A Letter From Mom.

I just wanted you to l know where I stand.

Good morning,

It's been a heavy few days full of disappointment.  Not even sure where to start on how these potential changes make me feel. The divide between friends and family, the disbelief in others' views, is truly disheartening.  

Where to start -

As a sister to one who was honestly I feel was forced to give a child up for adoption later in life after having 4 children of her own. Why? Shame! Religion! Embarrassment! Infidelity! the list could go on.   But in the end, you have a person who lived with a life of hurt, disappointment, loss, etc...  And never was able to seek therapy or aid for the feelings she felt. I don't think she has ever been able to process those hurts.  And a child who as an adult now, also lives with the hurt, abandonment, distrust.  I guess what I am trying to say is it's not anyone's place to pass judgment or force a discussion on someone else. No one truly knows the other's situation, medically or physically. But bottom line, I want that choice to be one that I am able to make. That my daughters are able to make. No matter what the financial standing or state in which they live. We should be a country of freedom of choice.

This drives the fact of inequality of men over women.  The fact that birth control isn't free for women. The risk women will take if the options aren't open and free.  The mental state this puts all parties in isn't healthy.

Secondly, and even more important.  This isn't just about abortion rights or Roe V Wade. This actually runs into a deeper issue.  The issue of what's next. LGTBQ Rights, freedom to marry who you love.  Race! Basic Human RIGHTS!

Government notes the separation of church and state.  But to me, people in government hide behind the pieces of religion that are convenient for them.  It's not just people in government but people in general. Not what's actually right for all the people they were voted to serve. These issues should be about what is in the best interest for all humans. Be a good human. Have empathy for others, be caring. Damn, just be a good person!

I know that I am not a professional. Nor do I have elegant words on paper. I just wanted you to l know where I stand.

Love,
Mom

Hardly A Decision.

Let alone one that I ever wanted to make.

I always expected everything about motherhood to come naturally, as if it was this innate capability both mentally and physically. Through instincts alone my mind and body would create and care for this beautiful little being. That story most certainly changed with the arrival of my first child. A premature birth has a way of making you feel like you and your body failed your child from the start. 

After allowing my mind and body to heal from that experience, I was excited and anxious to continue to grow our family. However, after a year of negative tests and disappointment we looked for help, which came in the form of a fertility medication. After just one month we finally received our positive result, I shook with excitement as at last my body “did what it was meant to do.” That excitement soon turned to dread as I found out early on that we would be expecting triplets. Not only was the financial and practical idea of raising three babies at once not feasible for our family, I was terrified that my body would not be able to sustain a pregnancy with three babies when I couldn’t even carry one full term. 

We made the decision to terminate one of the fetuses. As a mother already, and one who was desperately wanting to be pregnant again, it felt against every instinct and desire to make that decision. After speaking with my doctor I found out that not only did their practice and hospital not perform the procedure, but only one hospital in the area did; and it was one that I hadn’t had a great experience with previously. 

I immediately felt this sense of shame, that a medical procedure I felt was necessary to help protect the viability of the remaining two babies was deemed something untouchable by two major medical institutions, as if I had to be sent away. I made the appointment, finding out that I would have to wait until I was 13 weeks before they would perform the reduction. 13 weeks. I had to care for and nurture this baby that I ultimately knew I would be terminating. I watched my body begin to transform, instead of feeling joy, I felt dread- it’s growing, and I’m about to end that. We had to do three ultrasounds before the procedure- I’d watch as Baby C appeared to be the most active- squirming around just like my daughter had done in her early ultrasounds. Dread.  

The day of the procedure I felt numb - my mind trying to protect itself from the reality of what was about to happen. As soon as I was brought back to the procedure room with my husband, I knew we would be doing an ultrasound, I had prepared myself that this was going to be my chance for closure, a time to say goodbye. When I asked if they would be turning the TV on for the ultrasound I was told by the nurse it wouldn’t be on as “I didn’t want to see that.” I was taken off guard, as if what I knew I wanted wasn’t something I should want - again shame washed over me. I pretty much lost it from there. The tears flowed, I was told I needed to stop crying so she could perform the remaining steps necessary before the procedure. My husband held my hand tightly, asking the nurse if I could take the anxiety medication they had prescribed for the procedure - this would be the only thing I was allowed to take. The time came for the doctor to perform the reduction. She came in, seeing how upset I was she gently asked if I still wanted to proceed - a kind gesture, yet painful - again doubting myself, but through my tears I responded yes. She put a sheet up, so I would not witness the needle entering my belly. I felt the pinch. Did my best to breathe. It felt as if the baby moved, the needle chasing where the heart would be. A few moments passed and the procedure was complete. The Doctor informed my husband and I that it was done, and we immediately melted into one another, as if the grief and sorrow took away every ounce of strength we had been pretending to preserve. They left, giving us time to grieve alone. 

