6w0d

One phone call, two voice mail messages, and a flurry of e-mail and I’m still no closer to feeling supported by D. His message is a broken record – I can’t work on our relationship until I fix myself – followed with my constant refrain: our relationship and this situation are two independent things. My response:

It isn’t that I don’t want to give you time to get your shit together. You’re right; I’ve waited long enough, but it’s not “a fixed-up D.” I’m waiting for. I have been clear about my boundaries, and I have no doubt that I will be able to stick to them. I don’t deserve your anger or being mistreated, and that isn’t going to change any time soon. It’s unreasonable to think I should let you treat me badly for any length of time for whatever reason. That does NOT mean I don’t “want” to give you time… what it DOES mean is that “problems D. has” is a completely separate issue from “a crisis situation A. AND D. are in.”

No matter what things are going on with you that cause you to think it’s okay to react the way you do when I say things that are reasonable (that doesn’t mean you AGREE with them, just that they aren’t psychotic), that is a separate issue from me being in a situation that we BOTH contributed to and we are BOTH responsible for. I have never asked for much in that regard — all I’ve ever wanted, since the day I found out I was pregnant, was for you not to run away, for you to not leave me here to deal with this on my own. If I wanted that, I never would have told you. Somehow, though, that’s pretty much what’s happening now.

I’m really, really sorry you’re going through whatever it is you’re going through. It can’t be easy, and since I’ve been at the point in my own life where everything was falling apart because I had issues I never dealt with (childhood, trauma, loss, whatever), I can completely understand why you might feel the need to run away. But, for Pete’s sake, I am pregnant, D., and that is your responsibility as much as mine. That doesn’t mean I want to milk this situation for all I can; I’m not that kind of person. What it means is that I wish you would, just for one minute, stop focusing on how incapable you feel and just do something. Yeah, it’s hard. Yeah, it’s not what either one of us planned for. But it’s REALITY and it’s something *I* can’t run away from, and it’s pretty darn unfair that you can — and do, and have been. No matter how many ways I tell you what I need from you (simple kindness and NOT TO LEAVE ME TO DEAL WITH THIS BY MYSELF), it’s not getting through.

Like I’ve said, you have choices. You can keep being angry at me and having your anger color everything you say or do, or you can choose to be benevolent. You can keep beating yourself up for not being “enough” (whatever that is), or you can make the choice to do what you can (even though it’s scary). I am not asking you not to be weak, not to be scared, not to make mistakes. We are all human, and we ALL do those things, and expecting you to be 100% perfect is idiotic. But I do expect for love to be more than words, D.

Of course, his response was that he needs to make himself better before he can focus on our relationship, and that he doesn’t feel “comfortable” doing much for me. My response:

What you don’t seem to understand, since you keep combining the two, is that I view “working on our relationship” and “going through this SITUATION” as two completely different things. Right now, I have no desire to even think about working on our relationship; as far as I’m concerned, that’s a secondary issue, and something that’s largely out of my control, since it so highly depends on you and choices you make.

What I am talking about the past few e-mails is something along the lines of supporting a friend, “being there” for someone you care about because it’s the right thing to do, stepping up and taking responsibility for a situation you are IN with me. This isn’t something *I* am going through and need help with incidentally. This is something that is happening to *us* and I am carrying the physical burden. You might be able to walk away, but I CANNOT and I am tired of being the only one who is forced (by circumstance) to face this head-on. And in case you don’t quite know what I mean (or believe it’s some sort of Herculean effort) by “supporting a friend” or “being there for someone you care about”, here are things my friends have done over the past few days:

* called see if there was anything they could bring me to calm my stomach,
* sent me e-mails asking how I was feeling,
* sent me cards saying they were thinking of me,
* offered to watch the boys so I could rest,
* invited me to go out and see a movie to get my mind off things,
* checked in just to see if I was okay,
* gave me a hug when I was crying,
* told me it was okay to feel scared,
* listened to me,
* asked if I needed a ride to the ER,
* expressed concern over the frequency of my vomiting, and
* offered to spend the night on my couch so I didn’t feel alone.

The last thing I want to do is lay a guilt trip on you. I am offering these as things that my friends have done that have helped, things you could do that are completely independent of “working on our relationship”. That is what I meant when I made my comment about kindness and decency. It’s what I was getting at when I sent you that link of “do’s and dont’s” a couple of weeks ago — it’s because I’ve thought, all along, that you wanted to support me through this situation we are in TOGETHER, but as time goes on I don’t even get the impression that you want to be my *friend* through any of this.

