It was the year that effectively kicked my ass.
Friends sit around a table and discuss how amazing 2011 was. They're referencing the Arab Spring, Madison, Occupy, and other amazing grassroots efforts that reignited the spirit of people's victory here and around the world. I try to bask in the same feeling of solidarity, but my year was decidedly more complicated.
It was early July when C and I officially split, but the months leading up to that point were inwardly tumultuous. I was intensely focused on my classes and internship, my doula mamas, my writing, and anything else to keep myself distracted from my marriage's imminent demise. Friends didn't see much of me, and if they did, I was distant and disengaged.
When the walls of your lovely complacent life come crashing down, it's excruciating. For me, it didn't come as a slow, steady fall but as an all-at-once implosion. I spent the better part of a week lying in bed either sleeping or wishing I was asleep. I was taking small fistfuls of Klonopin at regular intervals. Friends came by to force feed me and make sure my cats had food themselves. I didn't shower. I didn't go to consults. I even missed a job interview.
The exact details of the next few weeks are too fuzzy (or just too depressing) to write out here, so I'll skip ahead to early October.
I'm outside in the back yard on a cool evening. The air feels clearer, as the summer's oppressive humidity is finally gone. A couple of girlfriends are coming by in a while. I'm basking in the fact that I have just built my first fire... C always did it before (he's very good at it). I realize the obvious symbolism here: she who can build her own fire is she who can survive, as such an ability is at the crux of survival. Somewhere in the past few weeks, survival had become second nature and I was ready to thrive. I decided later that night (after about a bottle and a half of wine) that I was a fucking fire goddess and was completely in control of everything I wished to be in control over. I awoke the next morning with a renewed sense of self... once the hangover cleared, of course.
I believe it was somewhere on the LIRR later that month when I realized how long this had needed to happen. I wasn't in love anymore, and I wasn't sure exactly how long that had been going on. I was thrilled. I returned to Greensboro during the heydays of our Occupy encampment, spent some nights cooking and hanging out, and felt alive for the first time in months.
The month that followed was nothing if not interesting, as I decided I needed to put out all my fires with gasoline and basically explode into a brilliant display of pure energy. Thankfully my near-daily yoga practice kept me grounded in stillness when stillness was needed (see the many previous posts on the matter). I have only my dearest friends and comrades to thank for the constant support and ongoing love during this time... the life of a ball of pure energy is nothing if not ridiculous. Energy does dumb shit... let me rephrase, it lives on stupidity and bad choices. There were more than a couple of mornings when I didn't exactly recall driving home from wherever I'd been the previous night. I can only thank the universe for delivering me home safely so that I could live to see my current lovely existence.
I'm being purposefully vague here, as I'm not a huge fan of putting every ounce of my personal life onto a public space, but suffice to say I am happier than I have been in maybe years. The months of November and December have been phenomenal. I haven't thrown caution to the wind, believe me on that, but when something beautiful rises from the ashes of your life's most profound implosion, you can't not feel like the luckiest person on the planet.
Divorce is something people pity, something you're supposed to come away from with regrets and anger. But I maintain neither regret nor anger at the way my marriage ended. 2011 was complicated. It was the year the relationship I have maintained for my entire adult life ended, abruptly at that, leaving in its wake a whole host of anxiety and pain. It was the single most excruciating experience either of us could have endured. But the gaping wound is fast on the mend, and I'm looking forward into 2012 with a renewed sense of hope, a new outlook on myself and on love in general.
That being said, there is a very good chance that I will look back on 2011 as the best fucking year of my life.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Thursday, December 15, 2011
The Politics of EC
At risk of sounding like a Plan B commercial, things don't always go as planned. The single most prepared and educated individuals can have a condom break, or hell, get lost in the heat of the moment and fail to use one at all. While the latter certainly indicates a higher lack of preparedness (or common sense), the point is this: people who engage in vaginal intercourse - be they married or single, monogamous or not, teenaged or adult, using condoms or on the pill or neither - are at risk for a situation that could lead to an unintended pregnancy.
While emergency contraception (trade names "Plan B" or "Next Choice," aka "the morning-after pill") has only been FDA approved since 1999, health care providers have been cutting up contraception pill packs for the exact same purpose since the 1980s. The drug was made available to women over 18 without a prescription in 2006, then, in 2009, the FDA arbitrarily approved the drug for OTC use for women 17 and older.