That day hardly felt like a decision, let alone one that I ever wanted to make. I’m working on forgiving myself, working through how we’ll honor the child who will never be, how we’ll explain the ultrasound photos with three siblings instead of two. Meanwhile I’m focusing on getting through the rest of this pregnancy. Even with weekly progesterone shots I began preterm labor at 22 weeks and have been on bed rest ever since. Each day is a blessing, one day more for these babies to grow, to have a chance to have a happy, healthy life - all you can ever want for your children. 

That is motherhood, it’s stripping away the person you once were, the beliefs about yourself you once had and doing the best you know how, to grow and nurture your children. That can mean deciding never to have that child, or delaying having a child, or maybe deciding your family is big enough. Decisions that can be excruciating. The idea of having that choice taken away, when we already have so little autonomy over our mind and bodies as mothers, is one I cannot fathom. 

Do I Feel Empowered? Maybe.

Do I still have time to bump into Chris Evans while picking up coffee? 100%.

All of my fertility decisions up until this point were not decisions. Or at least they weren't intentional decisions.

I grew up in the ‘90s on a steady diet of pop culture. As far as I knew, life was going to be easy. I would go to college, get a great job, bump into a doctor who was the son of an iconic talk show host while working one of my many temp jobs and get married at one of his mom’s houses, and then have adorable kids. Is that the plot to Monster in Law? Yes. Is that how I thought my life would work? Also, yes. What can I say, there’s a part of me that is deeply delusional and thinks my life is a rom-com. It’s a com for sure. 

I spent the bulk of my 20s working dead-end jobs and freelancing, hustling to be the #GirlBoss I always saw myself as. In the back of my mind, this year would always be the year when Chris Evans would walk into my local coffee shop and fall madly in love with me. (I told you I’m delusional.)  Instead, it was the barista or the bartender who was endearingly cute but just not the right person for me. Every year I talked to my doctor about my options just in case I didn’t meet THE ONE until I was older and I didn’t have any options. Every year she told me I had time. She wasn’t wrong, but she wasn’t right either. 

One day I was 36 and incredibly anxious about where my life was headed. The person I dreamed up for myself at 16 seemed incredibly close and farther away than ever.  I was finally making great money, cue Material Gworl, but I was in a new relationship and needed a longer runway when it came to motherhood. My doctor was still saying “you have time,” but she added, “not everyone is supposed to have a child.” She also threw in something about embryos being people and I do not need that kind of doctor in my corner the way reproductive rights are/aren’t set up in this country. 

Eventually, I found a doctor who kept it real with me. I did have time but it was running out. If I wanted to keep my options open, I needed to take an active role in my fertility and stop leaving it up to romantic comedies. That meant going to an endocrinologist, understanding how fertile I actually was, and developing a plan. I started the process of freezing my eggs last summer. Unfortunately, it is extremely cost-prohibitive and I had to give up on it when I changed jobs. Thankfully, I’m changing jobs again and fingers crossed I’ll be able to complete everything this summer before I turn 38. Do I feel empowered? Maybe. Do I still have time to bump into Chris Evans while picking up coffee? 100%.

A Son On The Way: It’s time to take it into our own hands.

This [Roe v. Wade] news line hit differently for me. I’m 25 weeks pregnant and spent most of last night teary eyed – and this time it isn’t attributed to hormones.

I don’t understand how our system has allowed for this blatant disrespect of human rights to happen. I can’t wrap my head around how the right to choose what’s best for oneself is so politicized. As someone currently going through this season of my life, I can’t imagine going through all of this without a supportive partner or in a state of mind where I didn’t feel like I was best fit to care for a child. 

The only thing that feels motivating is knowing that they want us to feel apathetic and indifferent – to turn a blind eye. It’s impossible to go out, feel empowered and change the world when you aren’t afforded the chance to make safe decisions on your body, your home.

Being pregnant with our first child, a son, I’m feeling even more determined to raise a good human, a good man. It’s time we stop deferring responsibility or assuming others will make the right choices – it’s time to take it into our own hands.

