Uppercase Woman

Unbalanced

So, I've been fuming ranting and raving stewing considering the whole last 48 hours on this blog.

I've been thinking about what would happen if any of the candidates actually DID come and read my blog post about losing Nicholas and Zachary and why it made me even more a believer in keeping abortion safe and legal (and rare). Then I started to think about how it would be if they read the comments, and then what I posted the next day, and I began to feel, well, frankly... embarrassed.

I'm not embarrassed by you guys--your comments were fine. I'm embarrassed at my behavior, at my cattiness, and at my reactionary response to the few people that asked me that simple question: why didn't I get a c-section? Of course the answer seems obvious, on the surface, either to those of us that have been through a similar situation, or have watched women like us go through it, or have a medical background, or have the Google MD that comes from years of infertility and loss.

But you know what? That does NOT describe everyone who reads this blog any more. There are a lot of people who come here who never had any trouble conceiving (and some who haven't even yet tried) who might honestly just not know the answer to that simple question: why didn't I have a c-section?

Instead of being calm and rational, and what I like to call the "Good Cecily" that handles discussions of the loss of my twins in a reasoned and sensible manner and just answers the question asked, I instead reacted to what I perceived to be the unasked questions or the unstated judgments. I didn't hear a simple "Why didn't you get a c-section?" I heard, "Bitch, why didn't you try harder to save your son's life and have a c-section?"

And you know what? NOBODY SAID THAT. I leaped to conclusions--many of us did--and instead of responding, I reacted. I got angry. I behaved badly. I engaged in an email debate that got ugly. And worse, when the person I engaged with extended what might have been an olive branch I could have possibly grasped onto (admittedly, it was a small branch, slightly wilted, without any actual leaves), instead of trying to bring peace to our discussion, I set the fucking branch on fire.

Additionally, I turned my back on the 110 supportive and positive comments I got and instead focused on the single commenter that was negative. How rotten is that? How ungrateful? How small minded and stupid?

I can't give a reasonable excuse for why this happened; I'd love to blame the hormones (seriously, this is the worst PMS I've ever experienced, and WHERE THE FUCK IS MY PERIOD ALREADY?) but that's not the only reason. In general lately I have been focusing on the dark and not able to see the light. I find that when my surface is scratched these days, what is underneath is bitterness and fear. I'm not letting love in. I'm not letting God in. I'm not letting the light in.

So I'm not sure I should be representing ANYONE to our candidates.

I want to apologize to those of you that asked a simple question and got shouted down. Please, forgive me for not just answering what you asked and instead assuming you were saying something else entirely (and even if that WAS what you were thinking, that is SO not my business). I hope you will continue to come here, and continue to ask questions, and continue to express your point of view even if it differs from mine and from many readers of this blog.

Now, please don't give me a bunch of accolades and tell me how awesome I am for saying this. I'm not big-hearted, or brave, or tolerant, even, particularly. Truth is, I'm mostly kind of an asshole and sometimes I let it show here in the blog. This was one of those times. I'm working on it.

Now. Back to the puppies.

Speaking to the Candidates About Choice On the Four Year Anniversary Of This Blog

Apparently, some folks who read this blog know some folks who know some folks and swear they can get this blog entry read by at least Obama, but I figured, why limit myself to just writing to Obama? I'm speaking to everyone who is running for President, including Ms. Clinton, and Mr. McCain (ok, maybe not Mr. Nader).

Why have I been appointed as someone to discuss the issue of choice? Because I'm the Internet Poster Girl For Partial Birth Abortion, that's why. It's not a title I'm proud of, but it's one I was saddled with a few years ago.

I'm not going to get into the whole story here. If you really want to read all about the harrowing details they start here. But you are all too busy running for president, so I'll give you the short version. In April of 2004 I was lucky enough to get pregnant with twin boys after undergoing in vitro treatment for male factor infertility (thanks to drugs my husband's mother took--DES, we suspect--while she was pregnant with him). We were on top of the world, although the pregnancy was difficult.

But a routine ultrasound on October 26--meant to be a time of great joy (my best friend came with us to the appointment--revealed terrible news: one of the twins had died, probably about a week before. We went from the ultrasound appointment to my obstetrician's office and were met with even more grim news. My weight had spiked up about 18 pounds, my blood pressure was soaring, and I had protein in my urine.

It turned out that I was in full-blown preeclampsia. I was admitted to the hospital immediately.

After that, everything happened very quickly. I was put on medication (magnesium sulfate) in an attempt to treat the preeclampsia and save the remaining twin until he reached outside-the-womb viability--a mere two weeks away (I was just over 22 weeks pregnant). But I got much worse overnight; my blood pressure couldn't be controlled, I had a massive headache and was vomiting uncontrollably. My kidneys shut down. I was moments away from seizures, coma, and death when the doctors came and told us the bad news: my remaining twin could not be saved. My pregnancy had to be terminated or both the baby and I would die.

You might, Mr. Obama and Mr. McCain, be able to imagine what it felt like to be my husband--to imagine being terrified of losing your children and your wife in one fell swoop. Ms. Clinton, you might be able to imagine lying in the hospital, so sick you barely feel any of what is happening, only knowing that the long-fought-for children you so desperately wanted are now both going to be dead.

