Love, War and the Uncertain Future

I spent ten years married before I had a child: three years in my first marriage and then seven in my second. The reasons were the same, though the approaches were very different. As my first marriage was ending, my common refrain that I didn’t want children began to change. What was true, that I didn’t want children, became I didn’t know if I wanted children, because I started to suspect that I simply didn’t want them with him. It was a difficult situation to maneuver and understand, but when I found myself pregnant, seven years into my marriage with my now husband, one that became incredibly more clear and I thank the heavens I had safe choices as I navigated that decade and shifting personal truth.

The circumstances surrounding my pregnancies in regards to my health are long and varied. The short version is that my son’s eventual birth was incredibly traumatic. So traumatic, actually, I’m still working through everything else that was born along side. In addition to being traumatic, the decision for a second child was taken from me completely. On one hand, I was relieved. I didn’t have to start the process of deciding, again. I didn’t have to ache and cry and pray. I could simply be done, the decision out of my hands. On the other hand, having that decision made for me was gut wrenching and led to a great amount of second guessing, searching for second opinions and anger focused on those who only wanted to protect my health.

It was two weeks after my son’s birth when my doctor first mentioned permanent birth control and various outcomes if I were to get pregnant again. She was very kind, but firm, which was needed. Arrangements were made, things settled and life continued. But even with permanent solutions in place, I still checked in with other members of the medical community for validation of our decision. At last count, I had stopped at ten different opinions all totally the same. I cannot get pregnant again.

One of the doctors I triple checked with also happened to be my faith leader. It was a tremendous blessing to be guided by him at the time. Reading materials were plentiful and research was done and in talking with him, my soul found peace. Luckily my faith tradition is less of the fire and damnation variety and instead dangerously flirts with pro-choice ideology. Which released burden, but is still difficult to apply in our real lives, knowing that pregnancy would have to be terminated should I get pregnant at any point.

In the years since, I’ve asked a few people who hold very different views, what they would do if they were in my situation. Most answer how exceptions for my case should absolutely be in place, but a few held the belief that a child I do not have would hold more rights to life than I do, a fully functioning woman, mother and wife. We’ll simply skip the part where that child I do not have would most likely also not survive and my husband and child that I DO have would have to bury not only me, but a child and sibling as well. These exercises held one purpose — to solidify my position and shore up any doubt that I am fully, completely pro-choice.

Lately, however, these previous conversations that have become less and less have chilled me. I realized how my life and health are in hands of people who don’t care if there are healthcare provisions for cases like me. Who don’t care if a girl far too young to consent has to carry the trauma of a baby she was forced to conceive. Who don’t care if, after this first pass, they go farther and more aggressive down the ‘personhood’ rabbit hole of suppression. They do not care that they are taking decisions out of the hands of the people who should be making them. I remember my anger at the doctors who took my decision away; a decision that was done out of medical knowledge and necessity and concern for my health, but I was still angry. How much angrier will I be when those decisions are no longer back with medicine and concern for my safety but, instead, to appeal to a minority base who don’t care if I live or die?

I’m angry. Very angry.

Those ten years I spent, married and childless, were at a time when I didn’t have to worry if my health care needs were in jeopardy. Roe was law of the land the year before I was born and I grew up in the shadow if its safety, allowed to be a feminist with choice because of the fight that was fought. Now, I worry about the future. The wars that are raging and coming. I worry for that child of mine and what decisions he’ll have to make, if his future home will know the same shelter. My days of personal worry are nearing the end. My anger threatening to turn to sadness. But this stands true: my life was made better by choice. Everyone’s life is made better by choice. Because of that, I will continue to fight.

~Tawnya Gibson