I'm at 29 weeks, five days. This is exactly the gestational age at which Charlie, of a Little Pregnant fame, was born. This comforts me. The data I've read say that 30-weekers have about a 95% chance of survival, with about a 2% chance of major disability. Statistics are helpful (especially to a math geek and research-addict like me) but knowing of an adorable little boy who loves Friendly's milkshakes, silver dollar pancakes, and imitating the cat, is reassuring. Even if I only know him through the computer.
Being beyond the "limit of viability" range relieves me beyond measure. Premature birth freaks the hell out of me. After reading The Preemie Experiment, other blogs, and tons of medical literature, A. and I had a long talk about our wishes if we were to have a "micro-preemie." We decided that at less than 25 weeks, we would want to the medical team to provide comfort care only. Between 25 and 26 weeks, we would look at the individual situation, talk with a neonatologist, and make a decision based on individual factors and the neo's expert opinion. Past 26 weeks, we would "allow" aggressive resuscitation measures. But then I found out that it's not that simple; it's apparently not really up to us. The Baby Doe Law and the Born-Alive Infants Protection Act tie the hands of parents and healthcare providers, and require them to give care, even if it is painful, near futile, and likely to result in a severely degraded quality of life. The former law is designed to protect the rights of the disabled, and the latter is an anti-choice stunt law that has ramifications beyond the reproductive fascism envisioned by its writers.
But now that we're getting to 30 weeks, there's really no question about the provision of medical care. Nobody will ask my opinion, and everyone will agree on the right course of treatment.
The next big milestone is 34 weeks, after which a birth would result in a "near-term infant." Not a big change, just terminology, but I think it corresponds to needing the NICU significantly less, or maybe not at all.
I'm finally starting to show. The Dunkin' Donuts guy let us in 15 minutes after the store closed, and gave us four doughnuts (we asked for 2) for the price of 1. I think it might have been because he noticed my belly.
And since I'm not allowed to announce it to anyone who actually knows him, I will say it here. My beloved A. has been a non-smoker for two and a half weeks now, after a 20-year habit. I'm very proud of him. And he's barely been an asshole at all during that time. (Thank you Zyban!)
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Call for help from the blogosphere: Help a 17-year-old girl in Kansas City get medical care
UPDATE
She's acquired transportation on her own, it seems. All it took was a few hours of A. on the phone brainstorming her options with her, as well as stressing the importance of getting medical care. She's perfectly internet savvy, but he needed to get her step-by-step directions from her school to the closest Planned Parenthood, for instance. She needed to get her priorities straight. It also seems that he's convinced her she should be on contraception longer-term, which while I know doesn't solve all problems (e.g. STDs) but should help prevent future scares to some degree.
=====================================
This request is urgent as time is of the essence.
My husband, A., is an avid player of MMPORGs. He is also an excellent listener, and people, especially teenagers, seem to really open up to him. He has become good friends with one particular 17-year-old girl who lives in Kansas City, Missouri.
She had unprotected sex last night. A. has spent some time talking to her over the last few hours. He's managed to get the conversation moving from self-slut-shaming to the need to do something.
She needs to get appropriate medical care. But she needs non-judgemental support and a ride to the clinic.
The only time she can make it is tomorrow (Monday) after school. Her school ends at 3pm. It's about a 20-minute drive from her school to the local Planned Parenthood clinic.
Also helpful would be someone willing to buy Plan B and drop it off at her house tonight.
Anyone who can help us with this situation would be greatly appreciated. You can leave a comment here or email me: doctorconfused@gmail.com
She's acquired transportation on her own, it seems. All it took was a few hours of A. on the phone brainstorming her options with her, as well as stressing the importance of getting medical care. She's perfectly internet savvy, but he needed to get her step-by-step directions from her school to the closest Planned Parenthood, for instance. She needed to get her priorities straight. It also seems that he's convinced her she should be on contraception longer-term, which while I know doesn't solve all problems (e.g. STDs) but should help prevent future scares to some degree.
=====================================
This request is urgent as time is of the essence.
My husband, A., is an avid player of MMPORGs. He is also an excellent listener, and people, especially teenagers, seem to really open up to him. He has become good friends with one particular 17-year-old girl who lives in Kansas City, Missouri.
She had unprotected sex last night. A. has spent some time talking to her over the last few hours. He's managed to get the conversation moving from self-slut-shaming to the need to do something.
She needs to get appropriate medical care. But she needs non-judgemental support and a ride to the clinic.
