Life was good.
I was working and training as a chef in a job that I loved. I was being promoted. Life had suddenly become SO exciting because I was getting to move away from the place I’d always hated and forever dreamed it would be a distant memory. Life was finally looking up and it was the happiest I’d ever been. At last, I was living my life for me, it was a job that left me little time to myself or time for anyone else, that suited me fine, as my family, especially my mum’s brother, was still being an arsehole and ridiculing me for anything and everything I done. Training to become a chef was the best decision I have made to date, I was free and it felt amazing. Later, I started feeling pain in my back but I ignored it. I made excuses and reasoned the pain away, I didn’t complain as I was happy, and a little physical pain was nothing. I’m a tough woman!!
I was moving within a week, my back was getting more intense, my stomach was swollen and I was in excruciating pain, so off I went to the doctors. He told me that I was constipated and thankfully, it was nothing serious. The pain did not go away, though. I spent most of the week trying so hard not to let it get to me, but on the Wednesday, I was back at the doctors. He examined me, and said ‘I just needed a big poo’. I felt silly and left with a new prescription. On Friday, I was distraught because I was in agony and straight back to the doctors I went. I had still not been to the toilet and I was holding my belly up it was that big. My back was really painful, and I had never felt like this before, but the doctor confirmed I was not pregnant, and I was only constipated and as soon as I moved my poo, I’d be fine. I got more laxatives on prescription but that didn’t work.
Saturday came, I was so excited that I forgot about the pain because I was moving to a rented flat with two of my amazing co-workers. I was living a real life and I had real plans. I was moving to a small town about just over an hour’s drive, but it could have been anywhere as long as it was setting me free. Monday came, and I was moving, my mum was letting me take my bed, the flat was unfurnished we were moving to, but that was ok, there were three of us and we all had beds what more did you need? Moving was hard and I was sore, again. I had still not been to the toilet and my stomach looked as if I was pregnant. I was sweating profusely, and that’s something I very rarely do, but I was far too excited to think about the pain so I didn’t complain.
Monday night, we had moved, beds were made up and it was time to get in them, awesome. I did not want to complain as my life was good and I was happy, so I let the other two go to bed and I stayed in the lounge quiet. I was hot one minute and cold the next. Morning came, and it was time for work. I had not slept and I told my new flat mates and work colleagues I could not go to work. I needed to go home to go to the doctors. They left and what felt like forever I cried in pain, I wanted my mum and I needed her, I felt as if I was dying. There was no phone in the flat and I was alone. I drifted in and out of consciousness till about 4pm. My boss came to take me home. He looked shocked when I got in the car, he handed me his mobile and told me to phone my mum and tell her to meet me at the hospital.
My mum was waiting on me as I got dropped off, she looked scared. I did not wait to be seen at the hospital I was took straight through. My mum was repeating, “it’s her bowels.” If only that had been true, I needed a hysterectomy they told me. I had been giving injections for the pain but all I cared about was they were taking my insides out, I was never going to have children. Not one, none. I could not believe it. I wanted to die. My mother signed the consent forms for them to take away my womanly parts; I was never going to have that little person who I could love unconditionally. I was doped up on morphine and the pain in my heart was worse than any other pain I had felt.
At the age of 24 I thought I had escaped the emotional torture, but little did I know it was really just the beginning. For as long as I could remember I wanted to be a mother. I wanted to have a wee person I could love and would love me back. That was all I wanted. Just to have this little person who I could treat the way I thought I should have been treated, given love and told they were loved. Never left with strangers (not complete strangers but anyone my mum knew who would look after us). I only wanted one child so I could be there for them all the time and give them what they needed and wanted. I would never have put them down and laughed at them, I would never have hit them and called them stupid. I would never have ignored their needs. I had a very big list of what I was never going to do.
At 15 I told my teacher I would have immaculate conception. I must have been delusional at the time, as I remember believing it. I still believed I’d have a miracle and I guess I still do. But I was being punished again, it seems my life has been just one big punishment. Why did I ever think I was getting to escape and my dreams were coming true? Why did I believe I deserved to be normal and have a normal life?
When they were taking me for the operation I prayed not to wake up, there was no point in my life, at all.