Fast forward to last week, when "pro-woman" HHS Secretary Kathleen Sebelius overrode an FDA recommendation to make emergency contraception OTC for all. A political move indeed, likely stemming from the fact that we are approaching an election year, and let's face it, Sebelius is "Obama's Girl."
We've heard the cries of disapproval from every anti-choice, anti-woman, anti-sex activist out there: "It will make young girls engage in sex at a younger age." "Women will start using it as their only form of birth control." "It causes early abortions." "It will turn the country into a 24/7 orgy," and so on and so forth.
I'm not about to spend a lot of time refuting these claims, sighting the ways we know that making contraception available to teens does not lead to earlier sexual contact, how it makes no sense to take a $35 pill every time you have sex instead of going on OCs for $20 a month, how it does not cause "early abortions," etc. What I will spend some time on, however, are the reasons the mainstream population allows themselves to be swayed by the Christian Right's barrage of anti-sexuality bullshit.
It comes down to a conversation I had with my dad over Thanksgiving. Neither of us had any clue that the FDA was considering OTC status for emergency contraception at the time. I believe I was going on about how securing a prescription for Plan B involved little more than a 5 minute conversation with an advance practice clinician about your family history, and no, the girl's parents did not have to sign off on it, at least not in North Carolina.
While relatively conservative, my dad has a more progressive outlook on some social issues, and birth control seems to be one of them. However, he seemed shaken by the fact that a 15 year old girl could walk into a Planned Parenthood, talk with a nurse practitioner, and walk away with Plan B without her parents ever knowing. My first reaction would have been to accuse him of being a typical anti-woman wingnut, though he's my dad and I know he's really not a raging misogynist. Such a disconnect led me to take a moment to process exactly what his major objection could be.
Then it hit me.
Dad is a 62 year old man with a daughter who was 15 a mere twelve years ago. When he pictures a 15 year old girl, he pictures his daughter: an awkward string bean of a high schooler who, in his mind, has absolutely no interest in dating, let alone sex. When he pictures that 15 year old procuring Plan B, the thought is horrifying. That girl is, after all, someone's daughter.
On the opposite side of the spectrum, I picture a 15 year old girl and I see one of my teens. They've had a condom break (or didn't use one at all), or maybe they forgot to take their pill or get their Depo shot. Now is no time to tell them that they shouldn't have been doing whatever they were doing to get themselves into that situation. That conversation can be had after they get their EC, and if it's one of my teens, you know we'll be having it. "You were drinking and didn't know what you were doing? Tell me what's wrong with that." "You didn't use a condom? Why on earth... we have a giant bucket right here in the office." "Condoms break, yes... it's rare but it happens. Do you want to talk about an IUD or another method?" "What can we do to help you remember to take your pill? Have you thought about the NuvaRing, or maybe an Implanon?" Nowhere in the above scenarios do I think for even a second that I can change what's already happened, nor do I believe that having made EC available will make them more likely to do it again.
Then I started thinking into the future. Will I become one of those moms who used to be uber sex-positive but now has a kid who she doesn't want to admit is a sexual being? Let's be real... kids are humans. Humans are sexual. There is no "sex switch" that gets flipped on when you turn 18 (or when you get married... but that's a whole other post). We don't like to talk about it, but children masturbate. I was just having a conversation with a friend who told me that her two year old son gets an erection when he nurses; the thought horrified me for about 2 seconds until I checked myself and realized that it's not at all weird... it's a normal biological response to a place of extreme comfort and happiness.
It makes us so uncomfortable to think of kids, especially our own, being sexual beings, but ignoring it (or trying to "save them" from their inherent nature as a living breathing human) is hardly going to change that. If anything, it makes things worse. Too many times young girls fail to ask for EC because they're embarrassed, or they think they need their parents' permission, or they can't afford it, or they don't even know it's available to them. That doesn't make them stop having sex... it makes them more likely to face an unintended pregnancy and have their childhood come to a screeching halt. If all we have to do to keep that from happening is toss our ridiculous notions of "the virtuous child" out the door, well, I think we owe them at least that much.
While emergency contraception (trade names "Plan B" or "Next Choice," aka "the morning-after pill") has only been FDA approved since 1999, health care providers have been cutting up contraception pill packs for the exact same purpose since the 1980s. The drug was made available to women over 18 without a prescription in 2006, then, in 2009, the FDA arbitrarily approved the drug for OTC use for women 17 and older.