The only time she can make it is tomorrow (Monday) after school. Her school ends at 3pm. It's about a 20-minute drive from her school to the local Planned Parenthood clinic.
Also helpful would be someone willing to buy Plan B and drop it off at her house tonight.
Anyone who can help us with this situation would be greatly appreciated. You can leave a comment here or email me: doctorconfused@gmail.com
Friday, July 27, 2007
"Lesion" update
I had a midwife's appointment yesterday so I asked her to look at my cervix. Yes, I specifically said "please take a look at my cervix." She waaay over-apologized and over-warned as she greased up her speculum and inserted it, leading A. to believe that pelvic exams are painful (which, for me at least, they are not). And she saw... nothing. Nada. Zip. No "lesions." Well, she did see a Nabothian cyst, which she described as like a whitehead on my cervix.
She rolled her eyes at the emergency doctors, their diagnosis of lesions, and their insistence on me making sure I got follow-up care. I don't know; I really liked the doctors, though since they have to be such generalists I don't expect them to be particular experts on cervical changes in pregnancy. So it turns out all my extensive googling into possible causes of cervical lesions, and endometriosis, was for nought. At least if I had had endo, I would have been in good company.
We did some quick follow-up on my quad screen (screen negative for everything), and my ultrasound. The only thing she noted about the ultrasound was that it shows I have an anterior placenta. An anterior placenta is totally normal, though it can make fetal movement a little less noticeable, and there is a very small amount of evidence indicating that an anterior placenta may be associated with a posterior presentation. I guess I'll have to be pretty vigilant about following the posture recommendations at Spinning Babies.
I asked her if the ultrasound said anything about dates. She told me, but didn't seem happy about telling me. I found that slightly annoying. It turns out the ultrasound would recommend a due date six days before the one I have according to LMP. So, of course, I (and she) are choosing to ignore this. However, if it had recommended a later date, even by a few days, I would have asked the official EDD to be changed. It annoyed me that she seemed to think I didn't have the knowledge to interpret this data, and so didn't want to tell me at all.
She also recommended that we try to make appointments with other midwives in the practice. I thought I was seeing the same person (for every appointment but my first) on purpose. Apparently not. I'm glad she made that recommendation since I'm beginning to get frustrated with her. If there is anything I hate, it is being condescended to. Not that she's so bad I wouldn't trust her to help me birth a baby; she seems very hands off and relaxed, which I like.
She rolled her eyes at the emergency doctors, their diagnosis of lesions, and their insistence on me making sure I got follow-up care. I don't know; I really liked the doctors, though since they have to be such generalists I don't expect them to be particular experts on cervical changes in pregnancy. So it turns out all my extensive googling into possible causes of cervical lesions, and endometriosis, was for nought. At least if I had had endo, I would have been in good company.
We did some quick follow-up on my quad screen (screen negative for everything), and my ultrasound. The only thing she noted about the ultrasound was that it shows I have an anterior placenta. An anterior placenta is totally normal, though it can make fetal movement a little less noticeable, and there is a very small amount of evidence indicating that an anterior placenta may be associated with a posterior presentation. I guess I'll have to be pretty vigilant about following the posture recommendations at Spinning Babies.
I asked her if the ultrasound said anything about dates. She told me, but didn't seem happy about telling me. I found that slightly annoying. It turns out the ultrasound would recommend a due date six days before the one I have according to LMP. So, of course, I (and she) are choosing to ignore this. However, if it had recommended a later date, even by a few days, I would have asked the official EDD to be changed. It annoyed me that she seemed to think I didn't have the knowledge to interpret this data, and so didn't want to tell me at all.
She also recommended that we try to make appointments with other midwives in the practice. I thought I was seeing the same person (for every appointment but my first) on purpose. Apparently not. I'm glad she made that recommendation since I'm beginning to get frustrated with her. If there is anything I hate, it is being condescended to. Not that she's so bad I wouldn't trust her to help me birth a baby; she seems very hands off and relaxed, which I like.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Not as upbeat as it should be
Friday was 20 weeks. I had a post planned; it was going to marvel at how normally everything has been going this pregnancy. It was going to go into some detail on the screening ultrasound: the two kidneys, the heart with four chambers, A. getting teary, etc. It was going to discuss how in my opinion 20 weeks is not halfway through the pregnancy, since 1. Most first-time mothers go well after their "due dates" and 2. The pregnancy didn't really start at the beginning of my last menstrual period.
Instead of posting, I spent five hours in an emergency room on the other side of the country.