Here's the part of the story where choice comes in. I could, of course, have gone through induced labor and delivered my tiny twins. But my blood pressure was hovering around 165/120 (often going higher), even with treatment. Can you imagine what labor would have done to my body with blood pressure that high? My doctor recommended, and I agreed, that I undergo the much less stressful intact dilation and extraction procedure--what the "pro-life" forces often like to call a "partial birth abortion." Of course, you being the smart and well-education politicians that you are know that there is NO medical procedure that is actually called a "partial birth abortion" so you know that there are several medical procedures that the "pro-life" movement put in that category, including the one that I had. Wait, I take that back--Mr. McCain, as you have been a staunch supporter of the Partial Birth Abortion ban you clearly were asleep in class when they discussed the actual procedures.

But I digress. My doctor refers to my procedure as the worst moment in his professional career. As I lay on the gurney, waiting for my procedure to start, I felt a gulf of grief and emptiness the like of which I have never known. I felt abandoned by God. I lay there, crying, alone, surrounded by doctors and nurses. You can't imagine the sadness.

I was lucky. Are you surprised that I would say that? I was lucky because the partial-birth abortion ban was not yet in effect in October of 2004. If it had been, I would have been forced to undergo labor and delivery, no matter the risks to my health, and I might right now be either dead or so brain damaged I would be unable to type this. I was additionally lucky because even though I live in Philadelphia, one of the largest cities in the country--a city, Mr. Obama and Ms. Clinton, you two will be visiting a great deal in the next month--my doctor happened to be only one of two doctors in this entire city that was willing and able to perform this life-saving medical procedure (although he can't now, of course, thanks to the ban being enacted--besides, he left Pennsylvania for New Jersey thanks to our crazy medical malpractice insurance crisis but that's another story).

So that's my story. For a year after that, I licked my wounds and missed my sons, Nicholas and Zachary. Eventually, I underwent a frozen embryo transfer and gave birth to my daughter Victoria, whose grinning face you see above this entry. I had problems with her delivery as well, so I will not be having other children, sadly.

I'm sure that you will find my story compelling; even the most hard-hearted and most staunch pro-lifers have. Many who came to my blog to question my decision have stayed and become friends. You know why? Because mine was an "acceptable" abortion. I'm not a 26 year old professional woman who doesn't want to derail her career by having a child and chooses to terminate a pregnancy. Or a teenage girl who got drunk and forgot to make the boy wear a condom. Or a harried mother of three who just can't imagine having a fourth child.

So it's easy to read my story and say, oh, yes, in case LIKE YOURS, abortion should be legal. But... when laws are passed that make it difficult for that teenage girl to get to exercise the right to control her own body--hey, I'm looking at you, Ms. Clinton, for not standing up harder against the parental notification laws--or for the professional woman to be able to fill a prescription, quietly, for RU486 at her local pharmacy so she can make her choice as well, or that harried mother to do the same thing--when those laws are passed, it's women like me that die. When you cut corners, you don't save babies lives. You kill women like me.

Let me say that again. When you compromise on abortion--when you sacrifice even the smallest corner of choice--you kill women like me. You create a culture of fear among doctors that puts lives like mine at risk.

So knock it off, will you? Fight to protect a woman's right to choose. I know, Ms. Clinton, that you believe in it enough to put it on the front page of your website, but your record isn't perfect. Mr. Obama, you do not discuss choice on your campaign page (although it's hosted on the Women for Obama page). Why not? Mr. McCain, for shame. Shame on you for promoting a law that is basically a warrant for my death. Come on.

I'm tired of writing about this. I am tired of being the Internet Poster Girl for Partial Birth Abortion, I assure you. It's not comfortable. By writing this post, I will get a new batch of pro-life people that will start telling me how I murdered my sons, how they could have lived (they never, ever, remember that one had already passed away) and some will threaten me. It happens every time I talk about this. Sometimes I just want to lie down and let someone else do this. But I won't. I don't know what it will take; perhaps a constitutional amendment protecting women's bodies?

Yeah. That might do it. Sigh. Like that will ever happen.

Tactician Vs. Idealist

I had a fascinating conversation recently with my friend Geoffrey. We were talking about voting, and how committed we both are to the process--and how differently we vote. Geoffrey is an idealist; after voting for Ralph Nader in 2000, he felt badly about voting as an idealist and decided to vote for John Kerry in 2004, even though he had great reservations about Kerry's record. He's decided this time to vote his heart and not for the most "viable" candidate. He doesn't much care for any of the front runners; was not a huge fan of Bill Clinton and is not at all enamored of Hillary. He says the only guy he likes remotely is Kucinich.

When I take those online polls to find out which candidate matches my views the most, Kucinich is also the one that rises to the top. I'm not surprised; he's clearly the most liberal and socialist minded candidate running for office this time around. But there is no way in hell I'm voting for him.

(I won't be discussing the Republican nominees today. Because, like, why? That is what it is. Thank God Giuliani is losing so far is all I can say.)

I like Obama. I find him invigorating and inspiring, I love the passion he presents and the way he makes me feel that odd, burning sensation behind my breastbone I identify as hope and optimism and national pride. But I probably won't be voting for him either.

