Aerows has inspired me. My "abortions". [View All]

I know my story is long...very long. If you read to the end, I promise to entertain and educate. If not, suffice it to say that if abortion had been illegal I could be, at best, unable to have borne children, and at worst, dead. If abortion BECOMES illegal, my daughter will suffer.

-------------My Story------------------------

I have a balanced chromosome translocation. Without going into too much detail, it means that a piece of one chromosome broke off and traded places with a piece of another that also broke off. And it didn't just "happen" to me. I inherited it from one of my parents, probably my dad. For purposes of procreation, this means that with any pregnancy, I have way more than the normal risk of miscarriage. My risk is 50% over and above the normal 20% risk. So, not surprisingly, my first four pregnancies (that I knew about) ended in miscarriage. And it wasn't until after the third that we figured out what was going on.

Fortunately I had a GREAT doc. When we discovered the first miscarriage at just over 10 weeks, called a "missed" abortion ("abortion" being the medical term for miscarriage), because while the fetus was dead and all of my symptoms had gone away (I thought I was just lucky), I had not begun to bleed. I began to cry on the table during the sonogram when they couldn't find the heartbeat. My doc inserted one of those seaweed sticks that would open my cervix so I could bleed. Then he invited me, sobbing, into his office where he explained a little more about what was happening. He then gave me a big, tender bear hug, and sent me out the back way through his office so that I didn't have to walk past all of the pregnant women in the lobby.

Because I was so far along, it was pretty imperative that I have a D&C to make sure all of the tissue was expelled. Otherwise, infection was too likely, and an infection could have scarred me to the point that I would NEVER be able to conceive, much less deliver a healthy baby. It could also kill me.

After two more miscarriages, one of them also requiring a D&C, my doc finally found an infertility specialist to send me to. She was very methodical, if a little on the nutty side. She talked a lot. She once kept me on the phone for about thirty minutes, the phone I was borrowing from the diner where my husband and I were eating (this was slightly pre-cell-phone). But she was the one who sent my husband and me to a geneticist.

About this time my brother and sister-in-law began having miscarriages also. With that information and some other info about my extended family, the geneticist told us that it sounded like, if there was a genetic problem at all, it was likely a balanced translocation. After about three months of waiting, we got the news that that was exactly what was going on. We even got a picture of the chromosomes. Kinda' cool in a nerdy sort of way. My brother didn't bother being tested. We just assume that he has the same thing I do. I felt so sorry for him, because it was his wife who was suffering the most, at least physically, and he felt it was all his fault. It broke my heart.

Armed with this information, we made a consultation appointment with one of the most famous, well-respected, fertility specialists in the country. Sitting in the conference room at his Denver office, I couldn't help crying as we told him our story. He was used to it, and was very patient. His advice was to take fertility drugs. We could start with Chlomid, commonly referred to as "PMS in a bottle," and move up the complexity scale on drugs if we needed to. The theory was that if we conceived more than one pregnancy (i.e. twins or triplets or more), very common on fertility drugs, there was a much greater likelihood that at least one of them would "take". The next year or so was filled with Chlomid and other drugs, well-timed sex, and a whole lot of tears.

During one particularly frustrating month, we took our medication to another of my brothers's house in Arlington Texas. By now I was on Metrodine (sp?) as the Chlomid had made me "hyper-ovulate" and develop a cyst. My husband had to inject the drug into me, and the drug had to be kept refrigerated. Well, my husband had a cold, my brother's guest-room bed was so squeaky that having sex on it was out of the question--they would have heard us in Dallas--so any possible sex would have to be on the floor, and THIS is when I decided to ovulate. Needless to say, we didn't conceive that month, and had to go get another month's worth of Metrodine for another $1000, and try again in January.

I had one more abortion, this one also requiring a D&C. Fortunately, for this one, they put me under completely so that they could also do a laparoscopy and clean out any possible endometriosis. By this time I had joined a support group for women with infertility issues. The big difference between them and me was that at least I had a diagnosis. All of the other women in the group faced "unexplained" infertility. I felt bad for them. They felt bad for me. It was a great group, and I still exchange Christmas cards with a couple of them. But we largely sat around crying for each other and for ourselves.

