3 August 2006
Seven years ago tomorrow, I woke up disorientated and in pain, unable to move or speak. My hip was partially dislocated and I was bleeding from between my legs and it was at least two hours before I was able to speak to tell anyone I needed help.
No, I hadn't been raped, although at the time it felt very much like I had been.
I'd actually been under general anaesthetic having a Mirena intrauterine system device fitted as an alternative to sterilisation.
A few months earlier, at the relatively young age of 22, I'd made a decision, based on a number of factors, that I would ask to be sterilised. It wasn't a decision I made quickly or lightly. I put a lot of thought into it, based on what I knew and how I felt at the time, and made an appointment to see my GP, who'd cared for me since before I was born, and whose jaw promptly hit the desk when I made my request.
To his credit, after composing himself, he didn't patronise me or talk me out of it. He just asked me what my reasons were, and if I'd fully thought through the ramifications of my decision before agreeing to refer me to a consultant gynaecologist - one that he thought would be receptive to my request.
When the appointment rolled around, I sat in front of the consultant and once more made my request. I don't actually remember if he wore glasses, but it felt very much as if he were looking over the top of his glasses at me as he explained how they didn't usually do such things for people as young as I was. I explained again about the diagnosis of Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, Hypermobility Type and it's autosomal dominant inheritance pattern, meaning I'd have a 50% chance of passing it on to any child I had. Assuming I was ever able to carry a child to term.
I told him about the clear line of inheritance through my family, and the worsening the further down the line it got, ending with me, and the likelihood that any child of mine who inherited it would be at least equally, if not more affected. I told him about the miscarriages my mum had suffered, before and after having me and my sister. I explained the likelihood of pregnancy increasing the severity of my symptoms with the possibility that it may cause permanent damage, ultimately shortening the period of my life where I'd be able to be independent. I told him that having taken into account the risk to my own health and that of any child I may have, that the stakes were too high... the gamble too great for me to take any risks of getting pregnant accidentally. I explained the issues I'd had with various types of contraceptive tablet - the severe and heavy bleeding two weeks out of four, the severely debilitating period pains, the mood swings, the weight gain, the acne, the greasy hair. I told him that as a 22 year old in a stable relationship (and an allergy to latex), I couldn't afford the non-latex condoms and anyway, there was really no way I was going to stop having sex. I told him that I needed to have a method of contraception that had a better failure risk than the pill, and something that wouldn't cause such horrific side effects. I told him that I didn't want to be placed in the position of getting pregnant accidentally and either miscarrying or being forced to have an abortion, and so after considerable thought I'd identified the only possible course of action as sterilisation.
I told him that, at 22, I wasn't especially maternal and that having children had never especially been something I wanted. I didn't have my future all mapped out in terms of marriage, kids, grandkids, death, and that now I knew what I knew about EDS it was something I wanted even less.
For a while, I thought he wasn't going to do it. He seemed pretty obsessed about my age and the likelihood of me changing my mind later on, and then said that he wanted me to see a colleague of his, who was younger, and would talk over things further and make necessary arrangements.
After answering what felt like hundreds of detailed and faintly embarrassing questions this younger doctor (who, at a guess, was maybe only three or four years older than I was) asked me if I would change my mind about sterilisation if there were another option that was as safe, but not as final and irreversible. He went on to explain about the Mirena system, which was a fairly new device at the time, and usually only given to women who had already had children. He explained that in many cases, this was actually more effective than sterilisation and that it would more than likely put an end to the serious period pains and other problems I'd had since I first had periods. He explained that it would need to be inserted under general anaesthetic because it was likely to be painful, and that it would need to be replaced every five years and that if I ever changed my mind it could be removed and I'd be able to get pregnant (assuming all went well) almost immediately.
... and so, a few days later I turned up, not particularly knowing what to expect, and had the thing fitted, and after the initial pain and shock - I felt incredibly violated - it turned out to be the closest thing to a medical miracle I've experienced. Almost immediately, the pain and illness I had every month disappeared - along with most of my periods. From bleeding over a week (and sometimes up to three) every month, some months I didn't bleed at all, and if I did, it was only for a day, two days at most. The side effects from having to take the pill cleared up (although the weight didn't immediately drop off - but it never does) and I started to forget it was there.
Two years ago, among the ashes of that stable relationship, I made renewed that decision. I made an appointment with my GP, explained myself all over again, and got it replaced.
Now, 27 days before my sister is due to give birth, I'm only now really realising the true meaning of that decision, and for the first time, fully realising the ramifications of the choice that I made, and how that affects me as a person.
For starters, there's no getting around the biological imperative. Humans are built to breed, like it or not, and whatever logical decisions are made can't change the biological urges we feel. For all that someone might say it's not an issue because they don't want kids either - feelings change, and what wasn't an issue at the time can become one years later.
Then there's the self-esteem aspect. How do you explain to someone, on getting into a relationship, that you are irretrievably damaged at such a basic level that you've taken the decision to stop the genetic rot and not reproduce. Never mind how - when? Tell someone at the start and run the risk of scaring them off with the resultant direct hit to the ego and feelings of rejection. Wait a while to tell someone, and run the risk of losing them because they feel like you've swindled them with false advertising. Cos you walk like a woman, and talk like a woman, and have all the physicality of a woman, just not the ability to reproduce like one.
It's hard to sell yourself as a package, or to feel worthwhile as a human being when there's so much pressure to conform to the norm. It's only really been this year that I started to feel that pressure, started to realise that maybe the biological clock isn't such a bullshit marketing tactic by the "lets keep women barefoot and pregnant" faction. That maybe, when I made that decision, I hadn't considered how I'd really feel when more of my friends - or my sister - started having babies.
