Embryos and Choice

A friend of mine shared with me over the phone the other day that when she received the message I wrote her about my pregnancy, her first thought wasn't "Oh I'm so happy for Katie," It was "I love those babies!" She said, "I mean I don't want to get all weird and pro-life on you, but I just felt like I fell in love with them as soon as I know they existed." I was taken aback, and have since been mulling on this. For I am pro-choice, always have been, and yet I have loved the little beings inside me all seven times I've been pregnant from the moment I knew they existed, maybe even before, and that has never threatened my belief in a woman's right to terminate a pregnancy.

I believe in the right to choose. I believe I asserted a piece of this right when I chose IVF. I asserted it again when we genetically tested the 12 embryos and donated the 9 that were chromosomally abnormal to the clinic to calibrate their machines. We will at some point make a choice about the one embryo that sits in a freezer at our clinic. Do I believe that all of those embryos were babies? Do I believe that in the five miscarriages I endured I passed dead babies? No. and Yet, they weren't just a tiny collection of cells without meaning, without import.

The embryos from which my twins grew, six days after conception.

Those little pinpricks of light, about the size of a head of a pin, carry much potential. In them are the codes for life! Human life. But it is just that, potential. There are many steps that occur between conception and birth that create a child. I wanted each of those potential babies so badly, and I felt each time that there was a baby spirit with me. I borrow from many other teachers and traditions in the idea I am about to put forth: I don't believe that the spirits that came to visit me with each of those pregnancies were fully inside their bodies. Liliana Barzola Read described it to me as a thin golden chord that connects the spirit to those early embryos, almost the way you feel connected to your partner or parent, and that as an embryo grows the chord grows thicker and stronger until sometime near birth the spirit fully inhabits the body. Peggy Orenstein in Waiting for Daisy describes a Japanese idea that we are all from the water, and that our spirits sort of gradually emerge from the water, entering our bodies more and more fully as the embryos develop, as children grow. In this tradition, the spirit doesn't fully step out of those primordial waters and fully stay in the body until about age 7 or 8. In these ideas there is not one clear moment in which "life begins." It is a gradually unfolding process of leaving heaven for earth. This idea feels right to me. Each time I lost a pregnancy, I felt like I had lost a baby, because for me, I had. I had lost, again, the child I hoped to have, and it was devastating. The physical miscarriages, although varying in intensity and gruesomeness, never matched up to the catastrophe of my emotional suffering. And each time I would try in the blood and ropes of uterine lining to find the embryo, and I never could- it was too small. I do not think the journey those spirit babies made was traumatic for them- I believe they stuck a toe out of the primordial waters, and said, hmmm, no thanks. It was me who suffered, but I do not blame them.

A private ceremony to honor one of my first trimester losses.

Do I believe that people who choose abortion are baby killers? No. Do I believe that life begins at conception? Yes, I do. Some glimmering esoteric piece of life begins at conception- possibly even before, but I do not believe that means that a woman who is not ready is obligated to nurture that speck of possibility into a child. To carry a child to term- to be pregnant for 10 months, to give birth, is a public, irrevocably life changing journey, whether or not that mother decides to keep that baby or give it up for adoption. I would argue that abortion should also carry weight, as I do see it as terminating life, but it is a private event, and small. Just as my first trimester losses cannot be compared to second trimester losses, stillbirth, or SIDs, early abortions cannot be compared to infanticide, and it is a leap of imagination to call women who choose early abortion baby killers.

I don't think there will ever be consensus on the abortion debate, but I do think that if we on the pro-choice side don't acknowledge that there is magic, potential, spirit involved in the conception of child, we are doing everyone a disservice. No one who believes that life begins at conception will ever be convinced otherwise, but perhaps there is room to talk about the life of the mother, to talk about the impossible fragility of early pregnancy, to talk the quality of life that child would have if brought into the world.

I believe that there is a way to honor an early pregnancy, and let it go. I believe that it is a woman's right to choose whether or not she wants to carry a baby to term, keep that baby and raise it as her own, or give it to another in adoption. I believe that all of those decisions are monumental and life altering and should not be taken lightly. I believe that each woman deserves the right to make decisions regarding her own body and her own reproductive future.

