Written by Adanna Uzoma
Dear Diary (Scratch that! Dear Adventures Readers),
I think I might be barren…and maybe, I don’t mind. No, it hasn’t been verified and substantiated by the doctor. So, how do I know? Hypothesis. I have several hypotheses to back it.
Hypothesis 1:
In junior year in school, home economics and social studies classes were particularly engaging, especially when we discussed sensitive topics like reproduction and hygiene, which would always incite murmurs, giggles, and questions. Our favourite was our home economics class. Our bright-eyed teacher with a fair-complexioned face that seemed to glow from within was the icing on the cake. She was the perfect finishing touch, the crowning glory that made our learning experience truly unforgettable. We hung on to her every word, absorbing her teachings with enthusiasm and eagerness, much like starving children with insatiable appetites, devouring whatever was being served. Our young brains were easily porous to her words. So, it was no wonder that a statement she made in class altered my perception of myself and my body.
“If you don’t see your period each month as a lady, you’re incomplete. You only have to be pregnant for that to happen.” My flawless teacher, whose words were considered the gospel to a naive class of 11-14-year-olds, said in one of her classes.
I had just barely begun to understand my body when I noticed something was off. Unlike my peers, I had already experienced irregular periods. My period would come and go without warning; I’d go without periods, only for it to return back quietly like a thief in the night. So, at 12 years old, I was petrified, immediately categorising myself as insufficient—not fit to be called a woman. Perhaps God had run out of clay while moulding and creating me.
However, at age 13, after changing schools for my senior year, my periods became regular. My fears were abated and I was, after all, a complete lady. Ha! See who had the last laugh, beautiful teacher.
Unfortunately, my joy was short-lived as the irregularities started again the next year, causing my mum significant worries. She had not experienced anything of such before, and I could sense her wondering what had gone wrong. What was the explanation for such? Maybe it was a penalty for a sin committed in the past. Perhaps, my young mind wondered, it was a discipline for hiding my pills under my bed rather than taking them when I was ill. Or no, it was certainly that one time I went to bed without praying. Whatever it was, I felt God was offended with me.
During visiting days while I was a boarder, my mum’s inquisitive face would search my body, silently asking about my period. If I had had it, a wide smile would break out on her face; if not, her mood would instantly change. Regardless of her worries, she never made me feel inadequate or blamed me. My sweet, sweet mother. While I felt my mum’s concerns, I didn’t understand the wider implications until I did my research during one of my holiday breaks as a 15-year-old. My Google research revealed that fluctuations can disrupt the delicate balance of the menstrual cycle, leading to irregular periods, while ovulation problems can prevent the release of eggs from the ovaries, resulting in absent or infrequent periods.
I explored deeply, and then I found it: the reason I was considered incomplete—irregular periods can be a symptom of underlying ovulation problems which can affect fertility, making it challenging for individuals to conceive. Oh.
In university, the irregularities persisted—it continued, seven months off, five months on. Once, it went almost a year without showing up. At 19, tired of popping birth control pills to regulate my period, she grabbed me and marched to a well-known medic. He referred me to a laboratory, but not before offering his “honest” opinion: marriage at a young age so as to prevent infertility at a later age. I was pissed and taken aback. So, that was the only solution—marriage. I had school, a career, and aspirations that didn’t involve marriage. My mum considered the idea but ultimately decided getting married at that age was out of the question; however, she asked me to keep an open mind for age 20. She is a mother, after all.
I’m now past 19 and 20 and still not married yet. Hypothesis 1, check!
Hypothesis 2
Children are regarded as a blessing in an African home, and the lack thereof usually causes significant emotional distress, which may manifest as stress, anxiety, or depression. Case in point: the Nollywood series “Roses and Ivy” and my paternal cousin. According to research, a family history of infertility, early menopause, or other reproductive issues can increase a woman’s risk. When my aunt’s first daughter went years without getting pregnant—and in the rare cases she did, it usually ended in miscarriage—I began to have my suspicions. During a family gathering, I realized that her struggles stemmed from adolescent irregularities and missing periods, similar to my own experiences. Hypothesis 2, check.
Hypothesis 3:
I have always endeavoured to have safe sex with my partner. However, we have had few slips that would have inherently led to pregnancy. However, it hasn’t ever happened. (okay, I might just be overthinking this.)
Hypothesis 3, check!
In conclusion…
I love children. I love their laughter. Their innocence. Their curiosity. My younger siblings have my mumu button, and I always prioritize them. However, that’s where my nurturing instincts end. While I cherish children, I don’t think I have the mental capacity and attention span to take care of them. My tendency to zone out a lot and my absent-minded nature make me question my ability to provide the necessary care.
Giving birth and raising children involves more than the heartwarming images we see online. It demands a specific mindset, dedication, and sacrifices that feel overwhelming. Imagine being a response for another human for 18 years and more; whew! Sometimes, I wonder if I’d make a great mother. As I continue to undergo tests to understand my body, I sincerely don’t mind the possibility of not having children. (_Whispers_ Let’s keep this between us—my mom doesn’t need to know just yet).
Perhaps, as I grow older, my perspective will evolve. For now, I’m committed to finding my own sense of purpose and identity. I’m also embracing the uncertainty, content with my feelings on the matter, learning to love myself, fertility and all.
With love,
The ranter.