We Are Missing The Point.

I am unable to tolerate the violation of autonomy of any human being. As a nurse, as a human, as an American, that should be our most sacred value.

I was a labor and delivery nurse for eight years and profess to be a follower of Jesus Christ (the brown political dissident one, not the politicized Nazi captain one). I am thus often asked whether I “believe” in abortion, as though it is an ideal that is in any way dependent on whether I believe it exits, like God or Santa Claus or the lost city of Atlantis. I assume the real question anti-abortion zealots are asking is, “Do you believe women should be allowed to seek a medical procedure that terminates a pregnancy?” I use the term “allow” quite purposefully, because in fact the procedure does exist, is vastly safer from a medical perspective than childbirth itself (especially in the United States where our maternal mortality rate is the highest of any “developed” country), and it is sought and provided by medical professionals for 13.5 of every 1,000 women of childbearing age.

In the wake of the Roe “leak,” my friends and colleagues are all telling their stories. I am compelled to tell my own. But it would miss the point. 

I’ve read accounts of eleven year olds delivering and holding their stuffed animals, crying for their mothers. I’ve gone back in my own memory to delivering women so high on various drugs they had to be put in restraints so they wouldn’t hit us or bite us. I’ve conducted purely elective terminations and have nursed women through the loss of deeply desired infants, whether due to inexplicable intrauterine demise or a diagnosis incompatible with life.

We are missing the point.

The stories are gut-wrenching, as most medical decisions are. But it doesn’t matter whether we’re talking about a woman who has casual sex and utilizes abortion services every other month (I made that up), or whether we’re talking about a twelve year-old victim of incestual rape. It isn’t for us to arbitrate who can access healthcare.

I have yet to come across a politician or grandstander like Mike Parson or Ron DeSantis (or a priest, for that matter), who has ever been in the vicinity of delivering a baby with a terminal diagnosis. I would very much like to invite them into one, so they can witness exactly what they’re telling women is a gift from God, representing his love, mercy, and peace.

I don’t think anything incenses me more than evangelicals who think they’re on a mission to Save The Zygotes (But Not the Brown Ones!), after almost eleven years of watching non-viable fetuses struggle for breath and struggle to die because “the church” convinced the mother that termination was anything but merciful. If you’ve never seen this happen in real time, in your care, take several seats.

I have seen every “type” of woman in this situation. Eleven year olds conceive. Rape victims conceive. 55 year old women conceive. My dear friend with a large family whose marriage is hanging by a thread. An eighteen year old who partied too hard and doesn’t even remember the night. But we have fully lost the plot.

It doesn’t matter that Billy Graham thinks life begins at conception, or that Marjory Greene thinks a blastocyst is an autonomous human, or that I think they need biology lessons because a zygote is not an infant. I don’t expect Republican members of Congress to know the finer points of embryology because it's not their business to know. It’s a doctor’s business. Because it’s a doctor that counsels a patient on their termination choices, not Republican members of Congress.

The origin of your pregnancy doesn’t have any bearing on whether Amy Coney Barrett gets a vote in your gynecological care. We don’t get to evaluate each situation or case and say, from a conservative or liberal perspective “See, this is why this should be allowed; this is why this procedure is justified.” The origin of your pregnancy doesn’t change the legal, spiritual, or inarguable specifics of your autonomy. It doesn’t matter how the cells got there. You don’t have more or less autonomy or a less viable fetus because you were raped, you’re only eleven years old, you had a one night stand, your husband’s vasectomy failed and you’re 50. You are seeking a medical procedure. Period.

It doesn’t matter what the Bible says about abortion or when life begins. Somehow evangelical propaganda has extrapolated that “the Bible says” life begins at conception. Jesus of Nazareth was Jewish. The Talmud and the religious teaching that he would have preached in the synagogue was that a person gains their soul (nafesh) when the head emerges at birth. This is why in some Eastern cultures it’s very rude to touch someone’s head; it is the seat of their soul. The sacred texts refer to the fetus as “mere fluid” for 40 “days.” The fetus is, in religious tradition, part of the mother’s body. But what Jesus says about medical procedures doesn’t matter unless you are seeking an abortion yourself. So if your “belief” about termination of pregnancy is based on your interpretation of scripture, and your mental gymnastics make you think Jesus said abortion is murder, then don’t have a termination. Pretty simple. Unless we’re just going to be a full theocracy and adopt the entire old testament as penal code. You may not have facial hair or eat bacon, and if you don’t wear a veil you will be executed. Good luck with that. I feel the need to clarify to evangelicals that the Talmud is actually the Old Testament of their King James, by which they supposedly live their lives. You either believe the Old Testament or you don’t. Pick a lane.

