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Archive for the ‘Grief and Loss’ 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.

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(Less Than Informed) Consent

I’ve been slow putting the blog back together, not knowing what to write about, what to republish, what to leave gone.

The topic of relinquishment and choice has come up in fairly heated conversations in more than one adoption group recently. And when I say recently I mean the last few days. It’s as if somewhere an alarm went off alerting people that this is the week for debating relinquishment.

There have been those who call it selfless, heroic, and courageous. There are those who call it abandonment, irresponsible. In both camps there are those who insist on reminding everyone we chose this.  We either chose it by signing relinquishment forms or we chose it by being incapable of parenting and having the state intervene. No room for nuance, no room for context. Simple. Dismissive. Choice.

It’s not that simple. Nothing ever is. Sure somewhere there is probably at least one mom who made a clear cut choice to relinquish. And sure somewhere there is probably at least one mom who made a clear cut choice not to work her plan and thus lost her parental rights. But for a majority of people there is no clear cut binary of choice and non-choice. There’s a continuum of coercion and we fall somewhere along it.

I was 17, in high school, and unemployed when I got pregnant. I was lucky in that I found out I was pregnant fairly early in the pregnancy, however I had less than 9 months to figure out how to parent my son.  I found a job, but minimum wage after school and on weekends wasn’t (and still isn’t) a lot even though I was in a state with one of the highest minimum wages.

My self worth was beat down on all fronts.

My boyfriend became distant. I no longer blame him, he was dealing with the same crisis I was, but since the fetus wasn’t in his body he had the option to check out. My best friend dropped me without a second thought. My boyfriend’s family called me names.I treated poorly at my prenatal appointments and reminded repeatedly that my insurance, my father’s insurance, would not cover the baby. I was made to feel like the doctors were doing me a favor in seeing me rather than doing their job.

My parents didn’t really talk to me about parenting or about adoption, come to think of it they didn’t talk to me much those nine months. I remember My father talking to me about the possibility that I’d be kicked out of school. (Which I now know would be in violation of title IX, but he was basing it on how things were done when he was in school). About how I needed to be careful around my male friends so people at school didn’t associate them with “my condition”. And that my parents and sisters would not be providing child care should I keep my baby. I don’t remember my mom saying anything. But really, what do you say when your 17 year old tells you she’s pregnant?

I called several places for help. One called back. An adoption facilitation services which advertised “pregnancy counseling”. I know now that it should have been called adoption counseling, but at the time I was grateful they returned my call. I answered their questions, gave them access to my medical records, they sent me profiles to pick parents for my child. Adoption was a forgone conclusion. At one point during the process I said I wanted to parent and I was threatened with foster care.

I now know they can’t take my child because I refuse to relinquish. I now know my parents would’ve helped me. I now know I could’ve done it. I now know there are programs to help. I now know I could’ve parented. I now know there were other options.

I now know so many things that would’ve been helpful to know then. But no one was there to tell me. No one was there to help.

So yes, I made a choice. But it wasn’t a fully informed choice. It wasn’t free of coercion. It doesn’t negate my pain and grief. It doesn’t make Kidlet any less my son regardless of legalities.

August 13 2001

In August of 2001 I was pregnant. My sister was out of town leaving her car with me. The morning of the 13th started out pretty unremarkable. I stopped and checked my sister’s mail the headed to the clinic for my check up.

After waiting for the typical forever a nurse took my vitals and showed me to an exam room where I waited to be seen by a random OBGYN. I never saw the same doctor, but it didn’t really matter since they all treated me with the same indifference. Ah the joys of a military hospital.

The doc du jour did a quick exam and left the room speaking only a handful of words if any at all. I took that as my cue to leave.

As I walked away from the clinic the nurse who’d taken my vitals stopped me. Apparently the doctor wanted me to go to report to Labor & Delivery.

Once again the staff barely spoke to me. I had no idea why I was there. They connected me to some machines and drew the curtain around my bed.

On the other side of the curtain was another pregnant 18 year old. Only she was married to a soldier while I was the unmarried daughter of one. Perhaps this is why the staff actually explained their procedures to her, answered her questions, and generally treated her like a human being.

I called my father at some point and he came down for awhile. We were told nothing would be happening for awhile so he went home.

I tried to call the parents I’d chosen for my son but couldn’t from the hospital so I had my mom call from home. (Looking back I’d hashtag this as: Holy no cell phone inconvenience batman)

I also called my boyfriend to let him know where I was.

They hooked me up to pitocin and stripped my membranes (broke my water) at least twice. Sometime after 11 that night more phone calls were made to assemble the troops. It was time to start pushing.

And that is how I ended August 13, 2001. Alone behind a curtain scared, in pain, and waiting for my people to join me…

It’s Okay

It’s okay to cry

She told me as I fought back tears in her office. Just wanting the pain to subside. Not wanting to let it out. Not wanting it to be visible nor audible. Just gone.

And yet I repeated those words tonight to another. And I believed them as I typed them. But I still can’t embrace them.

It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to feel. It’s okay to hurt. It’s okay to grieve.

How many repetitions before I can live these words? How many until I don’t need to remind myself it’s okay?

When will I not only know it’s ok, but also feel it’s okay?