I was 28 when I tied the tube. My son, my fourth boy, was 6 weeks old when I had the surgery. It hurt more than I expected, and I wasn’t sure if it was the fallopian tubes, childbirth, or breastfeeding. My body was no longer mine. I felt like I couldn’t stand up straight without feeling like something was tearing inside me. My pelvis was a question mark, my spine had a constant curve from my 4th epidural, my chest was sore, leaky, full, and always very full.
My son’s brother was only 15 months old, another brother was 5 years old, and the oldest was 6 years old. Parting their hair with their little fists and looking at my face with their unblinking eyes, they hoped I would fall asleep with them.
I was 28 and knew I had enough kids. 4 boys in 7 years and a miscarriage on the way. I couldn’t imagine not getting pregnant. Birth control pills, condoms, IUDs, etc. had no effect other than not having sex, which wasn’t really an option. My husband was always proud of how much we had sex. At one dinner party, I, a 26-year-old with a red face on a tired 56-year-old body, was making lasagna for my neighbor when I heard my husband say to a friend in the dining room. Will your wife give it to you six months after giving birth? Jen couldn’t wait six weeks.”
I may have waited 6 weeks. If I had the chance, I might have slept for a few hours after putting the kids to bed instead of having sex. I could have taken a bath, sat on the couch and read a book or watched a movie. this was not an option. not for him.
A vasectomy was also not an option. I can certainly say so. I thought it was after giving birth four times. A vasectomy seemed fair, a simple outpatient procedure performed in 15 minutes with few complications. More than fair. Not 4 vasectomies for 4 births. Just that he had one quick vasectomy.
“No way,” he said.
“I can’t,” he explained.
“You don’t understand what it’s like for men,” he pointed out. It’s more difficult for men than for men.You’ve already done so many things over there, do you have one more thing to do?”
So I made an appointment with my “one more thing” doctor. While her mother looked after the children, I went to the hospital in her mother’s borrowed car. He drove to New Orleans for a weekend work meeting and left his cell phone at home. The operation went well. “You’re so young,” said one nurse, even though doctors and nurses asked me if I was sure. “You might want another baby.”
No more babies for me, I told everyone who would listen.
And deep in my heart, a small core of ideas was growing.no more baby With or without him.
By the time he returned from New Orleans, the act was complete. I was in bed, tired and sore, and I could certainly hear some of the insides tearing as I stood up too quickly. I was so dramatic, I just squeezed it out and was told I was making a big deal out of basically nothing. I was too tired to have sex. Too painful for sex.
I was fed up with him and us and what was outside my boy. He was full of stories about the fun weekend away from us and was very happy that he no longer had to wear a condom. bottom.
There’s not always a perfectly linear line where you can see the final straw, the moment the glass breaks, the previous marriage and the different life that followed. But tying my tubes was as close as you get because I met her husband, a mystery member of my family, but not my partner. The guy who overslept Christmas dinner and hid my debit card at work. The man who sat our children at the table and fed them to the last bite. Who made them cry to sleep when I worked late at night in a bar. He was just 6 weeks old and hungry so he called me at work to tell me to come home to breastfeed our baby. I couldn’t get over my hunger for everyone to be together, my childhood in a broken home, and my fear of loneliness.
Until he refused to have a vasectomy. And I could see him all the way around.
I haven’t been away from him for almost two years, but I’ve been thinking about it. can leave him All his spare $20 bills were tucked in and every hint of kindness ignored. I left him on Friday. If possible, break up with him every Friday. I leave him again and again no matter what.
The life that the boys and I built was filled with love. It wasn’t easy, it wasn’t perfect, but what we made in our little house was such a bland bliss that we would forget most days. Our family wouldn’t have been right for anyone, and I don’t think it was right for my husband.
But we were right for us.
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