… even if I remember everyone elses’ and the phone number from the address I lived at in university, too.

So it’s funny that I even realized that it will be six months ago tomorrow that I had one of the worst days of my life.

I’d like to say a lot has changed since then, but life has been pretty much the way it always was. I work, I spend time with my friends and family, and I can’t sleep worth a damn.

Same girl I always was.

Except.

Now there are the migraines and the body temperature fluctuations and the low iron and the whacked-out blood sugar and the rashes and the infections and the bone pain and the cramping, too.

But life goes on.

Right?

It has to.

That’s what I believe in order to keep walking through all of this.

And this is what I wrote that night, six months ago.

***

I was told by a specialist today, after rounds of tests and examinations and referrals, that there was 0% chance I would ever bear children.

There was lots of stuff after that, too, but I assume that will sink in later. I heard her talking about rare autoimmune disorder and nonfunctioning systems and shutdown and likely been this way your whole life.

I did. I listened really well.

And then she said, “Any questions?”

“You can’t do anything?” Heart beating.

“Not about that. I don’t like telling anyone your age things like this, especially when you’re not married and you don’t have any children yet. But this is not something your body can do. If I said it could, I’d be lying, and that’s not fair at all. I mean, you could try donor eggs, but your body would likely attack them. I’m very sorry.”

Alright.

Stand up now, smile, go make your follow-up appointment, walk out the door, go to the elevator. Where is the elevator? Take the stairs.

Eleven floors down. Slowly. Call your mom, apologize. She says not to, through tears. Do it anyway.

Walk home.

Sit down on the couch. Are you crying? You’re crying. Nobody else is here, go ahead.

No.

Tell your roommates as they arrive home. Matter of fact. Just say it. Smile. Shaking, a little.

You should eat dinner. You didn’t eat today. Think of what you want to eat. What do you want?

Then it hits you like a hard, silent, dark wall.

Not 20%. Not 10%. There is 0% chance.

She said depression would not be unheard of. Grieving. Letting go. Issues with relationships. Did I have a boyfriend? Was I planning to have children one day, anyway?

No. And oh, yes yes yes.

In my head and heart, that was going to be the culmination of 22 years of feeding and rocking and diapering and caring for hundreds of little ones who were not my own, from sweet babies who belonged to friends and family, to the frail bodies I held in hospital, to the smudgy-faced toddlers I corralled to give their moms a break at camp.

An absolute natural, everyone said.

Nature says otherwise.

I am trying so hard to keep feeling lucky, because I know that overall, in the big picture, I sure am.

But all I have right now is just keep breathing.

***

Guess what?

I still am.