I was on a two-week long trip visiting a distant university. I helped run a workshop in my field for a few days and then was working with some colleagues on the project that's funding my postdoc position.
Two days before I was to fly home, I had a lovely dinner out at an Indian restaurant with my ex-boyfriend and his newly pregnant wife. I adore Indian food, but it makes me gassy. While waking the next morning, I had a ginormous fart. Really, an excellent fart. But during the fart, I also felt some liquid moving through my vagina. I'm not sure if my readers are familiar with this phenomenon; I certainly am. Whenever I get my period my farts do a lot of the work of getting the blood moving downwards.
Anyway, I figured it was just that extra cervical fluid so helpfully provided by pregnancy. But I'm your standard paranoid pregnant person, so without opening my eyes, I slipped a finger inside my vagina to gather some liquid and wiped it off on the white motel sheet next to me (oh yes, housekeeping loves me). I half-lifted my sleep mask and opened one eye.
Brown. What? Mask comes off, other eye opens, and I stare at the sheet. There's a clear brown fingerprint. I'm immediately up and into the bathroom, wiping myself vigorously and checking the colour and origin. There is no doubt that my vagina is leaking dark brown liquid.
I called my midwife's office back home and the nurse told me to go to the E.R.
They saw me very quickly, but then they wanted to monitor me for my initially high blood pressure (See the previous post, re white-coat hypertension) and then the OB/GYN department took 3 hours responding to a request for a consult.
Also there was a bit of confusion over my dates. I told them I was exactly twenty weeks. Twenty weeks is the borderline for whether they'll see you in the E.R. or send you to L & D for continuous fetal monitoring. Then the nurse brought out one of those wheels and told me I was nineteen weeks. I told her I was pretty sure I was twenty, but I wasn't going to argue with her when she decided she knew better. I spent the time waiting for the doctor double-checking my math (March 2+140 days=March 142=April 111=May 81=June 50=July 20. See? 20 weeks). Then the doctor came and did it on his PDA, and got the same answer I had. But they decided to see me in the E.R. anyway since I was there and right on the border.
They did an ultrasound and everything was fine, which I already mostly knew because I can feel fetal movement pretty frequently. Then they did a pelvic exam. The doctor saw two lesions on my cervix. To me, lesion is a somewhat frightening word. I associate it with bad things, like AIDS and cancer. However, it appears that it's medical speak for "damage" or "something looks a little funny." He asked about a pap smear: I had one in February and it was normal. He also asked about STDs; I was checked for all the common ones at the beginning of the pregnancy and they were all negative.
When the OB/GYN consult came back, it was suggested I might have endometriosis on my cervix. I have no idea how they came up with that; my googling indicates that cervical endometriosis is relatively uncommon. I haven't really had any symptoms of endo, although in retrospect I do have somewhat painful periods.
I didn't get a definitive diagnosis; they told me to follow up with my own care providers. I called my midwife's office today and lengthened my appointment; they gave me the last appointment of the day this Thursday. I'm worried that I should have instead gotten an appointment with the OB, since I'm not sure if midwives are trained to look at abnormal cervices.
The worst part was sitting there for 5 hours without food. I left as soon as I got up; I didn't have breakfast. I was smart enough to grab an apple on the way out and ate that in the waiting room. They asked me early on if I was lightheaded; good thing they didn't ask later. You don't leave pregnant women for 5 hours without food! The other bad part was poor A. back home. I sent him a quick e-mail (followed by a brief msn conversation) telling him I was going to the E.R. for vaginal bleeding; he didn't hear from me until almost 6 hours later.
Instead of posting, I spent five hours in an emergency room on the other side of the country.
I was on a two-week long trip visiting a distant university. I helped run a workshop in my field for a few days and then was working with some colleagues on the project that's funding my postdoc position.
Two days before I was to fly home, I had a lovely dinner out at an Indian restaurant with my ex-boyfriend and his newly pregnant wife. I adore Indian food, but it makes me gassy. While waking the next morning, I had a ginormous fart. Really, an excellent fart. But during the fart, I also felt some liquid moving through my vagina. I'm not sure if my readers are familiar with this phenomenon; I certainly am. Whenever I get my period my farts do a lot of the work of getting the blood moving downwards.
Anyway, I figured it was just that extra cervical fluid so helpfully provided by pregnancy. But I'm your standard paranoid pregnant person, so without opening my eyes, I slipped a finger inside my vagina to gather some liquid and wiped it off on the white motel sheet next to me (oh yes, housekeeping loves me). I half-lifted my sleep mask and opened one eye.