I want to like John Edwards. I love the fact that he continues to discuss the truth about America, and the fact that there are two different nations (one poor, one rich). I admire his wife's courage, and I have to admit that I love the fact that they are most likely our compatriots in assisted reproduction. But I find the idea of his 13,000 square foot house disconcerting (seriously, does anyone other than those people with the 14 children need that much space?), and he's just too... I don't know. Pretty.

I find that I am like a lot of other Democrats that feel on the fence about Hillary Clinton. I'm opposed to the idea of political dynasties. I think Hillary is too perfect as a politician, and maybe a little out of touch with being a normal person.

But damn it, I just love her.

I know all her issues. But I will most likely vote for her for three reasons. One, I believe she might win, and I'm a tactical voter rather than an idealism voter. Two, I want, oh so desperately, to see the light in Tori's eyes when she grows up knowing that she could be president. Three, I want, oh so desperately, to see the light in my eyes when I know, finally, in my heart, that a woman can be president.

For a long time I believed that I wanted a woman president for Tori. But damn it, I want one for me. I want to feel like I belong to this nation, for fuck's sake. And President Hillary? With First Husband Bill? Yeah, that totally works for me.

So how about you? Are you an idealist, or a tactician? Where does your heart lie as we approach Super Tuesday?

Bad Anniversaries

I've been struggling to find things to blog about this week, which is odd, because I've been really energized with the recent changes I've made and the topics have been easy to find. Then I finally looked at the calendar today and realized... it's that time of year again.

Tomorrow marks the three year anniversary of the day I went to the doctor's office for a routine ultrasound and instead began heading down the terror-filled path that ended with the termination of my pregnancy with Nicholas and Zachary.

Last year I was feeling pretty sad about the anniversary, even though Tori was here and healthy. The year before that, I was newly pregnant and feeling pretty happy, even as I mourned the boys. I often feel their loss more acutely around the anniversary of their expected due date, but for some reason I am finding myself full of memories of that time, and what those few days were like.

I remember my complete and utter disconnect when I saw Dr. Mama's face once he saw the combined numbers of my blood pressure (170/120 or so), my urine protein (3+++), and my weight (up 20 pounds in less than two weeks). For god's sake, I asked him if I could stop and get lunch before I went to the hospital (we already knew at that point that one twin was dead, if you remember). I had severe preeclampsia, and I wanted LUNCH.

I remember the face of the nurse at the labor and delivery unit who kept trying to find the surviving boy's heartbeat.

I remember how sick I was once they gave me the magnesium sulfate. I remember all the equipment I had strapped to me; the blood pressure cuff that checked my pressure every 15 minutes; the pressure cuffs on each of my calves trying to keep my blood circulating; the monitor on the baby; the IV in the arm that didn't have the blood pressure cuff; the urinary catheter. I couldn't move, even when I had to throw up. I remember throwing up all over the lovely nurse I'd conned into giving me graham crackers and apple juice (boy, I bet she regretted that, eh?).

I remember how much my head hurt, how utterly and completely flattened I was by the pain, and how the morphine didn't touch it.

I remember that circle of doctors around the end of the bed at 7 am telling us that we'd have to terminate the pregnancy or I would die. I remember Charlie's face when he realized that not only had we lost a son, we were going to lose another one and maybe lose me too.

I don't remember this, but it haunts me now: the doctors discussing whether or not they could give me more morphine at 3 am because they were afraid I was going to begin having seizures any minute and they were afraid to depress my cardiovascular functions. It wasn't until it was all long over that I realized how close to dying I really was.

Most of all, I remember the moment that I stopped being disconnected and detached from what had happened. It was around 3 am EST and I was alone the night after the surgery (Charlie decided to finally spend a night at home) and it all just suddenly hit me. I was so sad, and so angry, and I felt so completely alone and I didn't have any idea who to call or talk to, so I called my friend Dave in Arizona (because it was not quite as late there, I reasoned) and how nice he was to me even though I woke him up (and his poor girlfriend).

It was such a difficult time. The weeks that followed the loss of Nicholas and Zachary were the worst I've ever endured.

This year it all feels very close and near, even though I have so much joy with Tori here. I think about her brothers often; they would be two and a half now. Can you imagine? Two boys in the terrible twos? And I think I'm tired NOW.

I wish I'd gotten a chance to know them. I wish things had been different.

But it's funny: now that I've got some distance on it, I can see things that I'm grateful for from the whole experience. I'm grateful that at the time I was able to have the medical procedure I needed (an intact dilation and extraction) without my doctor having to worry about going to jail. I'm grateful that such a huge and life altering loss gave me the ability to love Tori so completely and thoroughly, without reservation and fear. I am grateful that the loss of the boys taught me so much about tolerance and acceptance of other people's views.

As much as I miss them, their loss made me a better person and a better mother. What a gift they gave me! What a lucky woman I am!

Thank you, Nicholas and Zachary. Although you were here only a short time (not even six months), you had a huge impact on me and the people around me. Thank you. I love you both, and I miss you. Sleep well, baby boys.

______________________________________________________

*Edited to add that Charlie wrote a great post about this too.

