They all say that I don’t know what I am doing
I say they don’t hardly understand
Running her hands through her hair, Devon could only let out a sigh as she stared at the laptop screen before her. Why was this so difficult? With all the advances in medicine, this should’ve been one of the problems that should have a simple solution.
In the weeks that followed since finding out about her new dilemma, she had spent a ton of late nights on the computer, searching up as many keyword phases as possible to solve her dilemma.
I’m sorry but there’s no way that you can carry a baby full-term as a result of the scar tissue resulting from the attack.
Those words continue to haunt her as it couldn’t be the truth. There had to be some way, no matter what.
There were people who kept telling her that she just needed to let it go, and be thankful that she was alright and able to move forward without any physical side effects. These same people kept telling her to focus on getting better on the emotional side, and finding her way through the emotions that remained.
Truthfully speaking, she hadn’t been as close with Ryan since then, feeling a tinge of fear through her body. She wanted to believe in their words, and do as they instructed. However, she couldn’t do that as part of the emotional damage, perhaps the majority that remained, was stuck on that one phrase the doctor had told her.
She thought about the idea of adopting, but that wouldn’t feel the same. While she had never been interested in motherhood, she found herself with an interest now that she had someone like Ryan to share her life with. Adopting someone else’s child wouldn’t be the same, as she wanted to have someone with their characteristics, personally, appearance in their lives.
She also thought about the idea of surrogacy, in having someone else carry the baby for the second and third trimesters. However, she wasn’t sure if she’d be comfortable with putting someone, whether she knew the person beforehand or not, in that position to do that for her. It’d be difficult to watch that person for the six months, or however long that it’d require. She wasn’t also sure if she’d be comfortable with her baby inside another woman’s womb.
Letting out a sigh, she checked out a couple different websites, reading stories from other woman who were in similar situations, having scar tissue whether due to a previous attack or a c-section. She thought it over, wondering if she could possibly go through a pregnancy, having the baby by c-section. There seemed to be many other successful woman through the years so why was she any different?
There were many things in the world that are strongly suggested against due to a high level of challenge and adversity, but yet people overcame those odds. Why was she so different?
Though she had to admit that some of the possible complications did scare her. What if the baby didn’t pass down to the uterus through the fallopian tube and it ruptured? What if she suffered a uterine rupture? She knew the severity of the possible situations, and wonder if that risk was worth having a baby.
Perhaps it’d just be best to adopt if she was to have a family with Ryan.
“Hey, is everything okay?” She hears and quickly closes her laptop, spinning around to see the source of the voice. She felt her breath hitch in her throat as she saw Mark standing there.
“Everything is fine, sir,” she answers, still feeling the butterflies flutter in her stomach. How much of her computer screen had Mark read?
“You seem like you’re upset about something, dear. Do you want to talk about it?” She knew that talking about it could probably help. Perhaps Mark could offer some advice, or perhaps he knew someone that had been through a similar situation. However, was this a good topic to bring up with your future father-in-law?
“I’d rather not talk about, sir.” He shakes his head, understanding.
“That’s fine, Devon. You don’t have to be forced into talking about anything that you don’t want to talk about. But I will tell you this – no more of calling me ‘sir’, okay?” She smiles and shakes her head yes, butterflies instantly relived from her stomach.
“Sorry about that. I didn’t know what I should cal-”
“You can just call me Mark, or call me Dad, or leave nothing at all at the end of the sentence. Either way, it doesn’t matter to me.” She shakes her head. She knew that she couldn’t call him dad – it wasn’t a word that she could warm up to. With that in mind, Mark was what it was going to be.
“I’ll remember that.” He then heads out of the room, leaning against he wall with a deep breath.
He hadn’t mentioned it, but he noticed the words on the screen. He knew exactly what she had been looking up before his entrance into the room. He was very aware of what had happened to her, and felt bad beyond words. He also didn’t know how to explain or even touch the fact that she couldn’t have a baby of our own.