In looking at the Guttmacher Institute's Fact sheet on abortion (http://www.guttmacher.org/pubs/fb_induced_abortion.html), there is much that stands out to me. 89% of all abortions in the United States occur before 12 weeks gestation and greater than 60% occur before 8 weeks gestation. According to Baby Center, at 8 weeks an embryo is about the size of a kidney bean (http://www.babycenter.com/6_your-pregnancy-8-weeks_1097.bc) and weighs about four hundredths of an ounce. This is a far cry from a baby. 33% of abortions occur before seven weeks, and this number includes people who choose plan B, so it may or may not have been an actual abortion as this occurs before a pregnancy is confirmed. 42% of women seeking abortion have incomes below the federal poverty line, and 61% of women seeking abortion already have one or more children. I can imagine that giving a baby up for adoption would be near impossible when you already have children who would be cognisant of a sibling, and are you going to be the one to tell that mom she HAS to have another kid? The good news is that Instances of abortion are currently at their lowest since 1973, which is thought to be attributable to better access to and education about contraception (Go Planned Parenthood!). 

I know that there are families who desperately want children, and find it hard to stomach that other people would choose to terminate pregnancies that could result in live children. I was there, for many, many years. But even so, I would never have insisted that another woman must unwillingly give her body over to pregnancy and childbirth because I couldn't. We all have our own journey, with our own struggles, and it doesn't come out tit for tat. I know that it is better for our society that the children who come into this world be wanted and well cared for, born to women who willingly bore them, whether to parent them or give them up for adoption. There is nothing to be gained by forcing women to continue pregnancies they do not want to see to fruition. I know that some argue, adoption, adoption, adoption, but when you step back and think about what that means for a birth mother, is that truly something to force upon someone unwillingly? 

And I come back to the notion of choice. Because in the end it isn't so much a matter of wrong vs right, but a matter of giving women agency over their own bodies and futures. I am so grateful for the technology and choices available to me that gave me these two squiggly 20 week old babies moving all around inside me. I think that all women should have access to the health care they need to make choices about their reproductive future, whether that be to enable them to have children, or to prevent them from doing so. We all deserve to have a choice.

19 weeks with twins.

Vulnerability

“I define vulnerability as uncertainty, risk and emotional exposure. With that definition in mind, let’s think about love. Waking up every day and loving someone who may or may not love us back, whose safety we can’t ensure, who may stay in our lives or may leave without a moment’s notice, who may be loyal to the day they die or betray us tomorrow — that’s vulnerability.” - Brene Brown

Do you know Brene Brown? If you don't, stop reading this instant and go watch this video instead.  I am in a scary, vulnerable place right now. I want to open my heart up to these little beings inside me that could become babies, I want to love them, even though they may not stay, and yet I can't seem to let myself.  I am anxious and scared and stressed. I know there is no way to protect myself from the pain if I miscarry again. As Brene Brown says, I can't beat vulnerability to the punch by not getting excited. But. I don't want to miscarry again. I don't want o to bleed. I don't want to feel that sadness, that emptiness, that physical sensation. I am terrified. Here I am though- I chose to pursue these fertility treatments knowing there are no guarantees, knowing that choosing this path was to choose the possibility of another loss. I would like to experience more joy in my current pregnancy. It seems I am in need of release, something to loosen this knot in my chest, my belly. I feel like I am curling in a ball to protect myself, but maybe what I really need is to get a little more vulnerable, let go, cry. All I can really do though is try to be here, try to hang with all these scary emotions each step of the way.

Just got my second beta results back. 689.1 All is well.

"Being angry doesn’t make you a bad person, just someone with unmet needs."

Caden woke up at 4:45 this morning. To him it was 5:45, which is early, but almost a reasonable time to get up. Today, however, is Daylight Savings Time, an evil wrought upon parents with small children. Unmet needs? Yes. I really needed to sleep today. Cameron got up with Caden to try and let me sleep a little more, but I couldn’t get on top of my thump thump thump anxious heart and wound up getting out of bed. I went to a meditation thing, and sat on a cushion and breathed and calmed a little, but then there was a discussion part where people aired their woes in relation to practice and I wanted to say it, to tell those strangers, “I am pregnant, and I am scared.” I sat there, my heart racing, my hands growing heavy, anxiety creeping up my spine anticipating my turn to speak. But when everyone had gone except for me, the facilitator said “Well, we’ve actually gone over time so we’ll have to stop there.” What? I was pissed! Time spent in meditation flew out the window.