**Also wanted to add that Patty (whose hubbie died last Monday) has started a blog. Go give her support, would you?

HEALTH vs. LIFE: Trying to clear things up

Healthy discussion going on over in the comments of my last post (person with fake emails and all caps not withstanding). But the core of the issue is the line between life and health and who gets to choose.

First off, let's talk about some different terms.

Technically, the term "Partial Birth Abortion" does not apply to any currently known and used medical procedure, as Maura stated in her comments. However, it is "assumed" that they are usually referring to the procedure known as a D&X.

D&X refers to a procedure called an Intact Dilation and Extraction. The benefits on this procedure are many, including the fact that having an intact fetus allows the family to view the remains if they choose. Remember, also, that this method is used often when a baby has already died. And, as Aurelia pointed out, "is quite often needed for babies with hydrocephalus or severe cranio-facial disabilities who cannot be delivered vaginally with their skull and brain intact."

According to this survey, this procedure is performed in 0.17% of all abortions. In other fucking words, HARDLY EVER.

D&E is a different procedure, a Dilation and Evacuation. This procedure is done between 12 and 20 weeks gestation. In this procedure, the fetus is usually, well, separated to allow for easier evacuation of the uterus. 11% of all abortions occur in the second trimester, according to the same study above.

I hope that clears up some confusion for folks about the terms.

Now, the problem with the ban is that the language is NOT CLEAR about which procedure is being banned. Part of the issue is the fact that there are many medical terms that fall into this category--this New York Times article refers to both "intact dilation and evacuations" AND "intact dilations and extractions". The line between the two procedures is very small--and doctors now face, as Maura mentioned, CRIMINAL prosecution for crossing that line--and sometimes they don't know what procedure a woman need until they've actually started the surgery.

Do you see the problem? They are taking a medical decision out of the hands of the people involved--the patient AND the doctor.

Personally, I do not know which procedure I had. At 22.5 weeks gestation (when my pregnancy ended--and that is based on my last menstrual period, remember, not the date of implantation, so the fetuses were really 20.5 week along) I was right on the line between trimesters. Plus the fact that there where two fetus (one barely alive, and one dead) could have impacted which surgery I had.

Other than having a medical termination, the options open to someone in my position are usually either a) emergency c-section, and b) induced delivery.

My doctor believed--given my particular circumstances--that it would be better for both my short term and long term health to not cut open my body if at all possible. My health was in a precarious state, and the option of a medical termination was the fastest, safest, and least complicated procedure to use. It also preserved the health of my uterus for future pregnancies.

Also, my doctor (you know, the man in the room with me, the one with a medical degree and my chart in hand? that guy) knew that inducing me, with my insanely high blood pressure, would be likely to cause me to have a stroke.

Please remember that even if my twins had both been alive, THEY WOULD NOT HAVE SURVIVED. Do not tell me they would have, because you are wrong. There have been NO DOCUMENTED CASES of babies born that early surviving--I don't care what pro-life websites you send me links to that say differently. THEY ARE LYING.

Trust me. Don't you think that I wanted those babies and would have done anything I could to save them? And don't you think that my doctor--who knew about my struggles to get pregnant and called the day of my surgery "the worst day of my professional career"--would have told me if that was possible?

Lastly, let's discuss, using me as an example, the difference between HEALTH and LIFE.

Where do you draw the line? Was my life actually at risk at the moment they chose to terminate the pregnancy? Well, my blood pressure was going higher and higher and they weren't able to get it under control with the medications they had available. My kidneys has begun to shut down and I'd stopped producing urine. But I was alive. I could have remained alive, possibly, under those circumstances for a while. Maybe they could have pushed it until I actually began to have seizures. Or maybe until I had a stroke. Or, maybe, since even after a stroke and having seizures I would have still been alive, maybe they would have to wait until after I felt into a coma. But wait! If I'm in a coma, I'm still alive, right? Even if my brain has been irreparably damaged, I'm still ALIVE. Right?

So, my point is, sure-- the "Partial Birth Abortion Ban" has a provision for the LIFE of the mother. But there is NO PROVISION FOR HER HEALTH. Or the health of her uterus, or her future children.

To sum it all up, if I hadn't had the procedure that I had, Nicholas, Zachary, me AND Tori would all be dead.

Got it?

You don't want to read this (and I don't want to write it)

I've been really haunted the last few days after watching Zinnea's film offering in the International Infertility Film Festival. After struggling with infertility, Zinnea finally got pregnant in 2004, only to discover that her daughter had a fatal birth defect called Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia (CDH). Instead of terminating (as her doctors recommended), Zinnea and her husband decided to go to term. Mia Marvelle passed away six days after she was born.

In her film, Zinnea includes the incredibly private and deeply wrenching images of her holding her daughter and weeping. And photos of she and her husband holding their daughter after she's passed and saying goodbye.

After watching the film, I found myself gasping for air and sobbing inconsolably. This isn't a shock; many, many things have made me cry here on the internets. So many of us have suffered and lost, and I've cried right along with many of you.

But I couldn't stop thinking about those photos. I couldn't sleep that night; they kept drifting into my mind and I would start to cry again. The strength of my reaction took me by surprise.

