roads not traveled, of roads with bridges that I know to be out but am positive I can traverse where others have failed. I love having options for no reason other than I am not hewn in. My biological clock is hypertensive as it considers it’s mortality, like a horcrux (Harry Potter reference for you muggles), refusing to let go. But let go it must, because I am having a tubal ligation and spending the rest of my life investing in the two children I conceived accidentally on purpose.