I am not here to change the mind of the fundamentalist Christians who believe that a baby's life starts at 8 days past conception - a time when few women know they are pregnant. I am not here to change your mind about your beliefs and am taking a big risk publishing this due to backlash from my own fundamentalist conservative family, but I am ready to share my story and why I am pro-choice. This is simply my story - the accounts of what I have seen, felt, and experienced are mine. You are entitled to your opinion, but I am writing this as much for a healing experience for myself, as well as hope for any other parents who find themselves facing the unique horror of guilt accompanying every decision about parenthood.
Our life was moving forward. I was working on my master's degree and my husband was working on a second 2 year degree in Local Area Networking from a nearby community college. I was heading into my third year of teaching high school Spanish at a smaller 3A school in Iowa. This was the first year that I would actually have my own classroom space where I could decorate the walls, and have some consistency from hour to hour. Soon after the school year started, I became a tired that I had never felt before. I became a tired that was inexplicable - and although I wasn't good at tracking when my last period had been, I had an inkling that I could be pregnant.
We lived in the small town that I worked in and there weren't a lot of choices in where one might go to buy a pregnancy test, so I waited until I could make a trip to a town about 20 miles down the road to buy one with some annonymity. I took the pregnancy test. It was positive. I scheduled an appointment for early October and I had no clue how it would even be possible for us to afford a child. My summers consisted of earning secondary income, as we were not quite a single earner household; but rather a household that worked multiple jobs to try and become debt free (and we're still working on that).
It was Friday of homecoming week and my principal was able to find coverage for my classes so that I could go to my first doctor's appointment. I loved that little thing growing inside me, but I was worried - worried because so many people I knew that lived in the same town had miscarried. Worried because I was so tired. Worried because of so many different reasons and I remember asking my doctor, "Is there anything I can do to prevent a miscarriage?"
She composed herself and patiently explained that there was nothing that we could do to prevent one and said it was too early to be able to put the fetal monitor on at this visit, but we could probably hear it by the next visit. I scheduled the next two appointments on my way out the door and left happily.
My world was soon rocked. I went to the bathroom and saw the spotting begin. I had no idea what to do, but had been told to call the doctor's office if any bleeding occurred. My classroom was occupied during my prep period, and the only phone available wasn't one that had much privacy. We lived close enough to the school that I was able to run home without any problem.
Although I had a cell phone, at that time we still had a landline and I had concerns coming at me from every direction. My principal called my home phone at the same time the doctor's office called. I was instructed to come in for an ultrasound and they would see if they could find the baby's heartbeat. Graciously, my principal found coverage for my afternoon classes and I headed to the ultrasound with my mom and husband in tow.
At this point my 26 year old self was very emotional and very hopeful. that everything would look normal on the ultrasound. It did. Usually, the research says that once a heartbeat can be found a pregnancy will likely be viable. However, I had to be of the smaller percent that could find a heartbeat on an ultrasound, have a predicted due date, and still miscarry.
My baby was ripped from my body by nature much too early. All in the capacity of 14 days, I went from a first prenatal appointment, a heart beat on an ultrasound, to an emptiness of the possibility of being a mom.
This sent me on a 2 year journey of fighting infertility and having repeated miscarriages. Never having been a small individual, it was suggested that I work on reducing my BMI to below 50 so that infertility treatments could work better.
By restricting my gluten intake, decreasing my carbs, and walking on a regular basis to the tune of 3 miles per day in the hilliest parts of town with our dogs, I succeeded in reducing my BMI and then was prescribed a medicine used for cancer treatment that also boosted fertility in women.
It worked. After 5 miscarriages (the first being the worst), I had gone a full two weeks since the last of the fertility treatments and there was still no sign of a period. None. I tried to be patient and wait just one more day, but I finally gave in and tested my urine for HCG. Paranoid that it wouldn't show the second line, I didn't breathe while I waited the 3 minutes to find out if the second line would appear. It did.
It appeared again the next day. And the next. And the day after. And finally on the fifth day, I believed that I could legitimately be pregnant and I called the doctor's office. "Come in for a blood test" they said. I'd heard it before and wasn't convinced the HCG levels would continue to rise, but they did. I had a blood test on Wednesday and another one on Friday. I closed our after school swim lessons 10 minutes early so that I could make it to the larger town for the blood test and waited. I waited for the results of that test - and then I waited for the results of the next one repeated 48 hours later. It was agony.
But they rose. I had my ultrasound to confirm my pregnancy on December 6th. I met with my doctor for the first time the following month and had the best birthday present I'd ever had on January 6th, 2010. My pregnancy made it to 12 weeks and my Christmas letter from my dog explained his $8000 journey and announced my pregnancy. Life was good. My baby girl was growing (and I'd be sure to tell you that I was pretty certain that it was a girl by 16 weeks).
At 18 weeks, my ultrasound confirmed that my mom instincts were right and they were 80% sure that I would have a girl. By this time, I had transitioned to teaching English Language Learners at the district level. (Three buildings and all grade levels). Throw into the mix being asked to teach preschool and I had to reveal my pregnancy to the administrator in charge of the program.
Life continued along with an easy pregnancy until school was almost out. At that point, I had a high blood pressure scare and was forced to do the 24 hour pee test. Being between buildings, I had the ability to still work and go home to relieve myself. That urine test was fine.
Life floated along while I made a daily trip to the outdoor swimming pool through the month of June. I had a doctor's appointment where my blood pressure was high and another urine test was ordered. Much easier to do in the summer - I didn't have to plan my bathroom stops around my breaks. The doctor made me come back later in the week to follow up and for some reason I had my husband take the day off.