It wasn't until about 3am that I finally figured it out.

I was jealous.

Every time I think I've done all the processing I need to do about losing the boys, I find a new area that I haven't dealt with yet. Of course I'm not jealous of the horrific loss they suffered; what I'm envious of is the fact that they got to see their baby, to hold her, and to say goodbye.

I've had inklings about this before. A few months ago I allowed myself to wonder what, exactly, had happened to Nicholas and Zachary's bodies. But as soon as I had the thought, I shut it down. I wasn't ready.

And I'm still not ready. I don't have any desire, whatsoever, to again probe the grief that surrounds the loss of my sons. There's a lot of shame there, and anger, and guilt. Oh, God, so much guilt. But God doesn't agree, apparently. I am supposed to deal with it.

Not long after I lost the boys, I expressed my rage and anger here in this blog. I hurt some people in my anger and one person pointed out that others had lost "live babies" after all, so I shouldn't be---well, honestly, I'm not sure what I wasn't supposed to be. I guess I was being reminded to keep my grief in perspective. But I still feel pissed off that things went the way they went. I still feel ripped off. I feel like the randomness of the universe, the luck of the draw, or worse, "God's plan" doesn't make any fucking sense and is completely and utterly unfair. I don't care what others suffered. My "lot" in relation to the boys SUCKED.

Thinking about the day we lost the boys now, all I can remember is that it all happened so fucking fast. Remember, I went from going in for a routine anatomy scan to having to terminate the pregnancy in less than 24 hours. I was so ill that I didn't get to participate much in the decision making process. No one at the hospital said to me, "Yes, delivering your sons will be more risky, but at least you'll get to see them and hold them and say goodbye." No one said, "Do you want to make arrangements with a funeral home?"

Instead, they just said, "You are dying." This was all Charlie could hear--that not only was one son dead, and the other was dying, but so was his wife. No one came to him and said, "Have you thought about what you want done with their bodies?" All they said was "We have to terminate. NOW."

We were alone, afraid, and sick. Options weren't offered. I was the patient, not the boys. No consideration was made for Nicholas and Zachary.

Instead of getting to say goodbye, to look at their faces, I was just knocked out and the boys stripped from my body. I'm left with the shame and guilt of--God forgive me--treating my sons like standard medical waste. My sons. My boys.

I wish, oh, how I wish, that I'd done things differently. That I'd gotten them cremated and been able to scatter their tiny ashes. That even if it would have been awful, the worst pain in the universe, that I would have been able to see their faces just once.

I wonder if Zinnea sees reflections of Mia's face in her (living) daughter Naima? I often wonder if the boys would have looked like Tori does; if they would have scrunched up their noses like I do when I laugh, like she does, or if they would instead use their eyebrows like Charlie does. I know I wouldn't have been able to tell that from their tiny and unfinished faces at only 22 weeks gestation. But, oh, god. I wish I'd tried.

I know I'm one of the lucky ones, now. I do have a living child. So many of us don't. But this--this sadness--will never leave me, I'm afraid.

It's never over, is it? Even while I was sitting on my front porch last night, holding Tori, watching her extend her hand as she tried to reach up to the wind chimes Anne gave us, I felt the deep wound that the loss of the boys caused. Even while I find myself sinking deeper and deeper into joy because of Tori's magnificence, I still find myself the owner of a bruised and battered heart.

I guess I always will.

In Memory Of

Tomorrow, March 1^st, is the first anniversary of Nicholas and Zachary’s due date. Meaning, of course, that it should have been their first birthday.

But instead of getting to post the required “babies covered with frosting” photo, I will instead be posting nothing, using silence as a way to honor the memory of my sons.

It never ceases to amaze me how much I can miss two people that I never met. I shouldn’t be; every woman I know that has been through something similar feels the same way. I know a couple that, twenty years after adopting and raising their son, still think about the little girl they tried to adopt first (the birth mother chose to parent). We who want to parent desperately open our hearts easily, and grieve over each loss, each delay, each moment we spend without children.

Because I am human, I like things to make sense. The loss of Nicholas and Zachary still confuses me. In a world with a kind and loving God, how can such a thing happen? Since the loss cannot be explained, I have spent a great deal of time wondering what spiritual lesson I was supposed to learn from this grief.

While I imagine that I will only understand this all fully after my death (oh boy, the questions I will have then!), I have come to the conclusion that one thing, one tiny shred of grace, has come out of the darkness of this loss.

Somewhere, in the last year and a half, I have learned how to listen.

My mom is a feminist, and raised me as such. As early as fifth grade, I got into fistfights with boys over women’s issues. I remember knocking down and giving a boy a bloody nose with my cast (I’d broken my arm roller skating) in 7^th grade because he said women were terrible drivers. I argued with vehemence and passion, and dismissed all of those that didn’t agree with me.

While a large part of that was youth, I found it impossible to be friends with people that held different opinions than I did. In high school, if you liked Reagan, we weren’t friends. No matter what else we had in common, you were off my radar. Period.