Fast forward to last week, when "pro-woman" HHS Secretary Kathleen Sebelius overrode an FDA recommendation to make emergency contraception OTC for all. A political move indeed, likely stemming from the fact that we are approaching an election year, and let's face it, Sebelius is "Obama's Girl."
We've heard the cries of disapproval from every anti-choice, anti-woman, anti-sex activist out there: "It will make young girls engage in sex at a younger age." "Women will start using it as their only form of birth control." "It causes early abortions." "It will turn the country into a 24/7 orgy," and so on and so forth.
I'm not about to spend a lot of time refuting these claims, sighting the ways we know that making contraception available to teens does not lead to earlier sexual contact, how it makes no sense to take a $35 pill every time you have sex instead of going on OCs for $20 a month, how it does not cause "early abortions," etc. What I will spend some time on, however, are the reasons the mainstream population allows themselves to be swayed by the Christian Right's barrage of anti-sexuality bullshit.
It comes down to a conversation I had with my dad over Thanksgiving. Neither of us had any clue that the FDA was considering OTC status for emergency contraception at the time. I believe I was going on about how securing a prescription for Plan B involved little more than a 5 minute conversation with an advance practice clinician about your family history, and no, the girl's parents did not have to sign off on it, at least not in North Carolina.
While relatively conservative, my dad has a more progressive outlook on some social issues, and birth control seems to be one of them. However, he seemed shaken by the fact that a 15 year old girl could walk into a Planned Parenthood, talk with a nurse practitioner, and walk away with Plan B without her parents ever knowing. My first reaction would have been to accuse him of being a typical anti-woman wingnut, though he's my dad and I know he's really not a raging misogynist. Such a disconnect led me to take a moment to process exactly what his major objection could be.
Then it hit me.
Dad is a 62 year old man with a daughter who was 15 a mere twelve years ago. When he pictures a 15 year old girl, he pictures his daughter: an awkward string bean of a high schooler who, in his mind, has absolutely no interest in dating, let alone sex. When he pictures that 15 year old procuring Plan B, the thought is horrifying. That girl is, after all, someone's daughter.
On the opposite side of the spectrum, I picture a 15 year old girl and I see one of my teens. They've had a condom break (or didn't use one at all), or maybe they forgot to take their pill or get their Depo shot. Now is no time to tell them that they shouldn't have been doing whatever they were doing to get themselves into that situation. That conversation can be had after they get their EC, and if it's one of my teens, you know we'll be having it. "You were drinking and didn't know what you were doing? Tell me what's wrong with that." "You didn't use a condom? Why on earth... we have a giant bucket right here in the office." "Condoms break, yes... it's rare but it happens. Do you want to talk about an IUD or another method?" "What can we do to help you remember to take your pill? Have you thought about the NuvaRing, or maybe an Implanon?" Nowhere in the above scenarios do I think for even a second that I can change what's already happened, nor do I believe that having made EC available will make them more likely to do it again.
Then I started thinking into the future. Will I become one of those moms who used to be uber sex-positive but now has a kid who she doesn't want to admit is a sexual being? Let's be real... kids are humans. Humans are sexual. There is no "sex switch" that gets flipped on when you turn 18 (or when you get married... but that's a whole other post). We don't like to talk about it, but children masturbate. I was just having a conversation with a friend who told me that her two year old son gets an erection when he nurses; the thought horrified me for about 2 seconds until I checked myself and realized that it's not at all weird... it's a normal biological response to a place of extreme comfort and happiness.
It makes us so uncomfortable to think of kids, especially our own, being sexual beings, but ignoring it (or trying to "save them" from their inherent nature as a living breathing human) is hardly going to change that. If anything, it makes things worse. Too many times young girls fail to ask for EC because they're embarrassed, or they think they need their parents' permission, or they can't afford it, or they don't even know it's available to them. That doesn't make them stop having sex... it makes them more likely to face an unintended pregnancy and have their childhood come to a screeching halt. If all we have to do to keep that from happening is toss our ridiculous notions of "the virtuous child" out the door, well, I think we owe them at least that much.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
transition
When birth workers hear the word "transition," our minds immediately go to the final moments of labor's first stage. During transition, the cervix is dilating its final two centimeters. Contractions are longer, stronger, and closer together. A woman experiencing unmedicated labor will likely ask for an epidural during this time (though she'll be complete and not want one anymore by the time the anesthesiologist gets there). She will usually say something like "I can't do this anymore." The doula's role here is to tell her that these are all good signs, that labor is progressing and she'll be done very soon.