I hadn't really thought that maybe my long and loud protestations that I didn't so much hate kids as couldn't eat a whole one were more a form of attack as defence, and that I was trying to convince myself more than anyone.
Don't get me wrong, the reasons for making that decision still stand and I still am in no way even close to being ready to bring a child into my life...
...but I'd be lying if I said that I'd been entirely unaffected by the pregnancies of both Karen and my sister.
For the first time, I really got to see (and read) what I'd cut out of my life. I got a glimpse down the road not taken... and for a while I was worried that for all my protestations, I might just get kicked in the head by this biological clock thing, and really start to want to have a baby.
Seems silly now, but I was really quite worried that on going to see Pete, Karen and Bernard, I'd burst into tears. Thankfully, I didn't embarrass myself, but I still wonder how I'll feel when I meet my niece for the first time
Logic tells me that it's entirely possible to love my niece and be able to interact with other people's children without wanting one myself, but I guess only time, and silent ticking will tell.
I'm entirely impressed with your ability to open up to your blog in this way for the last two posts. It's letting people see a very personal side of you that I guess not so many of us would have been aware of (certainly not me).
Kudos to you for doing it, I'm looking forward to reading the other 28 posts and I don't really know what to say about things as personal as these other than I'm glad you feel you can share all this with us, and I'm glad I know you.
Cheers Pix.
JackP
Wow! An amazing story - very heartfelt and one that really can't be swept away under the carpet....thanks for sharing.
What an incredible article Ann - it's one of the most open and revelaing things I've ever read online and I'm amazed by it. You've expressed things that I'm sure many people couldn't (or wouldn't) and that's impressive.
Of course - I didn't know about you experiencing any of those things beforehand - all very important decisions you've made (the significance of those decisions being reminded to you by your friend and sister's pregnancies).
I'm not going all soft or anything - but if you want to give me a call sometime...just to chat (or rant)...you're always welcome.
What can I say, that is the most informative and deeply personal blog I have ever read. I am humbled, and nearly crying.
You are fantastic Ann. Your decision wasn't selfish or controversial, it was from your heart and not just for you but also any unborn children. That consultant deserves great credit.
A true partner will accept that you have taken this decision, respect and love you for who you are not leave you because of what you can't do. Besides, if the maternal instinct does overwhelm you, you can do something about it.
Everything seems very clear at 22, doesn't it? I completely empathise with the feelings when you watch your sister go through pregancy and have a baby. I've seen plenty of friends do it and not been moved in the slightest (celebrated my non-baby hood!). But seeing my sister do it, there was this incredible, subconcious urge which I found frightening and surprising and very emotional. It wore off after I'd seen her but I feel more attached to my sister's first baby than I do to my brother's (don't tell him!). I've no idea how I'll feel if my little sister has a baby. I still feel terrified of being pregnant and fortunately my husband would consider adoption. Perhaps adoption will work for you in the future. I don't think being pregnant is the only way to have a family and the maternal urge (I believe) is as stong with someone else's biological child, if only a little bit different. Thank you for writing so openly and movingly about your experiences.
There is little I can say other than thanks for posting this. It must've been hard to write, but hopefully it may help other young women in similar circumstances.
Off to find a hankie...
Hey, just remember that with the scientific advances being made these days it may be safer for you to have a child later on if you wanted one. I am sure the time will come when you can choose which gene's your baby gets which would avoid all the nasty ones being passed on. And if you couldn't risk carrying it yourself maybe I could do it for you.
X
Thank you for that post, I'm lost for words.
*HUG*
I completely get where you are coming from. I've never wanted Children, and given my gynae history, I'm pretty convinced that I'm barren...
...and yet, when my best mate had her three in quick sucession, which at the time was accompanied by the Chap I was with totally wanting a "Wife&Mother" package, my broody switch was thrown big time. It is a very odd and scary feeling, knowing I want to Love and Nurture a child, and yet, the getting pregnant, and losing my independant and full life to the full attention of another human is my worst nightmare.
Never beat yourself up over this decision, it is a wise one. And yes, for you, adoption is a very valid option. You have lots to give, and just because your biology is a bitch, doesn't mean that there are not kids out there who need your love.
Given what seems to be the "collaspe of Moral fibre" in our Society these days, and advances in IVF, Not enough people actually use this option these days IMHO.
*hugs*
I don't know what to say, but to click away without commenting would feel like cheating when you're being this honest and open. You've made a brave decision.
I made my decision later than you, for different reasons, and was sterilised at 27.
Do I sometimes feel unnatural? - yes
Do I love my sister's kids? - absolutely, unconditionally and at times painfully so, the thought of anything happening to them tears me apart.
Have I ever regreted my decision? - no, but that doesn't mean I haven't wondered at times what life would have been like if I had taken another path.
Let me know if you ever want to talk...
I found this to be a touching story. It was a tough decision that you made and I'm glad that you still have options, should that urge change your point of view. I know they say people don't change... but every now and then, something inside of us shifts just enough that we start thinking about something from a different perspective.
... the online home and (not very) alter(ed)-ego of Ann McMeekin, a recently freelance Web Accessibility Consultant.
... passionate about many things, most of which will turn up on this site at some time or other.
... contactable via email.
Design and content copyright 2000-2007 pixeldiva, except where noted.
Copyright of comments remains with the individual author.
All rights reserved.
Left comments