Brown. What? Mask comes off, other eye opens, and I stare at the sheet. There's a clear brown fingerprint. I'm immediately up and into the bathroom, wiping myself vigorously and checking the colour and origin. There is no doubt that my vagina is leaking dark brown liquid.
I called my midwife's office back home and the nurse told me to go to the E.R.
They saw me very quickly, but then they wanted to monitor me for my initially high blood pressure (See the previous post, re white-coat hypertension) and then the OB/GYN department took 3 hours responding to a request for a consult.
Also there was a bit of confusion over my dates. I told them I was exactly twenty weeks. Twenty weeks is the borderline for whether they'll see you in the E.R. or send you to L & D for continuous fetal monitoring. Then the nurse brought out one of those wheels and told me I was nineteen weeks. I told her I was pretty sure I was twenty, but I wasn't going to argue with her when she decided she knew better. I spent the time waiting for the doctor double-checking my math (March 2+140 days=March 142=April 111=May 81=June 50=July 20. See? 20 weeks). Then the doctor came and did it on his PDA, and got the same answer I had. But they decided to see me in the E.R. anyway since I was there and right on the border.
They did an ultrasound and everything was fine, which I already mostly knew because I can feel fetal movement pretty frequently. Then they did a pelvic exam. The doctor saw two lesions on my cervix. To me, lesion is a somewhat frightening word. I associate it with bad things, like AIDS and cancer. However, it appears that it's medical speak for "damage" or "something looks a little funny." He asked about a pap smear: I had one in February and it was normal. He also asked about STDs; I was checked for all the common ones at the beginning of the pregnancy and they were all negative.
When the OB/GYN consult came back, it was suggested I might have endometriosis on my cervix. I have no idea how they came up with that; my googling indicates that cervical endometriosis is relatively uncommon. I haven't really had any symptoms of endo, although in retrospect I do have somewhat painful periods.
I didn't get a definitive diagnosis; they told me to follow up with my own care providers. I called my midwife's office today and lengthened my appointment; they gave me the last appointment of the day this Thursday. I'm worried that I should have instead gotten an appointment with the OB, since I'm not sure if midwives are trained to look at abnormal cervices.
The worst part was sitting there for 5 hours without food. I left as soon as I got up; I didn't have breakfast. I was smart enough to grab an apple on the way out and ate that in the waiting room. They asked me early on if I was lightheaded; good thing they didn't ask later. You don't leave pregnant women for 5 hours without food! The other bad part was poor A. back home. I sent him a quick e-mail (followed by a brief msn conversation) telling him I was going to the E.R. for vaginal bleeding; he didn't hear from me until almost 6 hours later.
Sunday, July 1, 2007
Pregnancy update
- I'm still pregnant. 17 weeks now. I had a midwife appointment the other day, and there is still a heartbeat present. I used to scoff at people who bought home doppler ultrasounds. I know the American Institute of Ultrasound in Medicine is not a big fan of ultrasounds for other than indicated medical reasons, and I thought that people who disregarded such advice for their own reassurance were foolhardy at worst, merely silly at best. I'm not running out to buy a Doppler, but I now have much more sympathy for the people who do. Four weeks is a long time to wait between live-fetus checks. Especially when one is a big research-slut, aware of many of the things that can go wrong in a pregnancy at any point. But next week is the screening ultrasound, and fairly soon I expect to start feeling fetal movement on a regular basis. So this four weeks might just be the longest period I've had to go not being quite sure if there's a real live fetus in there.
- I'm not showing. I bought my first baby item last week: a Maya Wrap sling. I found it on craigslist. Plain black, my size (but not A.'s), with instructional DVD, and within short biking distance. Perfect. The couple I bought it from have a six-week old daughter who hates the sling. The father said to me "I hope... whoever you're buying this for... enjoys it!" So I guess, even when my behaviour indicates I could be pregnant, I don't look it. The midwife also mentioned me not showing. I told her A. can tell, when I'm naked. Apparently having one's husband think one looks pregnant while naked does not officially count as "showing."