This stage of labor is aptly named. Transitions are indeed difficult.
For the past few months I've been living in a house with all of C's things just waiting around. I've had to put certain things on hold while I wait for the time when he finally returned to town and moved his stuff to his new apartment. That time has been this week.
I've been saying for several months that my life is interrupted when C comes into town. There's considerations we have to make, conversations we have to have, etc. The groove I've spent months creating for myself has to take a backseat for visitation and heavy conversation. Not that I mind, it's worth it if it means we can get through this process in a compassionate and (relatively) simple manner.
Then the stuff started disappearing. The binary of stay still/keep moving that has defined my life over the past couple of months has gone from a basic reality to a constant juggle. Moving between the extremes - figuring things out with Charlie and living the independent life I've created for myself - has worn down my seams. I need tons of extra support, extra self-care, and hell, probably extra stillness as well.
I knew the process would be difficult in many ways. The move was anticipated, it's necessary, and it's wanted by the both of us. Doesn't make it any easier to realize that every sound in the house echoes into the spare room that's now mostly empty. Moving forward, at long last, is cathartic. It is, at the same time, terribly wonderful, sad, liberating, upsetting, and joyous.
This stage of labor is aptly named. Transitions are indeed difficult.
For the past few months I've been living in a house with all of C's things just waiting around. I've had to put certain things on hold while I wait for the time when he finally returned to town and moved his stuff to his new apartment. That time has been this week.
I've been saying for several months that my life is interrupted when C comes into town. There's considerations we have to make, conversations we have to have, etc. The groove I've spent months creating for myself has to take a backseat for visitation and heavy conversation. Not that I mind, it's worth it if it means we can get through this process in a compassionate and (relatively) simple manner.
Then the stuff started disappearing. The binary of stay still/keep moving that has defined my life over the past couple of months has gone from a basic reality to a constant juggle. Moving between the extremes - figuring things out with Charlie and living the independent life I've created for myself - has worn down my seams. I need tons of extra support, extra self-care, and hell, probably extra stillness as well.
I knew the process would be difficult in many ways. The move was anticipated, it's necessary, and it's wanted by the both of us. Doesn't make it any easier to realize that every sound in the house echoes into the spare room that's now mostly empty. Moving forward, at long last, is cathartic. It is, at the same time, terribly wonderful, sad, liberating, upsetting, and joyous.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Everything I need to know about birth, I learned from Bradley
The Bradley Method is one of the more popular childbirth education programs in the U.S. Which is just wonderful, because Bradley has so many great lessons to teach us about the process of pregnancy and childbirth. To name a few:
- All laboring people are heterosexual and married to a man. Moreover, all laboring people are women.
- Your husband (what, you have one, don't you??) knows more about your process than you do. Don't ever forget this.
- Everything you put in your body during pregnancy makes your baby sad.
- If you utilize any medical interventions, be it an epidural or just a Foley bulb, you've failed as a woman and your body hates you.
- If you have a cesarean, you suck at life and should just go ahead and kill yourself.
- Don't listen to your HCP when she tries to give you postpartum Pitocin for excessive bleeding... she's way too medical and doesn't know anything.
- If families really care about their birthing experience, they will find a way to shell out the big bucks for a Bradley class. Priorities, folks.
- Teaching expectant parents about the pros and cons of medical interventions will only encourage their use. You don't need to know how an epidural is administered... you aren't going to have one because it will kill you and your baby.
- Erythromycin is only for the babies of slutty unmarried women. Hospitals shouldn't even mention it to married women because there is absolutely no possible way that they have gonorrhea. Additionally, erythromycin will make you fail at breastfeeding and therefore as a person.
- The female-bodied are incapable of doing anything rad without a strong male presence overseeing their entire process.
- Miscarriage, fetal demise, and birth defects don't just "happen." You did something wrong and should feel very, very bad for poisoning your baby like that.
- "Tough love" is the best way to ensure a woman gets the birth she hoped she'd have before labor even began. Seriously, lock the anesthesiologist in the supply closet if you have to. The mama is completely incapable of knowing what she wants during such a hysterical period. (Pun totally intended.)
- Only people who support late-term abortion have amniocentesis. How dare you would kill your baby like that.
- Even a drop of infant formula will make your child retarded. Forget so-called "failure to thrive" and don't worry... IBCLCs are a part of the medical conspiracy and don't know shit either.
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