I was never a person that really wanted children. I never wanted to babysit. I never volunteered to be a kindergarten class helper. I’ve been married twice and I’ve never felt the need to procreate. (I do like kids and kids like me. I just don’t want them to be my own.)

I was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease in 2005, and one of the first things the rheumatologist told me was that it carried the risk of having a baby with a fatal heart defect and that I would have a high risk pregnancy. That set my decision. No babies, ever.

I was also never a person that thought they’d freak out when they turned 40. And I didn’t…not really…not a full scale freak out anyway. I certainly did some reflection and life analysis and thought about what I wanted for the next 40 plus years. I accepted that I was not ever going to be younger than I was in that moment.

And then these two “nevers” collided and I realized what it might mean. I am over 40, I am married to someone that is older than I am, and, in all likelihood, I’m setting myself up to be elderly and alone. This is not a fun thought. It’s not set in stone, but it’s not fun to entertain it as a realistic possibility. Children take care of their parents, right? It’s part of the deal for a lifetime of care and support. You feed, clothe, and house them for a decade or several and then they return the favor. At least that’s how it works in my oversimplified, “perfect world” thinking. I chose not to have that support and I might have to deal with the consequences of that someday.

Reality check: I know fully well that we are not promised a day in this life and that there is no way of knowing how much time any one of us has. I still do not want and do not regret having children. But I don’t want to be alone either. I don’t want a stranger making decisions about my care and treatment. I don’t want to be the old lady in the nursing home without visitors. I don’t want to celebrate holidays by myself. I don’t want to be old and alone.

I do have a niece and a nephew who at (almost) 11 and 8 enthusiastically declare that they want to live next door to me when they grow up. That makes me happy on a deep soul level. However, I don’t want to assume they’ll accept responsibility for my elder care (or even that they’d be able to). I’m not sure there’s an answer to these concerns and I’m wondering if it’s something other people who’ve decided not to have children think about? Or it could be just me. Is it just me?

In the meantime, I’ll keep sending my niece and nephew really awesome presents. It can’t hurt.