Back at home Cameron went to get his hair cut and I tried to put Caden down for a nap. His body relaxed against mine as we read Shel Silverstein poems, and he asked for “It’s Time for Sleep, My Love," so I thought I was golden, but sleep was to play no part in his afternoon. Nothing triggers me like no nap. My eyes were heavy, my tongue slow, my limbs dragging. I did not want to give up the nap. I shoved him into some warm clothes, pulled out the stroller, and started walking. Surely he would sleep. Resentful that I was walking instead of sleeping, I stomped, breathing heavy, trying to enjoy the gusty leaves and sunshine, but just stayed stuck in anger. I furiously scrolled through my phone for something calming to listen to. Dharma talks, guided meditations, positive affirmations, it was all just pissing me off. I walked into the wind,  pushing my kid up a hill, as he sang and swung his feet, being cute, but I couldn’t see it. He doesn’t nap every day anymore, and I know I need to just surrender to the unpredicatability, but the allure of a quiet house, time to rest my head. I find it hard to let that go, so I kept walking, growing ever more angry with him. I reached a point where I was scared to go home because I was so angry, that I was scared I would be an evil horrible monster to my child should he be set free from his stroller. I finally settled on Ray LaMontangue on the headphones and told Caden I would be unavailable for conversation. I kept walking until my husband got home and took over and then, blissfully, I got to sleep for half an hour.

I have been trying, since Caden turned two, to find a way to parent my child that is loving and gentle, yet also sets firm boundaries. I read the book Peaceful Parent, Happy Kids, and it resonated deeply with me. It is based on a few guiding principles, one that you must model appropriate emotional regulation for your child to learn how to regulate their own response to their emotions, and two, that the more connected you are to your child the more they will listen and respond to you. When I’ve got my act together, I feel really great about parenting in this style. When I am calm and can provide a safe container for my son to have all the big emotions he has, when I put down my phone and stay present with him, when I find ways for him to help me cook, when I take the time to look in his eyes when he’s telling me a story, it’s the best. Heart melting and warm and yummy. The thing is, this philosophy of parenting asks you to dig deep. To find your triggers, stay calm, take care of yourself, stay present. It is hard inner work. And since we have been going through infertility treatments, it has become even harder to stay present with my kid as I fret over the result of this test, day dream about more children, take time many times a day to offer support t friends on line going through all of this with me. Regulating my emotional responses has been near impossible as my hormones have fluxuated, soaring and crashing. And now that I am a little pregnant, my anxiety is sky rocketing. I am tired and hungry and scared, and I am angry a lot. Recently this article came across my facebook feed: "Healthy ways of dealing with anger in the family and in yourself," and I figured I should give it a read. It was helpful in that, like everything Genevieve Simperingham writes, she advocates compassion with oneself and an exploration of the deeper sources of our anger. The line that struck me the most,” Being angry doesn’t make you a bad person, just someone with unmet needs.” When I am angry with my son, my miracle, the baby I prayed and cried and waited for for so long, I feel terrible about myself, so I need people to tell me I’m not a bad person. I need reminders to forgive myself.

So how do we go about meeting those unmet needs? We tried. My husband let me sleep in. He gave me the space to go to a meditation session. Maybe there was something else I needed that I was not even aware of. I have so much support in my life, and yet I am struggling. It is such a strange dichotomy to be trying so hard to bring another child into this world, maybe even two, and at the same time be struggling so much with the child I have. Many buddhist teachers advocate to stay present with these uncomfortable feelings, the anger, the anxiety, the self loathing, to sit with them, accept them, befriend them, not try to change then, but witness what the power of self -compassion and accepting life as it is can do. I’m not sure I know how to do that. I love my son so fiercely, and want to do right by him, and it is this same ferocity, this fire, that gets me into trouble. And he has it, too, man. My boy is all fire.

Lucky Number 7?

I am pregnant. It's four in the morning, rain pouring down, and my third pee test shows a dark second line. It's just me in the dark with a speck of baby, maybe two? growing inside me. Holy Shit. Yesterday was my first positive test, a faint line, and then one of those digital tests that says clearly "Pregnant." Pounding heart, jittery grin. I left it on the kitchen counter so I could keep looking at it, but then the elation began to fade. Really, am I really pregnant? And worse, does it mean anything? This is my seventh pregnancy, even though I have just one little guy sleeping soundly in his bed. Is it ridiculous to think that I can have another one? Another soft downy head asleep on my chest? Screaming at two am, making funny grunts and coos nursing, learning to smile and laugh and walk and talk. I have been reminded that science is behind me- these embryos inside me are genetically tested, they are chromosomally normal, even though most of the embryos we made through our IVF process were not. It is possible, that this will happen. I hear that in Judaism, seven is sacred, and signifies completion. Maybe this seventh pregnancy is the one that will complete our family. I hope. I can hope.