- I have a definite case of white coat syndrome. Except that it's not doctors (or midwives) who necessarily freak me out. It's receptionists and nurses. I've always had a pretty significant social anxiety disorder (yes, professionally diagnosed), and it tends to be worse with "counter people" (retail workers, receptionists) and low-level authorities like nurses. I breathe deeply in the elevator while A. pats my arm, check in with the receptionists (whom I hate, for a combination of rational and irrational reasons), fiddle clumsily with the label for the urine sample I brought along, try to calm myself while flipping through a magazine in the waiting room, quickly get called by a nurse (since my midwife seems to do her appointments on time, and I refuse to show up any time either than exactly 5 minutes before my appointment), follow the (feared, but not hated) nurse into the exam room, and immediately get my blood pressure taken. High, of course. This time I got the midwife to take it at the end of the exam as well, at which point it was comfortably in the normal range. I'm worried that they'll want to induce me later for PIH, which will really just be social anxiety. Maybe I can convince them to let me take my own readings over 24 hours before they make any decisions.
- I'm gaining weight like crazy. It worries me. If I continue gaining at this rate, I will gain 50 lbs over the course of the pregnancy.
- We asked the midwife if she knew any Bradley instructors. She mentioned a couple of names, that A. had already found in his research. She also said that she liked them because they didn't make their clients "hostile." She described the "hostility" as "vestigial." A. was impressed with her choice of vocabulary. I was slightly disturbed by her dismissal of the consumer-education portion of the classes. It seems she measures an instructor by their tendency to have complacent students. I guess I shouldn't expect any differently, since she would be on the receiving end of the "hostility." I think she thinks it's no longer needed since she and her colleagues no longer routinely shave their patients, give enemas, separate the parents, etc. But I'm still worried about other decisions: to not have an IV, to eat and drink, to delay cord cutting, and to have the baby never ever leave the room.
- A. finds me extra-sexy when I'm pregnant. He told me he's even finding himself attracted to other pregnant women, which hasn't been a factor for him before. I'm enjoying the attention, since I have the typical worries about how pregnancy is changing my body.
- I still haven't told my boss I'm pregnant, and only one labmate knows. I figure the boss should be first. She's been out of town for a few weeks. I may have to tell her at a workshop we have out-of-town in about a week. I'm nervous. She does not like children. She's always felt, I think, that I've been one of the few people she can confide in about her dislike of children, and her annoyance when events she has to attend turn out to be child-centred. On the other hand, I know she strongly identifies as a feminist, and I don't think she's going to try to make my life hell for choosing motherhood. She knows that it's much easier for men to choose fatherhood at this stage (or any) in their careers, and I know that her sense of fairness will win out in the end.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Why I chose marriage, and am glad I did
Jill Filipovic is not getting married. Neither is Amanda Marcotte. I admire and respect these two women. I think their reasons are sound. I made a different choice.
For a very long time, I thought I would never get married. I just didn't picture myself in that role of "wife." Some of Jill's commenters talk about that: about how the social expectations, especially those based on gender, change when moving from girlfriend to wife. Anyone who knows me knows I could never fit neatly into any such category. And my dreams as a child were always about what I would do with my life and my career: fly airplanes, write books, travel the world. I don't remember ever dressing up in a white pillowcase and pretending to be a bride. My parents emphasized my education over all else. My father, in fact, specifically advised me against marriage. He sees it as career suicide for a woman. It probably doesn't help that his own marriage failed spectacularly.
When A. and I stumbled into each other's lives (or, more accurately, beds) we were both in open relationships, mine of 4.5 years. And then we fell hard in ways that would be saccharin if I tried to explain them here. After only 2 months, A. proposed. And I reacted with panic. I didn't want to be married, didn't feel ready to make a big commitment, was too familiar with divorce statistics and the consequences of divorce, felt that if I announced an engagement people around me would ridicule me. We put off announcing it for six months, during which A. worked hard to assuage my various fears. Our relationship calmed down over that period, as we worked on our conflict resolution skills and learned to be less sensitive to one another's tendencies to wild emotion. Then we announced the engagement and spent the next year working even harder on our relationship and planning a wedding.
After reading Jill's piece, I asked A. if he had wanted to get married before meeting me. He said yes; he had pictured himself, eventually, as a husband and father. I suppose that makes the narrative clear: man with marital ambitions meets woman without, they fall in love, he convinces her to marry. While there may be some of that; I think that's missing a crucial element. I wasn't just convinced, I was converted. I was enthused and committed. He didn't have my grudging consent, I was an enthusiastic participant.