Roe v. Wade is not about whether women have bodily autonomy, whether a blastocyst is an infant, or whether a ten week-old fetus can feel vacuum suction (it can’t). It didn’t decide whether electric impulses in cardiac tissue, or the beginnings of brain waves, constitute independent life. This is a sea of red herring. We have fully lost the plot. 

What Roe v. Wade is about, and what the fundamental question of abortion procedures is about, is whether a person has the fundamental right to privacy regarding healthcare decisions between her and her provider. Period. The due process clause of the 14th amendment names the right to privacy and the right to privacy without government restriction. Jane Doe’s ninth and fourteenth amendment rights were “overbroadly infringe(d)” upon by state or federal restriction. Neither the Supreme Court, Congress, the President, or Glenn Beck get to make judgment calls on your right to hospice or palliative care for your aging parent, your right to decline treatment for your child’s cancer, your right to keep or donate your organs upon your death, your right to donate your body to science upon your death, your right to seek gender reassignment surgery, your right to preemptively decline resuscitation in the event of your cardiopulmonary arrest, your right to seek in vitro fertilization, or your right to seek a colposcopy or a biopsy or a D&C. The termination of pregnancy is a medical procedure. Full stop. We don’t legislate hysterectomies, vasectomies, how we resuscitate newborns, we don’t legislate ECMO or bypass or how we keep you alive or not during a crash. We DO, by the way, consider the execution of fully viable and functioning adults to be legal and justifiable. So go figure that one.

Talking heads can bloviate on whether you do any of this until they are blue in the face. They are entitled to their opinion and I don’t begrudge it of them. But fundamentally, they do not get to violate me by imposing their opinion on my body and my life. You are endowed by your creator – whether you believe that creator is God, Artemis, or The Force – with inalienable rights to autonomy and privacy. There is absolutely no other medical procedure on which Congress, the Supreme Court, or the President register an opinion of validity. Government regulation of medical procedures across the entire gamut is for the sole purpose of ensuring consumer safety. That is the role of government in healthcare. Abortion is safe – exponentially safer than forced childbirth.

I’ve left the labor and delivery world. I am a nurse practitioner now in geriatrics, and am seeing the same challenges to bodily autonomy in them. Their right to die peacefully, to die with dignity, to appoint proxies and instill power of attorney to make decisions about their procedures and end of life care.

I am unable to tolerate the violation of autonomy of any human being. As a nurse, as a human, as an American, that should be our most sacred value.

Mothering & Motherhood.

What’s the big deal?

Hi I'm Sarah Price, coach and team builder over at Neon Cardigan. I welcomed this opportunity to share one of my core-motherhood-memories.

Please enjoy watching me reflect, really remember, and totally fall apart in the best way while feeling into the magic of my own story.

It Was Feminine & Sterile.

And isn’t that so telling of Women’s (and trans, and lgbtq+) healthcare in this country?

My hands are shaking. Not sure if it’s from the content itself, or the amount of coffee I’ve had in order to channel the courage to write it.

My journey with motherhood started long before the version of motherhood you see me living today. It started 9 years ago, when I had an abortion at 23 years old. Over the past year and a half of telling new stories and having bold conversations, I’ve thought a lot about my 23 year old self, and the choice I made then; and when - or if - I would ever share it here. 

The Decision

I was 11 days late, and took a test. For any sexually active woman, you’ve likely had this exact experience - a scare, “Shit, let me take a test just to give peace of mind.” And then, in an instant, two pink lines showed up. My eyes stung with tears, and looking up at my then boyfriend, his eyes were fear-filled.

We stared at each other, and I remember collapsing into bed thinking my life was over. The next day I had to return to a high-pressure job, and continue living my ‘big life’ with a big secret inside. I said to him, and he mirrored back, “We can’t do this right now.” That decision has continued to be an unspoken part of our relationship in the decade that followed. Especially in parallel with friends who welcomed a child at the same time ours would have born. 

Finding Care

I called my doctor. I explained to them that I was pregnant, and did not want to continue the pregnancy. Their tone turned very cold, explaining to me they didn’t do that kind of procedure, and I would need to find somewhere else. I was taken aback, I didn’t realize this wasn’t something OBGYNs didn’t cover; that this was care deemed untouchable. 

