One time I was referred to a strange man I had never met for a surgery. I had a capable female doctor, but, contractually, she was not allowed to sterilize me. She worked for a hospital run by a religion I didn’t follow.
Instead I was scooted across town to a different hospital system entirely, for a Tubal Ligation. When I went to his office, I was in the middle of a divorce, fresh off the birth of my third kid. It’s no secret that my divorce was already messy. It’s not a secret that my third pregnancy ruined my body in ways I still haven’t processed. Already vulnerable beyond belief, the medical system picked me apart further. To get sterilized I had to wait 30 days AND have the approval of my (soon to be ex) husband.
Three kids and a separation didn’t scream that I was done having kids? Almost dying so many times that my body is permanently deformed didn’t scream that I was done?
I had to wait a month to be sure I was certain I didn’t want to risk death again. I had to have permission from a man I hadn’t been in a relationship with in over a year. TO. NOT. DIE.
Having a PICC line (peripherally inserted central catheter) in the wrong arm because the other was too blown to place it and losing a kidney didn’t scream what I needed loudly enough.
I had to wait, abstain, and panic.
I have two kids conceived on contraceptives that failed. I took them correctly but I metabolize medications and need the dosages of a horse, apparently. Every day I ruin my relationship a little thanks to the fear of another pregnancy or illness. One time, we even had a scare that included the very real discussion of whose life we would pick if that second line appeared on the pregnancy test. To me, that line didn’t mean a magic miracle, and it never will again.
That second line… it could mean three existing people lose their mom. Parents lose a kid. A husband goes on without his wife. For everyone screaming, “We have exceptions for risk to the mother’s life.” What’s the risk level? For me it is an immediate action. I shouldn’t have to almost die to have a choice in the matter. I’ve sacrificed enough of myself to carry my pregnancies to term.
I’ve lived it. Every day for a decade now, I’ve worried. I watched my toddlers play and wondered if I’d be around. The scars I carry from not aborting have cost me dearly. I love them and it’s worth it. For them to keep me as long as possible and thriving, I need a choice.
Abstaining in a relationship isn’t a real solution. Birth control fails. Medical procedures and people smarter than the average voter exist.
We need to protect our fair and equal access to very necessary medical care – not because we should kill babies, but because we should be free to be heartbroken in the privacy of our doctor’s offices without the judgment of anyone else.
For information on where you can find safe medical care, please visit Planned Parenthood.