Over at Feministe, commenter Nita writes:
And since getting married? I have to say, I love it. It's far better than I thought it would be. We get all the social benefits of marriage, with very little of the social expectations. Only my mother-in-law is under the impression that marriage should have changed us to fit neatly into our gender roles. Everyone else knows us too well, expects strangeness of us, and leaves us alone. I have serious social anxiety issues around, for example, medical personnel. Doctors used to look at me strangely when I asked to bring my boyfriend into the exam room, and a nurse even tried to kick him out once. But no one bats an eye when I bring my husband in, although the gynecologist did say "you know, most men don't stay for this part" as she performed the Pap smear. The legal benefits are wonderful as well. I just added A. to my health insurance. I think it would have been possible if we were just living together, but it would have been a hell of a lot more paperwork. I am very comforted by the idea that if I couldn't make my own medical decisions, the first person they'd turn to is A., someone who knows me well and shares my values, instead of my parents, who don't.
The legal benefits for A. are even more important. He doesn't get paid directly for any work he does; not the housework, not the sortof-secretarial work he does for me, not the academic job-seeking, not the hand-holding through the hard parts of my job. When this kid comes out, he'll be doing childcare without payment, while I benefit, earning experience, credentials, and pay. If, FSM-forbid, the marriage were to end, he deserves every legal right he has to our assets and my future earnings. And I benefit from this security. If he couldn't count on my perpetual financial support, he would most likely be much less willing to follow me from city to city, doing my laundry.
This last part may be part of the reason women have often been more eager for marriage than men. A. is playing the stereotypically female role in our division of labour. The unpaid, not-publicly-acknowledged role. Marriage provides important legal protection to the person playing that role. In relationships without children, in which both partners work and make near-equivalent contributions to the running of the household, marriage is not as important. I imagine Jill and Amanda picture themselves in those kinds of relationships. (I know Amanda is sure she doesn't want kids, I don't remember if Jill's ever said anything either way). But I'm an academic, and I plan on being peripatetic, and A. and I have decided my career always comes first. It only makes sense for A. to protect himself legally and financially.
All this, and I've said very little about the emotional benefits of marriage. Those are much harder to enumerate or quantify. Most of these benefits are benefits of any relationship. Would A. be any worse at holding me and reassuring me when the world is a scary place, if we didn't have a legal contract? Probably not. But marriage has an important symbolic value, at least to us. I know he's committed to me, and vice versa. We were able to live in different cities for three years while still being sure of our commitment. I see our marriage as permanent, and I'm willing to work hard to make it fulfilling for both of us. In previous relationships, and even earlier in this one, I was timid, and didn't always make my needs clear. But now, I know that I can't live my whole life with these needs unmet, and so I'm more willing to speak up. I'm willing to invest time and effort into my marriage, because I know it will pay off over the long run. I'm less scared of an argument, because I know it will always end, and that neither of us is going to walk away.
I imagine there are many people who have this sense of permanence in non-married relationships. But for me and for A., the marriage is a good way of cementing it, reminding us of the commitments we've made.
So yes, for me, and I'm sure for many others, marriage is the right choice. It hurts me that this institution, which has done so much for us, isn't available to everyone. While I will note that I married in a jurisdiction that allows same-sex-marriage, and live in another, I still know that my marriage benefits from extreme heterosexual privilege. My marriage is valid no matter where I live and under all legal definitions; Pam (of Pam's house blend) and Kate's is not recognized in their own state. The unvailability of SSM is one of the best arguments I've heard against marriage; it's unfair to take advantage of a system that is inherently unequal. To this I can only say, yes, and I'm sorry. I will work hard for my gay and lesbian friends to be able to have all the advantages I have. But I don't think giving up my own legal, social, and emotional benefits will be of any help to them.
For a very long time, I thought I would never get married. I just didn't picture myself in that role of "wife." Some of Jill's commenters talk about that: about how the social expectations, especially those based on gender, change when moving from girlfriend to wife. Anyone who knows me knows I could never fit neatly into any such category. And my dreams as a child were always about what I would do with my life and my career: fly airplanes, write books, travel the world. I don't remember ever dressing up in a white pillowcase and pretending to be a bride. My parents emphasized my education over all else. My father, in fact, specifically advised me against marriage. He sees it as career suicide for a woman. It probably doesn't help that his own marriage failed spectacularly.
When A. and I stumbled into each other's lives (or, more accurately, beds) we were both in open relationships, mine of 4.5 years. And then we fell hard in ways that would be saccharin if I tried to explain them here. After only 2 months, A. proposed. And I reacted with panic. I didn't want to be married, didn't feel ready to make a big commitment, was too familiar with divorce statistics and the consequences of divorce, felt that if I announced an engagement people around me would ridicule me. We put off announcing it for six months, during which A. worked hard to assuage my various fears. Our relationship calmed down over that period, as we worked on our conflict resolution skills and learned to be less sensitive to one another's tendencies to wild emotion. Then we announced the engagement and spent the next year working even harder on our relationship and planning a wedding.
