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In an essay for Harper's Magazine , the former Girls star said she's coming to terms with the fact that becoming a mother is going to be different than she imagined. Lena Dunham is opening up about how she learned she'll never have a biological child of her own. In a raw, vulnerable essay penned for Harper's Magazine , she detailed her unsuccessful experience with in vitro fertilization IVF and how it impacted her emotionally. Dunham started the essay by recounting her difficult decision to undergo a hysterectomy at 31 years old. Before then, motherhood had seemed likely but not urgent, as inevitable as growing out of jean shorts, but in the days after my surgery, I became keenly obsessed with it. Essay Harper

The moment I lost my fertility I started searching for a baby. At age thirty-one, after almost two decades of chronic pain caused by endometriosis and its little-studied ravages, I had my uterus, my cervix, and one of my ovaries removed.

Before then, motherhood had seemed likely but not urgent, as inevitable as growing out of jean shorts, but in the days after my surgery I became keenly obsessed with it. Bedbound and Harpe to the five small laparoscopic holes in my abdomen, I scrolled through adoption websites as if they were furniture outlets.

If I could no longer grow a baby Essay Harper my womb, I could at least get one elsewhere, and fast.

But there were a few obstacles. Some of the sites seemed too Christian to want me; Essay Harper too back-alley for me to want them. Plus, I could barely move, and I was tapering off opioids, so how was I going to handle a six-week trip to some foreign country to collect the child that I did not doubt was my God-given right?

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Worse yet, they were being ableist and old-fashioned. What were five holes in my stomach and a Vicodin habit twenty milligrams deep? Michael Jackson Harpeg his baby from a hotel balcony for everyone to see, and he got to keep it. Who was going to question me? As an interim measure, I adopted hairless cats. Two Essay Harper them.

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My new boyfriend called the cats the Essay Harper wontons, which I took as a sign that he would make a good father. Around this time, it became clear—first to everyone who knew me, and then, finally, to me—that Harpeer was addicted to benzodiazepines. And so I went to rehab, where I earnestly committed to becoming a woman worthy of the most fuck-you baby shower in American history.

I was in a hurry. I fantasized in the https://amazonia.fiocruz.br/scdp/blog/culture-and-selfaeesteem/emotional-intelligence-its-benefits.php of mounting evidence about a quick stay at the facility, a blessing from a doctor, and then—nine months later, give or take a few weeks of processing time—a child Essay Harper into my arms. The people who had doubted me would weep when they saw just how right this child looked nestled between my breasts.

My parents would feel complete in a way they had never dreamed possible; my father would come to believe in God after Essay Harper decades of agnosticism. I would receive nothing but praise on the internet—for having Essay Harper, for never giving up, for sticking to my dream, for being a natural mother. But in practice, rehab really puts the brakes on baby plans. And in getting sober, I was realizing how sick I really was. The sight of pregnant women here to make me ill.

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Their bodies made me think of the stretch and tug of the false labor doctors had Essah before my hysterectomy, the way the pain sat in my back and climbed Essay Harper way up my spine in waves. While I was there, three of my close friends got pregnant.

Each told me she was hurt and confounded by my actions during those months.]