I called around and found a clinic in my area. I went for an initial visit. They require a mental health check, an exam, and for you to live with the decision for a few days to make sure you’re “sure.” That week was hell; filled with shame, uncertainty and grief. I turned to my mom, my sister, and a close friend. Together, this small army of women held me upright, and for that I’ll always be grateful for the power of womanhood. 

Terrified to tell my mom, when I finally did, she said, “This is your choice. But when you make it, you have to accept it. Forgive yourself and do not question it. It’s going to be the hardest thing you’ve ever done.” In the years that follow, I’m so grateful that we have a shared knowledge of what happened; that I can speak to the one person in the world who understands me and also the gravity of that choice. And, even though her decision would have likely been different, she supported me in my right to choose mine. 

That’s the power of a mother.

Day Of

There are distinct moments I recall; and most are in flashes of a memory.

The day of the abortion, I showed up at the clinic, expecting to take an oral pill that would end the pregnancy over several days. Pulling into the parking lot there were a half-dozen people - men and women - with signs of aborted fetuses yelling about my pending decision. 

I had never been this close to something like this; I was no longer the “good girl,” instead I was now a living example of the “worst thing that you could do.” Every young woman knows this narrative - get knocked up and your life is over; don’t have sex and you’re a prude; have sex and you’re a whore; have a child you’re unable to care for and you’re irresponsible; decide not to have a child and you’re selfish.

Inside, I was called back, with my partner having to stay in the lobby to protect the women and their privacy in the back. I was offered to hear the heartbeat; I declined. It wasn’t a path I could fathom; I had to forgive myself for what I was about to do, and I never could if I knew it was something more than 2 cells colliding. 

The medical staff explained to me the difference between an oral and surgical abortion. The oral would be very painful, taking several days; the surgical would be instant and allow for faster healing. I had to meet my partner in the lobby, and in a small public corridor discuss my options; on the doctor’s recommendation, we went with a surgical procedure. 

Terrified of a finger prick, to face this alone, paralyzed me. I remember laying back on an ice cold medical table, the nurse holding my hand as the anesthesia set in, and counting backwards from 10 as a stream of tears fell from the corner of my right eye. I woke up in a room with other women, lined up in our respective gurney beds - at least 25 of us - laying in a bay of “quiet what could have been.” I was disoriented, and the older woman next to me - at least 15 years my senior - put her hand on mine. She said, “It’s going to be OK. I have kids at home, and I just couldn’t have any more.” We both had tears. 

Afterwards

I tell the nurse that I am going to be sick - losing control on both ends. She tells me it’s just the medicine. Turns out it was my nerves, my shame. I pulled myself out of bed and stumble to the bathroom. I was there for 30 minutes pooping and puking all the grief out. 

I came out an hour or so later. My partner grabbed my hand, and led me to the bed. Later that evening, I remember I had a work call. I expected to work. (Let that sink in.) I assumed I would end my pregnancy, and go back to work within a few hours. 

I laid in the bed with my camera off, saying I was under the weather. 

This Week

Writing this is scary, because unlike the innocent women whose health is at risk, or are victims of abuse, my story is one of choice. It was one I did for my future self, my future family, my future partner, my future life, my future impact. I am the woman I am today, because of every choice I’ve made, including that one.

I struggled to share this because what is it that I really want to say? I want to say that pro-choice doesn’t mean pro-abortion. 10 years later, a decided mother myself now, I look back at my 23-year-old self and feel for her so deeply; the trauma and weight she carries. I look at what I would describe as the most feminine and sterile experience of my life; and isn’t that so telling of women (and trans, LGBTQ+) healthcare in this country. When we feel like we don’t belong and aren’t valued in these systems, it’s because we’re not. They are designed to dehumanize us, to minimize us, to rule us by shame and fear. 

I don’t wish an abortion on any person. But, what I also know to be true is removing the right and access to healthcare does not stop abortions; instead it stops safe abortions; it creates unprepared mothers; it perpetuates the false belief that women are unable or incapable of making sound, autonomous decisions about our bodies, health, and futures.

I dream of a world where not only we have choices, but we have systems and care that support and affirm our power individually and collectively.

And finally, while no abortion should require explanation, I share that my first pregnancy happened while actively using birth control and condoms - intentional, preventative measures to not have a child.