It started around age 13, a physical pain that just wouldn?t go away. It was hard to pinpoint, somewhere deep in my core. Some days it subsided, then for no reason at all, I?d be in agony again. I experienced extreme fatigue, bloating, vomiting and fainting spells. And I also dealt with the depression, frustration and fear that often accompany chronic pain. Little did I know, my mystery illness would strip me of something invaluable and irreplaceable. 
It took nearly three decades, but I finally received diagnoses that seem to fit?endometriosis, polycystic ovary syndrome (PCOS), pudendal nerve entrapment and suspected Hashimoto?s disease. These intimidating terms offered explanations and treatments, but no cure. And it was during one of what felt like hundreds of appointments that a specialist gently explained that due to the variety and severity of my symptoms, it was highly unlikely that I would ever be able to get pregnant. The grief settled in like concrete. I mostly blamed myself. Maybe, I thought, if I?d tried to have kids when I was younger, I would have had a shot; maybe if I?d fought harder for a diagnosis, I could have changed the outcome. My mourning confused me because I?d never been one-hundred-percent sure I even wanted kids. I wasn?t sure my grief even counted.
Regardless, it was certainly there. I was angry one moment, deeply depressed the next, anxious and panicky the next. It manifested physically in a number of ways: back pain, weight gain and digestive ...