We visited my brother and sister-in-law in Austin that year. One night out at my favorite pizza-place in the world, Conan's Pizza, only in Austin, we sat around commiserating about our problems conceiving. My brother broke out with "Have you guys had to try to have sex at {our other brother's} house? The damn bed is so squeaky you have to do it on the floor!" My husband and I burst out laughing.

When I got pregnant again, i braced myself for another miscarriage. My nutty Doctor, to whom I will always be grateful, had me get blood drawn every three days during the first trimester so she could monitor the hormones and make sure i didn't need a supplement. When the HCG (Human Growth Hormone) failed to increase at one point, I was positive I would have another miscarriage. But lo and behold, the HCG began to rise again. We think that I had indeed conceived two pregnancies, but one of them wasn't viable. At fifteen weeks I had an amniocentesis procedure to check on the chromosomes. Not until we got the results--I was almost twenty weeks along--did we find out for sure. It was a boy, and he had no translocation. I balled.

My son Andy was born on June 13, 1996. He's fifteen now.

Jim and I decided that we would continue to try to conceive again, but without the drugs. If it didn't happen, Andy would be an only child, and that would be fine.

But we really wanted one more child. I had another miscarriage and another D&C. We almost gave up. But when I got pregnant again, and made it to the fifteenth week, we went in for amniocentesis again. This time the results showed that I was carrying a baby girl. She would be fine, but her chromosome mapping showed that she, too, has the balanced translocation, meaning she will have the same difficulty with pregnancy that I and her aunt and uncle have had. She was our miracle baby. She's thirteen now, and the absolute light of our lives along with her brother.

About a year after Leejay (short for Natalie Jane, named after both of her grandmothers) was born, I got pregnant one last time. When I went in for my seven-week appointment, they did the first sonogram. They couldn't' find a heartbeat. I began to cry, but they assured me that it was still early and hearing the heartbeat is not always possible that early. I told them that I had noticed some of my symptoms going away, so I knew. But still they assured me that every thing was probably fine. But I knew.

When I began to bleed, I called the doc--not the nutty one; a different OB. She first apologized profusely for not comforting me during the appointment. I certainly did not hold a grudge. She was only doing what her training dictated. She said I was right on the border of needing a D&C, as opposed to just "letting" myself expel all of the blood and tissue. D&C's are no fun. They are painful and emotionally draining. I had never been this far along without a D&C, but I decided to try it. I told her I would prefer not to have the procedure this time.

BIG MISTAKE. As painful as the D&C is, the miscarriage was ten times more so. I woke up in the middle of the night with horrible cramps. I went into the bathroom, but didn't quite make it to the toilet before all of the blood and tissue began to come out. I knew I would need my husband to watch the kids the next day, so I let him sleep. My pelvis cramping, crying uncontrollably, my nightgown stained with blood and tears, I got down on my knees and cleaned up all of the blood and expelled tissue off the floor. Then I put in two maxi-pads, and went back to bed. I didn't sleep at all that night.

After we mourned a bit for the last miscarriage, Jim and I sat down and talked seriously. I told him I would love to have another child, but it was just too painful to go through another miscarry, another D&C, another roller coaster of emotions. I wanted to enjoy my two beautiful children without having to worry about another pregnancy. He was so relieved. We actually cried together, but decided that I would go on the pill, and we would be happy with what we had. And we are. Very.

A year later my sister-in-law gave birth to a healthy boy. Two years later they had a girl. Then they, too, stopped. My sister-in-law had had TEN miscarriages, and I don't know how many D&C's, although I do know there was at least one.

Two of my friends from the support group also began to conceive. One of them now has two kids, the other has four. I'm still in touch with both of them.

My daughter knows about her translocation. She already talks about the possibility of adopting children. She's so smart and so brave, a true inspiration to me.

Without access to the "abortions" that I had, it is very likely that I never would have been able to have children. In fact, I could have died had I developed an infection from unexpelled tissue. In case you lost count, I had four D&C's, and probably should have had a fifth. They are, as I have said, no fun. But I am very grateful that the option was open to me.

It makes me very angry when people talk about abortion, and just assume that everyone who has one is a fifteen-year-old who wants to fit into her prom dress. Never mind that fifteen-year-olds generally have no business bearing children.

In Colorado we have defeated two "personhood" bills. I hope they are gone for good, but the one in Mississippi worries me a lot. If abortion becomes illegal again, my daughter will suffer for it. And it pisses me off that people want to subject her to that suffering.

If you've gotten this far, thanks for reading.