After reading Jill's piece, I asked A. if he had wanted to get married before meeting me. He said yes; he had pictured himself, eventually, as a husband and father. I suppose that makes the narrative clear: man with marital ambitions meets woman without, they fall in love, he convinces her to marry. While there may be some of that; I think that's missing a crucial element. I wasn't just convinced, I was converted. I was enthused and committed. He didn't have my grudging consent, I was an enthusiastic participant.
Over at Feministe, commenter Nita writes:
And finally, it has always seemed weird to me to talk of wanting to get married or not wanting to get married as a theoretical construct separate from the “getting married TO X”–the desire to get married seems so contingent on the person or people you have relationships with, that it just doesn’t even make sense to talk of my general desire for (or lack of desire for) marriage. I may want to get married if I find a particular person who is so amazingly awesom that I simply can’t imagine NOT being with them for the rest of my life, but may emphatically NOT want to get married if I had to choose between George Bush, Rick Santorum, and James Dobson.I agree strongly with this sentiment. Marriage was not something I wanted to do until I met A., and to talk about "marriage" without talking about "marriage to X" seems very odd to me. Nonetheless, I know people do that, such as the women who did the pillowcase thing as girls, and, it turns out, A. Problematically, the point of Nita's statement is often used as a means of dismissing those who state their choice not to be married. I hope you understand that when I'm saying "I didn't want to marry until I met A., and then I changed my mind" I'm not saying "oh dearie, you're saying that now, but you'll change your tune when you meet the right man!" I'm not so self-centred or condescending as to believe that my narrative is universal. Jill may get married one day and may not. Her choices and her relationships are legitimate either way. While my narrative is not uncommon, and I don't think hypocritical, there are also many people with committed, long-term unmarried relationships, people who are happily in serial relationships (monogamous or not), and people who are happily unpartnered.
And since getting married? I have to say, I love it. It's far better than I thought it would be. We get all the social benefits of marriage, with very little of the social expectations. Only my mother-in-law is under the impression that marriage should have changed us to fit neatly into our gender roles. Everyone else knows us too well, expects strangeness of us, and leaves us alone. I have serious social anxiety issues around, for example, medical personnel. Doctors used to look at me strangely when I asked to bring my boyfriend into the exam room, and a nurse even tried to kick him out once. But no one bats an eye when I bring my husband in, although the gynecologist did say "you know, most men don't stay for this part" as she performed the Pap smear. The legal benefits are wonderful as well. I just added A. to my health insurance. I think it would have been possible if we were just living together, but it would have been a hell of a lot more paperwork. I am very comforted by the idea that if I couldn't make my own medical decisions, the first person they'd turn to is A., someone who knows me well and shares my values, instead of my parents, who don't.
The legal benefits for A. are even more important. He doesn't get paid directly for any work he does; not the housework, not the sortof-secretarial work he does for me, not the academic job-seeking, not the hand-holding through the hard parts of my job. When this kid comes out, he'll be doing childcare without payment, while I benefit, earning experience, credentials, and pay. If, FSM-forbid, the marriage were to end, he deserves every legal right he has to our assets and my future earnings. And I benefit from this security. If he couldn't count on my perpetual financial support, he would most likely be much less willing to follow me from city to city, doing my laundry.
This last part may be part of the reason women have often been more eager for marriage than men. A. is playing the stereotypically female role in our division of labour. The unpaid, not-publicly-acknowledged role. Marriage provides important legal protection to the person playing that role. In relationships without children, in which both partners work and make near-equivalent contributions to the running of the household, marriage is not as important. I imagine Jill and Amanda picture themselves in those kinds of relationships. (I know Amanda is sure she doesn't want kids, I don't remember if Jill's ever said anything either way). But I'm an academic, and I plan on being peripatetic, and A. and I have decided my career always comes first. It only makes sense for A. to protect himself legally and financially.
All this, and I've said very little about the emotional benefits of marriage. Those are much harder to enumerate or quantify. Most of these benefits are benefits of any relationship. Would A. be any worse at holding me and reassuring me when the world is a scary place, if we didn't have a legal contract? Probably not. But marriage has an important symbolic value, at least to us. I know he's committed to me, and vice versa. We were able to live in different cities for three years while still being sure of our commitment. I see our marriage as permanent, and I'm willing to work hard to make it fulfilling for both of us. In previous relationships, and even earlier in this one, I was timid, and didn't always make my needs clear. But now, I know that I can't live my whole life with these needs unmet, and so I'm more willing to speak up. I'm willing to invest time and effort into my marriage, because I know it will pay off over the long run. I'm less scared of an argument, because I know it will always end, and that neither of us is going to walk away.
