Child-free life vs child-free world? As more Australians embrace a child-free life, Insight explores the decision not to have kids, the stigma that comes with it, and the changing face of family. Watch Insight episode No Kids, No Problems? on SBS On Demand.
Since the age of 12, I was certain I did not want children . This was a conversation I made sure to have before getting engaged and married.
To me, having kids meant too much sacrifice of what I wanted to do and who I wanted to be.
I was 25 when I first started asking my doctor for a hysterectomy, a major surgery removing the uterus and often other reproductive organs, a procedure that would mean I would never become pregnant or have another period.
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I wanted the operation because my periods were becoming increasingly severe with age and drastically affecting my quality of life.
I experienced menorrhagia (heavy menstrual bleeding) since my late teens and simple actions like sneezing or coughing often led to sudden bleeding and the passing of blood clots the size of a 50c piece — requiring urgent and frequent bathroom trips.
I avoided leaving home, knowing that I could simply shower if heavy bleeding occurred. I picked clothes that I wouldn’t mind getting stained and always kept Panadol and heat packs nearby.
Since I worked mostly as a contractor, missing work meant losing pay, so I had to push through and continue working despite my pain and discomfort.
I felt my whole reproductive system was malfunctioning and — as I didn't want kids — it would not be used for its primary function.
Because of these reasons and given my family's history of hysterectomies due to fibroids, I wanted to remove my uterus.
When my doctor dismissed my request for a hysterectomy, I asked a few others — who also said no.
But they claimed I was too young or would eventually change my mind — despite it being a decision I had stuck by for over a decade.
Those physicians, who happened to be male, seemed to insist they understood me better than I knew myself.
About a year later, my gynaecologist recommended trying an IUD to help with my menorrhagia. Initially, I doubted its effectiveness and needed reassurance that it was a suitable option.
The pain I experienced after the insertion, which was done under general anaesthesia, felt like the worst period I ever had. Over-the-counter painkillers were supposed to be sufficient, but they provided no real relief.
However, the IUD did prove effective; my periods became less painful and there was a noticeable reduction in clotting.
And for the next three and a half years, my reproductive health was much easier to manage.
But at 30, I experienced an unintended and unwanted pregnancy after the IUD failed.
I had just come home from work on a Friday when I started cramping and bleeding at the front door. I finished my period about a week before and something just didn't feel right.
I told my then-husband we needed to go to the hospital.
Pregnancy was the last thing on my mind. I thought my IUD had maybe perforated my uterus.
At the hospital, pregnancy was confirmed after blood and urine tests.
I felt like my body had betrayed me. I never wanted children and had followed the medical advice I'd been given by getting an IUD when I was denied a hysterectomy.
I was furious. White, hot, incandescent rage.
The hospital staff suspected I was experiencing a miscarriage at that time, but an ultrasound was needed to confirm.
And as all the sonographers had gone home for the weekend, I was told to wait until Monday for an ultrasound appointment but to return to hospital if the cramping and bleeding worsened.
That weekend I was extremely anxious.
I was brought up in Queensland, where abortion was at the time illegal and wasn't legalised until 2018, four years later.
I was used to abortion being a criminal offence, so I questioned whether, in the absence of a miscarriage, access to abortion was even a possibility.
But after thorough online research, I realised I could legally get an abortion where I was living in Western Australia.
But my greatest concern during that weekend was experiencing an ectopic pregnancy, which is when a pregnancy grows outside inside the fallopian tube (or outside of the uterus) and it can be life-threatening if not diagnosed in time.
I composed a letter outlining my wishes, which I had both signed and witnessed, as I did not want any confusion about my medical decision, should I be unable to communicate that.
In it, I clarified that I did not wish to continue the pregnancy and asked the medical team to end it and put my well-being first should any complications arise.
At my ultrasound appointment on Monday morning, the monitor revealed nothing; the pregnancy had resolved naturally.
I felt immense relief that it was over and I would not need an abortion.
After my miscarriage, I returned to my original gynaecologist, still deeply distressed by everything that had happened.
Despite being on the most effective birth control available, I became pregnant — the so-called 1 per cent club I never wanted to join.
I no longer trusted IUDs or any less effective contraceptives. Once more, I requested a hysterectomy.
This time, with my then-husband present, the doctor took me seriously and suggested I get a second opinion, providing a referral.
Before the appointment with the second gynaecologist, I wrote down my reasons for wanting the surgery — determined to clearly communicate my case.
I was prepared to do anything to convince them to give me the surgery but to my surprise, they immediately agreed that I was old enough to make my own decision.
The only requirement was to wait six more months to be sure it wasn’t a reaction made in haste. That didn’t bother me — after waiting years already, another half-year felt insignificant.
After I'd recovered from the surgery, my concerns about potential contraceptive failure were alleviated and my quality of life significantly increased.
The absence of menstrual cycles eliminated major pain and discomfort — the need for pain relief medication, heat packs, and menstrual products, as well as stained clothing.
And I no longer required time away from work or urgent trips to the restroom due to symptoms like heavy bleeding or clotting.
Getting a hysterectomy made my life much easier in some ways. I've also saved so much money on not having to buy mountains of painkillers and pads.
It's now been almost 12 years, and I have never regretted having the surgery. Not once. Not even when I got divorced.
I knew I was doing what was right for me and I have never doubted my childfree status.
I think it would have been almost impossible for me to do all the things I wanted to do in my life — including earning three degrees, roller skating, indulging my passion for concerts — if I had children to provide and care for.
My life isn't overtaken or defined by parenthood, and I don't have to worry about the things most parents do: homework, if my kid is being bullied, or if they are the bully, school trips, after-school care, weekend sports. The list is endless.
And because I don't have the usual expenses that come with having children, I can regularly donate to seven or eight charities.
I also like that because I have a bit more time, I can do more for my family and community; looking after my niece in a pinch, helping my grandparents with their aged care and I have recently become a Justice of the Peace.
From my perspective, it remains concerning that women do not have full bodily autonomy, are often infantilised by medical professionals, and must contend with ongoing medical misogyny and bias.
I had to go through an IUD failure, a pregnancy, and a miscarriage before my doctors approved a hysterectomy.
I don't believe people should have to endure such experiences to get appropriate healthcare outcomes.
And for more stories on sex, relationships, health, wealth, grief and more, head to Insightful — an SBS podcast series hosted by Kumi Taguchi. Follow us on the SBS Audio App , Apple Podcasts , Spotify , or wherever you get your podcasts.
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