Here we go again.
It fails to amaze me how life continues to evolve well beyond what I thought was a fair rate of change; altering so many of my ‘constants’ from what I can now refer to, as my previous life. Most corners of my life remain familiar; same job, same bedroom, same wardrobe of clothes and I rarely sway from the same dinner after yoga. But, the massive and most missing part of this puzzle which is no longer there to be starred at is – my significant other. My emergency contact, my first instant message of the day, my dinner for two, my technology ‘go-to’, my friend and my final good-night, he has gone.
As you may have read in a previous post, I have had three ‘proper’ boyfriends in my life, all of whom received my MKRH news in a less than conventional way. The above mentioned, received a text. Upon receiving this text some ten years ago, the reply I swiftly received was “its okay”. That was the perfect validation, allowing me to continue on my pursuit for serious boyfriend number three, however I fear now, none of it was actually okay. It goes without saying, that MRKH sadly will dictate the rest of our lives in many ways- whether the new path is a positive one as opposed to a destructive one, is completely and entirely up to us. You may read this with resentment and impossibilities; with that sickly, twisted stomach angst, however, what I have learnt in the last 28 days is, “MRKH, I need your help”. The same MRKH that I referred to as ruining my 20’s, the same MRKH that manifested itself as the demon diagnosis and the four letters that would become part of my daily vocabulary. But now,” MRKH, I need your help”.
Losing friendship and love is an impossible pain to comprehend. I see no broken bones or blood seepages yet, I actually hurt. I feel scared and exposed and I don’t know how I will find the love that everyone promises me I am worth. Saddled with a new beginning and a new declaration of who I am and what my body can perform, seems yet another challenge sent to me by the universe. This pain is serrated to touch, chalky in texture and metallic in taste-it’s uncomfortable and impossible to digest. I am to once again grieve the lost family (as it currently stands) and stay poised to script my truths and diagnosis all over again after a well deserved ten year reprieve.
Fear is so very accessible, as is the tempting loneliness that if I stop moving, or writing or performing my 50th down-ward dog (yoga pose) of the week, I may just come to realise that my reality has u-turned and now I have more freedom than I know what to do with and after 16 years of being someone’s other, I am just an ‘other’. And permeated through my 28th day as a single woman again, lies the horrible truth of how am I going to do this? Well, my conclusion is, if I can discover at 16 that I was born with MRKH and face each and every uncomfortable, invasive, traumatic truth that came with that diagnosis, I know I can do this. If I can go through treatment at the stares of trainee doctors at the Queen Charlotte’s and Chelsea Hospital, London, I can do this. If I can continue that treatment each morning before school for nine months, I can do this. If I can live as a young and sociable woman knowing that one day I will reach 33 years old and never know what it may feel like to have my own children, I can do this. To tap into MRKH right now is my strength-how strange that in fact, we come as a duo and here I am looking over my shoulder for the courage that it asked me find all those years ago.
Here I am, my body yet again under the spot-light and the currency I place on myself is under evaluation-an exhausting process with no guarantee of how it will all work out. During my ritualistic Sunday morning yoga practice, I realised my chance of future happiness is having the faith that I deserve it. To position myself in relationships as a deserving woman and not a product of medical terminology and that four letter word, is now the key of getting through day 29, day 30 and then perhaps I will start to count in months and not in days (or hours on the bad ones).
Recently, I co-hosted the 2nd MRKH Support Group event in Sydney. To sit amongst so many beautiful women, mothers and professionals from The Royal Hospital for Women, I found myself conflicted with joy and a resounding fear that my courage for acceptance and self-evolution had morphed me from a timid, sad young girl to a strong and independent woman. Me, an independent woman, seeking out goals and a purpose- to find my place in this world without the shame to talk about who I am … but, did it lose me the last ten years? Perhaps this is life engineering itself for the next chapter of change.
Some may say – “does every conversation require a ‘confession?” No, it doesn’t. I don’t buy groceries or coffee prepared to talk about MRKH and offer my opinions of womb transplants but, are we not as women questioning daily how successful or aligned we are against the core fundamentals and innate female instincts that make us women in the first place? Have we not all spent years evaluating our own selection criteria to be a worthy part of this gender pool?
I will be the first to tell a young girl to never accept any less than perfect in the partner she chooses as, he has to be as special as the hand he is choosing to hold- and yet, I am struggling to accept this fate for myself; preparing to re-enter the pre-screening process and the Facebook probing that comes with a new relationship, and perhaps even the rejection when the facts of who I am are stumbled upon. It is a scary concept and one that never goes away- that is why MRKH is the creature it is. Unpredictable, unknown, un-ageing and utterly confusing. And here I am, placing my healing in its hands.
Perhaps this is all part of the greater plan, but as I log off from writing this post, I stare up to see my mum folding my clothes, making me a cup of coffee and reminding me of what we all overcame to make us the beautiful people we are today.
My faith is my plan.
Buckle up Ally- here we go again!