I imagine there are many people who have this sense of permanence in non-married relationships. But for me and for A., the marriage is a good way of cementing it, reminding us of the commitments we've made.
So yes, for me, and I'm sure for many others, marriage is the right choice. It hurts me that this institution, which has done so much for us, isn't available to everyone. While I will note that I married in a jurisdiction that allows same-sex-marriage, and live in another, I still know that my marriage benefits from extreme heterosexual privilege. My marriage is valid no matter where I live and under all legal definitions; Pam (of Pam's house blend) and Kate's is not recognized in their own state. The unvailability of SSM is one of the best arguments I've heard against marriage; it's unfair to take advantage of a system that is inherently unequal. To this I can only say, yes, and I'm sorry. I will work hard for my gay and lesbian friends to be able to have all the advantages I have. But I don't think giving up my own legal, social, and emotional benefits will be of any help to them.
Sunday, June 3, 2007
Obligatory heartbeat post
I recently had an appointment with the midwife. I was a little worried that she would be flaky. Her bio states that she used to run a health-food store and is an "unlimited body practitioner." Um, what? Google led me to this page, which is absolutely full of pseudoscience.
What I got was a rather sweet, matter-of-fact older woman. She gelled me up, used the doppler to check the heartbeat, and estimated it to be in the 130s. She gave me a couple interesting pieces of information, such as how high the top of my uterus should be by the next appointment, and that I might get some round ligament pain. She told me that if I need a break from the nausea (which I still have, past 13 weeks now) I should take Benadryl. She urged me to get the AFP test and scheduled that and the routine screening/dating ultrasound.
No crystals, no weirdness. Then again, it was a very short appointment.
Some people get very verklempt about the first time they hear the heartbeat. Apparently there's a sudden realization that the fetus in there is going to develop into a real, honest-to-goodness person, or something. Didn't do much for me. Yep, it's a heartbeat.
On the way home I started telling my husband, A, what we learned from the existence of the heartbeat. It rules out a complete molar pregnancy, but not a partial molar pregnancy. It rules out a fetus that has already died, and since I'm past the 12 week mark significantly reduces the chances of a miscarriage. It doesn't rule out many of the other problems that can occur, like anencephaly (warning, scary pictures) and other problems incompatible with life.
A interrupted me. "Yes," he said, "I get it. Heartbeat good!"
Yes, I suppose. Heartbeat good.
They are advised beginning in the First Healing Gift - the Safe Touch - "that the less you do, the more you get done." This paradox causes more than a little mental gymnastics for students. It challenges truths' that they have accepted without question for their entire lives. The Safe Touch is a hands-on technique that consists of allowing the tissue to move as it wants, which leads to trust. This in turn leads to surrender and natural healing.Right... whatever that means. Anthropomorphized tissue, which needs to trust before it heals. So yeah, I expected some flakiness. Maybe an attempt to lay on hands. Maybe some crystals, or some herb recommendations.
What I got was a rather sweet, matter-of-fact older woman. She gelled me up, used the doppler to check the heartbeat, and estimated it to be in the 130s. She gave me a couple interesting pieces of information, such as how high the top of my uterus should be by the next appointment, and that I might get some round ligament pain. She told me that if I need a break from the nausea (which I still have, past 13 weeks now) I should take Benadryl. She urged me to get the AFP test and scheduled that and the routine screening/dating ultrasound.
No crystals, no weirdness. Then again, it was a very short appointment.
Some people get very verklempt about the first time they hear the heartbeat. Apparently there's a sudden realization that the fetus in there is going to develop into a real, honest-to-goodness person, or something. Didn't do much for me. Yep, it's a heartbeat.
On the way home I started telling my husband, A, what we learned from the existence of the heartbeat. It rules out a complete molar pregnancy, but not a partial molar pregnancy. It rules out a fetus that has already died, and since I'm past the 12 week mark significantly reduces the chances of a miscarriage. It doesn't rule out many of the other problems that can occur, like anencephaly (warning, scary pictures) and other problems incompatible with life.
A interrupted me. "Yes," he said, "I get it. Heartbeat good!"
Yes, I suppose. Heartbeat good.
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