Once I got into recovery, I found a place where opinions about politics were simply absent. This gave me a gift; I learned to like people and trust them before I knew how they voted. Once I found out, however, that they were Republicans or religious, I would find myself drifting away from them (I remember being terribly cruel and unsupportive of a friend who became a devout Catholic while I knew her). Hell, I almost dismissed my dear friend Dave because he hates the Beatles (I still don’t understand how anyone can hate the Beatles, but I’ve learned to love Dave anyway). Dave has taught me more about being an adult and a friend than almost anyone else I know.

By the time I lost the boys, I was primed for further change—and further challenges.

The challenges came suddenly and harshly in the form of Holly, a pro-lifer commenter that declared I had made a mistake in terminating the pregnancy and that my sons could have survived. She argued loud and long. I reacted angrily and forcefully, blocking her ability to post comments, but she’d post from a different computer (I think I ended up blocking her six times). She posted link after link that made me weep, links that said that at least one boy (one had died in-utero, of course) could have lived, that I was cruel and selfish for listening to my doctors.

I knew she was wrong, that she didn’t know the facts of my case. And worse than that, she didn’t care. She wouldn’t listen to me, or to any of the brave commenters that tried to reason with her, and she certainly wouldn’t listen to the commenters that blasted her and condemned her for her cruelty.

Holly’s presence attracted other people who held the same beliefs. And a few of them put up with the abuse from me and others and kept calmly stating their beliefs and offering me sympathy and forgiveness.

At first, I reacted angrily—who are they to forgive me? I did what was required to save my life, after all. It was never me OR the baby; the choice was me AND the baby, or saving me by terminating the pregnancy.

But somehow, somewhere, in those long looping discussions that never really went anywhere (but traversed other blogs), I began to see the grace and generosity in these pro-lifers offering me forgiveness—after all, they were offering to forgive me for committing what they believe (right or wrong, it’s what they believe) a terrible crime. And I found myself able to forgive them as well.

I also realized that I needed to stop yelling. Instead, I made the decision to be willing to answer harsh questions about my decision with kindness and love. I stopped focusing on the anger and accusations and instead listened to the misunderstanding and pain (yes, I believe that those that call themselves pro-life are in pain over the issue of abortion).

When I did this, I noticed several things: first, they stopped yelling at me. My commentors stopped yelling at them as well. We all began to listen to each other.

Then, several of the staunchest pro-lifers realized that there was, in fact, occasionally a need, in a case like mine, for the medical procedure dubbed the “partial-birth abortion.” Not all—in fact, not even most—changed their minds. But a few found that they couldn’t argue against my decision.

The next thing I realized is that we were all able to get past the issue. We began discussing other things. We began to see what we had in common—love of children, faith, a belief in family. Soon, we even began to be able to call each other friend.

What a miracle.

While I will never be able to convince pro-lifers that abortion must, no matter what, remain legal, I have been able to convince them that pro-choicers are not all evil baby killers. And they’ve learned that we are mothers and fathers just like they are. And I’ve come to realize that pro-lifers are not all fire and brimstone and hate, that many of them are loving and kind, and have amazing hearts.

I was reminded of this all when I had a lengthy discussion with a gentleman in the comments section of a recent post at Feministing. When I first began talking about my situation, he was really angry with me. Other commenters began attacking him, but I just quietly answered his questions, and let his anger sputter out. By the end, he didn’t agree with me, but he conceded that my situation was actually life threatening and that maybe the procedure should remain available to those in the same circumstances.

It wasn’t much, but it was more than I ever accomplished by yelling.

It’s not much consolation, of course. Losing two babies just so I could learn how to listen hardly seems fair. But I have to believe that I will now be a better mother because I’ve been granted this gift, this ability to listen. I hope to teach my child to be a listener as well.

Don’t get me wrong—I will never concede to the pro-life movement. I’m still pro-choice through and through and will fight like hell to keep abortion legal. But my heart is bigger because I no longer vilify those that disagree with me.

Love is always stronger than hate, after all.

So, darling Nicholas and Zachary, I hope you can both take heart that in such a short time you taught your mother so, so much. Thank you, and rest in peace my sons. I love you.

Snowflake Babies, Dominionism, Cultural Marxism and why I should stop reading the news

When I first heard President Bush refer to frozen embryos that are a product of IVF as "snowflake babies," I didn't pay it much mind. Obviously, he was using language to promote the idea that a frozen bundle of four to eight cells is actually a full fledged human being, and can go buy a car or run up a credit card like any good little American (but not a car from Ford!).

But as Maura recently said to me, it's creepy. It's clearly hinting that this administration is considering taking on the infertility industry; maybe they've taken a cue from the Pope.

