Rita's done it. She finally nailed her last nail in my coffin. Here lies, Andrea of normal body and a reproductive Goddess. Not. I'm about to go in, take my bad news like any solid person would take their lickings. I'm going in to be told I'm being put on yet another wonder drug for Rheumatoid Arthritis, yet this is the drug that will finally ruin any chance, thought, or glimmer of hope for having a baby. I'm mourning a baby I never had. Or is it that I'm mourning the fact that I'm truly no longer a tip top shape of female species? I'm sad that I will once again go through something horrendous like this alone. Instead of planning future plans of weddings and starting my own family, I have to now concentrate on which IUD will be best for me so I don't risk the chance of having a severely deformed baby. I'm now planning on how I no longer have hopes of any 32 year old female normalcy I'm entitled to. It's done, Rita won. She took my last hope and wish away. I'm empty and have nothing else to give, or anything else for her to take. I am in a serious mourning phase. I do know that. So in about 2 hours, I have to put a brave face on and sign off that I will take all precautionary measures not to have a baby on this wonder drug which will strip me of my hair, my liver, and my kidney function. I will listen to the shpeal on how this might slow the progression of my running rampant Rita. The doc doesn't get it. Nothing or no one stops Rita. Rita is me as a disease. She's a relentless and feisty bitch. She's out for revenge and she won.
So when I'm finally married, I'll now be able to say I can't have kids and get those awful "poor you" looks. I get those looks as it is now with my disease and my age. I feel alone and no one to talk to about this. It's been a rough go and the odds are not in my favor. Wish me luck and bravery as I walk in there.