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Archive for the ‘Family’ Category

Because Of Course

I once read (in a peer reviewed academic article) that moms who have relinquished experience secondary infertility at higher rates than the general population.

I have several hypotheses as to why this might be so, but I have no data to back any of them up and I’m not sure that right now my hypotheses matter.

What I do know is that right now I’m struggling with feelings and self hate. If I believed in God maybe I could foist the hate in his or her direction, but I don’t so instead I am the recipient of my own emotion.

Did you know you could have PCOS without having any actual ovarian cysts? Based on the tests I’ve had, the books I’ve read, the doctors I’ve seen, and yes some unwise google searches it’s not going to be easy for me to get pregnant now that I want to. Because of course it’s not. Either eating my feelings has made me fat and fucked up my hormones or my fucked up hormones have made me fat but either way I’m not in prime baby making shape. I was supposed to have a GYN follow up in January, but I chose to not attend. I’ll reschedule eventually. I will. I always do.

It’s quite possible I gave away my only shot at parenthood. It’s also quite possible that fear of repeat unplanned pregnancy led to me pumping myself full of hormones for the last 13 years which has me all out of whack now. Either way I did this to myself.

Sometimes It’s Hard

Sometimes it’s hard being a Black* Chick married to a White Guy.  Being a six hour plane ride from my family and only a 45 minute from his makes it harder.  We spend a lot of time with them which only increases the amount of time I spend in soley white spaces.  White, conservative, Christian spaces. It takes a lot of energy to be the right kind of me for that. I always end the evening drained. I don’t say this to play the martyr. I LOVE my sister-in-law even if she was born in the 90s and I have to exclaim “WHY ARE YOU SO YOUNG” way too often when she doesn’t immediately understand my pop culture references.

But sometimes, just sometimes, I wish I had (more) Black friends.

School is a bit more diverse, but there are no other Black social work doctoral students. Chinese, Korean, Japanese, White, Indian (from India), Mexican, Latino American but I’m the only Black. It’s great to be around such diversity the international components and perspectives are great.

But I wish I had (more) Black friends.

I wish I could talk about white privilege without having to qualify it and jump to intersectionality to quell the “but I’m not as privileged as…” comments. I wish I could talk mention racism without having to immediately apologize.

I’m tired of conversations like the one I had yesterday.

“I’m not saying he’s a racist I’m saying what he said was racist.”

“lets say…condescending…or problematic…”

“uhhh it was racist”

“thats not helpful”

I wish I had Black friends.

I want to go see Dear White People. TeacherMan admits he thinks it may make him uncomfortable**. I know how that feels. I don’t want to be the cause of that so I told him I’d go see it alone. This upsets him.

I wish I had Black friends.

*I used to use the term Black-ish, but now thats a tv show. so yeah.

**Not the word he used but I can’t remember the exact word so close enough.

August 14 2001

It took some doing but all the calls were called and the arrangements arranged and all that was left was for a baby to be born.

If only it was that easy.

Amidst the contracting and pushing people showed up. My mom, my boyfriend, his aunt who’d driven him…maybe more I don’t really remember.

There was also a steady stream of strangers coming in to check this or that as is the joy of giving birth at a teaching hospital. I don’t remember much about them either, but why should I they barely spoke to me. Until, that is, one of the strangers brought me a paper to sign.

Turns out I was going to need a Caesarian. I remember asking why and being gruffly told if I didn’t either I or the baby or both would die. My mom ended up being the one to go into the operating room with me. I’m glad because she was able to joke with me when things got scary. For instance when I heard a crash and then “ooppss” or when a voice said “whats that?” both of which are things you don’t want to hear while you’re cut open on a table.

I knew he was finally out not from some announcement. No one said “it’s a boy” or “congratulations” or even “he’s okay” the words I heard instead were

He’s white

I guess dominant and recessive genes aren’t something doctors are taught in med school.

Momma was the first to hold him and she held him near my face so I could see him. And while the operation had felt like it had taken forever the moments i had looking at my baby were gone too soon. They whisked him off to the nursery while they finished sewing me up.

I spent most of the rest of that day in the recovery room area offering to share my popsicles with orderlies (blame it on the morphine), napping, and waiting for my baby’s parents to arrive.