Maura also sent me a link to this article in the current issue of Harper's. It chronicles the author's trip to the National Religious Broadcasters convention. One thing that stood out about the convention to the author was the fact that so many Christians sects were represented at this convention. Apparently, conservative Catholics, Pentcostal Christians, African-American Baptists and many others have set side their differences to promote the new doctrine called Dominionism. Here is explanatory quote from the article, which may be the most terrifying paragraph I've ever read:

"What the disparate sects of this movement, known as Dominionism, share is an obsession with political power. A decades-long refusal to engage in politics at all following the Scopes trial has been replaced by a call for Christian “dominion” over the nation and, eventually, over the earth itself. Dominionists preach that Jesus has called them to build the kingdom of God in the here and now, whereas previously it was thought that we would have to wait for it. America becomes, in this militant biblicism, an agent of God, and all political and intellectual opponents of America’s Christian leaders are viewed, quite simply, as agents of Satan. Under Christian dominion, America will no longer be a sinful and fallen nation but one in which the Ten Commandments form the basis of our legal system, Creationism and “Christian values” form the basis of our educational system, and the media and the government proclaim the Good News to one and all. Aside from its proselytizing mandate, the federal government will be reduced to the protection of property rights and “homeland” security. Some Dominionists (not all of whom accept the label, at least not publicly) would further require all citizens to pay “tithes” to church organizations empowered by the government to run our social-welfare agencies, and a number of influential figures advocate the death penalty for a host of “moral crimes,” including apostasy, blasphemy, sodomy, and witchcraft. The only legitimate voices in this state will be Christian. All others will be silenced."

For the record:

a·pos·ta·sy   (-pst-s)
n. pl. a·pos·ta·sies

Abandonment of one's religious faith, a political party, one's principles, or a cause.

blas·phe·my    (blsf-m)
n. pl. blas·phe·mies

1. 1. A contemptuous or profane act, utterance, or writing concerning God or a sacred entity.
   2. The act of claiming for oneself the attributes and rights of God.
2.      An irreverent or impious act, attitude, or utterance in regard to something considered inviolable or sacrosanct.

sod·om·y   (sd-m)
n.

Any of various forms of sexual intercourse held to be unnatural or abnormal, especially anal intercourse or bestiality.

witch·craft  (wchkrft)
n.

1. Magic; sorcery.
2. Wicca.
3. A magical or irresistible influence, attraction, or charm.

These would offenses punishable by death. DEATH.

I'd be first up, I'm sure. Let's see: I abandoned the religion of my childhood (Methodist); I've got an entire catagory on my blog called "Dear God: You Suck"; I write about blowjobs, that's gotta be sodomy in some eyes; and I've seriously considered Wicca as a personal spiritual path. So I'm definitely going to get the chair in the new order.

Oh--and did you hear that a judge can decide what religion you practice with your children?

After reading that article, Blurbomat directed me to this one about Pat Buchanan (yes, I've defended him in the past, since he hates the Neo-Cons so much, but no longer) his assertion that liberals have secretly organized a movement called "Cultural Marxism." Here is a quote from the article:

"The phrase refers to a kind of "political correctness" on steroids — a covert assault on the American way of life that allegedly has been developed by the left over the course of the last 70 years. Those who are pushing the "cultural Marxism" scenario aren't merely poking fun at the PC excesses of the "People's Republic of Berkeley," or the couple of American cities whose leaders renamed manholes "person-holes" in a bid to root out sexist thought.

Right-wing ideologues, racists and other extremists have jazzed up political correctness and repackaged it — in its most virulent form, as an anti-Semitic theory that identifies Jews in general and several Jewish intellectuals in particular as nefarious, communistic destroyers. These supposed originators of "cultural Marxism" are seen as conspiratorial plotters intent on making Americans feel guilty and thus subverting their Christian culture.

In a nutshell, the theory posits that a tiny group of Jewish philosophers who fled Germany in the 1930s and set up shop at Columbia University in New York City devised an unorthodox form of "Marxism" that took aim at American society's culture, rather than its economic system.

The theory holds that these self-interested Jews — the so-called "Frankfurt School" of philosophers — planned to try to convince mainstream Americans that white ethnic pride is bad, that sexual liberation is good, and that supposedly traditional American values — Christianity, "family values," and so on — are reactionary and bigoted. With their core values thus subverted, the theory goes, Americans would be quick to sign on to the ideas of the far left."

Um. Ok. And they say the political left is full of whacko consipiracy theories?

After I waded through that article, I went ahead and read the New York Times. Turns out that Indiana is attempting to do the same thing they did in Kansas--demanding the records of Planned Parenthood patients under 14 years old to allegedly investigate sexual molestation of minors. This time, however, abortion isn't involved at all--they just want to monitor the sexual behavior of minors. I was sexually active at 14 (I know, I know--it seems crazy to me now); and I was also a patient of a local Planned Parenthood type clinic. The idea that the state would be allowed to review my records and then call me in for questioning to determine exactly how I was sexually active is just beyond words.

There were some signs of hope, however.

Everyone is all excited about the news that Deep Throat was W. Mark Felt, the number two man at the FBI during Nixon's reign. Charlie and I were talking about it last night and Charlie wondered what made Mr. Felt come forward now; it got me thinking.

Perhaps in light of the recent Newsweek scandal (where a story was retracted because the "anonymous source" changed his/her tune), Mr. Felt thought coming forward would remind people of the important role the press plays in this country--and that anonymous sources are a critical part of that role and can bring down a president.

At least that's my theory. Course, most conservatives think that Mr. Felt is a traitor. But then, most conservatives these days would think Nixon was a liberal.

I'll say it again; this is all breaking my heart. All of this crazy stuff I've linked to has happened in the last WEEK. I love my country, and the idea of making it a Christian Dominion makes me want to tear my hair out.

