In my younger years I wasn't sure and I wasn't worried. 'Maybe someday, maybe not,' I thought. Either option made me anxious, but the thought of having to choose scared me the most. Now that I'm in my 30s and this unknown illness doesn't seem to be going away, I try to avoid thinking about it.

Can I get pregnant? If I do can I carry a baby to full term? Would either of us be healthy enough to survive childbirth, and if so what kind of life would my baby be left with? Her health could be so much worse than mine if this illness is what they think it might be.

I want to cry when I have to think about it. Whenever I see or hear something that reminds me I may never get the chance to be a mother, I want to break down. We used to talk about adopting, but that was when I could still go for a run. That seems like a different lifetime. Now that any and all movement threatens to steal my breath and I can barely walk on a good day without having an attack, I don't know how I could care for a child. I can't even care for myself.

He's not doing well either. He's struggling through every day. Anxiety, depression, and thoughts of suicide threaten to end him. It's hard to watch. I try my best to take care of him, but honestly I need someone to take care of me. We love each other. We do our best, but in the constant struggle I can't imagine where we could possibly fit a child.

Then there's the question I dread the most. It shouldn't be acceptable to ask, and yet every woman hears it so often. "When are you going to start a family?" That and thoughtless comments like, "clocks ticking." Why are things like this considered ok? It's such a personal and sensitive topic with so many variables. Why is ok to turn my vulnerability into small talk? Close friends might be one thing, but extended family, acquaintances, total strangers? I can't be the only one who finds this invasive and unacceptable.

What motherhood means to me is heartache. It's a deep sad longing about what might have been, and likely will never be. It's the loneliness that threatens my future and the bitterness of knowing that the thing I wanted the most out of life, a chance at a happy family, is out of my reach.

At best control is fickle,

At worst just an illusion.

There's only one way out for all

Whether planned or unplanned.

At present I prefer the latter,

So this is what I'm stuck with,

My puzzle world I'm living in.

I sit. I think. I plan.

I have to come up with something,

Or things will only get worse.

I do.