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.