I'm going to go cry now. At least Jon Stewart is back from vacation.

In Honor Of Today's Inauguration, or here I go again

It's clear that many people who read my blog have different political opinions than I do. Many, particularly, seem to be opposed to abortion. Because I've been so public about having a dilation and extraction (or a "partial-birth abortion"), I've had some amazing conversations (not counting Holly). I’ve been having a fascinating email discussion with a woman who is staunchly opposed to abortion, but who’s mind I’ve opened with my story. As she put it, “I believe abortion is taking a human life, but I’m damned if I know who I think should be arrested if it were ever made illegal.”

I was not quite five years old when abortion became legal. Even at that tender age, I’d already been to pro-choice marches with my mother. I have always felt, deep in my heart, that it is critical for abortions to be available to women, primarily because women must be allowed to control their own reproductive capabilities. While I believe that mothering is a critical and culturally important job (and an influential one), if women want to have a voice in business or politics they MUST be able to choose when and how often they have children.

Women, I also feel strongly, must to be allowed to express and enjoy their sexuality. Lords knows that men have always been able to! That means, of course, that women should always have free and unfettered access to contraception (something many anti-choice people are opposed to—which I simply don’t get).

When I was in high school, I volunteered at my local birth control clinic (wasn’t I a cute little feminist!). The clinic was full of stories of fathers bursting in, demanding to know if we had provided contraception to their daughters, or boyfriends and husbands wanting to know if their wives had been in to get pregnancy tests. Thankfully, of course, the law prohibited anyone in the clinic from answering those questions. I’d even heard a story of a father finding his daughter and dragging her out by her hair.

Unlike those of us who desperately want a child, there are women that see that second pink line on a test and are filled with dismay and fear. Women who already have more children then they can support or women too young to be good at mothering. Many of these are women simply cannot, for their own safety, tell their sexual partners or parents.

Remember that the number one cause of death in pregnant women is murder. And while the Laci Peterson case got a great deal of attention (and some questionable laws passed), most of these murders occur much earlier in the pregnancy.

This is why I believe that in cases of both contraception and abortion parental and spousal/partner are unacceptable. If it’s lives we are trying to value, the life of the woman (even if she's a teenager) must be on that list! As for legally required waiting periods, they really aren’t necessary. If you go to Planned Parenthood and get a positive pregnancy test, it’s not like they have a room in the back ready and waiting and you can just stand up and say, “Time to get that abortion!” Women usually wait for a second test and an exam, and then it has to be scheduled. There is plenty of time to really think about it without it being legally mandated.

One of the issues I have with the anti-choice movement is that there is this belief that women make the decision to have an abortion lightly. I know plenty of women that have had them, and every single one agonized over the choice. Of all the women I know that have received abortions, there is only perhaps one who I feel made that choice out of selfishness. One. Out of at least fifty.

Remember, too, that when a woman has a positive pregnancy test at a place like Planned Parenthood, she receives counseling. Contrary to anti-choice opinion, she is not forced to have an abortion. She is told about abortion, true, but she’s also informed about adoption as well as the resources and support available to her if she chooses to parent. Planned Parenthood provides prenatal care too, remember—to nearly 16,000 women in 2002. Not to mention doing over a million breast exams a year (think about that next time you want to block the entrance to a clinic). It’s also worth noting that 70% of Planned Parenthood’s clients are over 150% below the federal poverty level. For a chart about the variety of services provided by Planned Parenthood, look here.

Planned Parenthood also referred nearly 2,000 women to organizations that could help them place their babies up for adoption in 2002.

It’s easy to change people’s minds about medically necessary abortions. My situation with my sons, and Julia’s with her son Thomas , are clear and heart wrenching. The awful scenarios that forced us to terminate the life of a beloved and wanted child can sway even the hardest of anti-choice hearts.

But because the religious right is working so hard to stop those other abortions, the ones where the baby just isn’t wanted, those of us who have a medical need are the ones that pay.

Because of the anti-choice movement, doctors are no longer undergoing training on how to perform abortions. Why would they, when they could be murdered as a result? My doctor is only one of two in my major east coast city that still performs dilation and extractions. Many women who end up in my or Julia’s situation don’t even have the option.

Do you see why choice must, across the board, remain available? Be pro-life. I know I am. I want to save the lives of both women and babies.

But feeding the trolls is so much fun!

OK, I know, I know, you aren't supposed to feed them, it makes them reluctant to leave.

But today I seriously needed some distraction from my grief, and Holly was kind enough to provide it.

So, thanks Holly, for providing me with said distraction, and for getting me angry enough to remember my commitment to myself--that I will NOT sit on my ass and watch my rights get stripped away. I WILL become active and fight for the right of women to choose, because it's too important to let it continue to slip away because of some fucked up "values" some people who claim to believe in Jesus try to force down my throat.

Oh, and thanks also for becoming the first person I've blocked on my blog. Yeah! I feel all special, like Grrl or someone REALLY cool,  now.

First on the political agenda: we need something to call these people other than "christians." Some of my best friends are Christians (Moxie, I'm talking about you, baby!) and we need a different word to discuss those that "politicize their own hysteria" (a quote from Anne Lamott, via my hubbie).

Any suggestions?