I don’t mean to sound insensitive or snarky, but part of caring about someone — even just a friend — is sometimes putting aside what’s comfortable and convenient and doing what’s needed because you care. *That* is what I meant when I said love is more than words. I can’t even begin to express how painful it is that it’s been the hip mamas who have gotten me through this so far — and they don’t even have any responsibility to do so! It wouldn’t kill you to pick up the phone and ask how I’m feeling, or to offer to bring me some Gatorade, or to stop by simply to give me a hug. As much as I want to want you to be there on Tuesday, I don’t want you there unless you’re going to be supportive before and after as well. It continues to upset me that your idea of me “not having to go through this alone” involves just Tuesday, because it’s more than that.

Well, he did call, ten minutes later. That lasted about 90 seconds before it turned mean, and it was only a couple of minutes after that when he hung up on me…an act followed up with an e-mail explaining that the reason he hasn’t been calling or coming around is because he’s so angry, as evidenced by the phone call.

Meanwhile, I’m left pondering the irony. I, who have so much to be angry about, can’t seem to scream, while D. — whose anger comes out of nowhere — is left to throw fits and run away whenever he deems fit.

5w6d

D. hung up on me yesterday and, other than a couple of nasty e-mails, nothing for 24 hours. He’s been telling people about our situation, and I pointed out that I felt my privacy was being violated. I received I didn’t do anything wrong and how dare you tell me whom I can tell… then silence. I typed up an e-mail I didn’t send:

I don’t know what to say anymore. I’m tired of working hard to stay in love with you. I’m tired of fighting for our relationship. I’m not saying it’s over, because I don’t think that’s inevitably the case, but you’re on the verge of losing me. I have made mistakes, but I don’t deserve malevolence.

I’m at the point where I no longer know what the best thing to do is, both with the pregnancy and this relationship. I talked with my friend N. last night, whom I’d called to set up a lunch date. He called back almost immediately and said, without provocation, You sound really depressed…more than I’ve ever heard you. Are you okay? What can I do? The answer is that I don’t know what anyone can do, short of taking a two-by-four and whacking D. across the head to get him to wake up to the fact that he is completely fucking things up. From abandoning me when I’ve needed him most to a complete lack of empathy about his violation of my privacy, I don’t know how much longer I can hold on.

As I stave off both tears and episodes of vomiting, I both want D. to go far, far away and come rushing back to take me in his arms and apologize. But apologies only work for so long, and there have been too many of them for too long. Perhaps what I need is to learn how to do this alone.

5w5d

I suppose I thought I’d waltz in to D.’s place last night and everything would be okay, and we’d decide that we could see this pregnancy through to term. Instead, I’m left with all the reasons I don’t have to, feeling brow-beaten into something I already know is the best thing. What I’m left with is a sinking feeling that, come June 5, there won’t be any reason to stay with D. All the items on my reasons to have an abortion list seem to work equally well on a reasons to leave D. list.

5w4d

D. is back in town, and I’ll be seeing him presently. This feels strange, as I don’t quite know what to do or say. And the fact that I’m consistently nauseated makes me think that all I’ll be able to do when I see him is curl up on the couch and let him rub my back.

5w3d

The nausea is here, though unpredictably and without much warning. Haven’t eaten enough? Nausea! Ate too much? Nausea! Just finished eating? Nausea! Been a while since eating? Nausea! If only there were a pattern…

5w2d

The small spaces… I talk about them all the time: places where we feel empowered and fully in control of our own lives and decisions. And loved, completely and unconditionally loved. With all the chaos and unpredictability in the world and all the times when our best-laid plans go awry, it’s necessary to have small spaces, and last night I was reminded we can find them in the least likely of places. Sometimes reconnecting with an old friend is all that’s needed to feel comfort again, and sometimes sitting and talking with someone who knows just how to listen is all that is needed to feel safe to enter into the journey of making difficult choices. And to hear I’ll be proud of you no matter what from someone who’s also been the rope in a tug-of-war between someone else’s notions of right and wrong? Well, that was more than I’d asked for.

5w1d

Last week, I joined a (pro-choice) online support group for women dealing with unplanned pregnancies. I’ve been a member of this group in the past, both when making the decision to have an abortion and making the decision to carry my pregnancy to term. It’s a helpful place to be, a space in which other women are struggling with the same issues and going through the same process to come to terms with their own decisions. That is, until you get attacked by a troll.

Trolls aren’t present on the list; the moderator does an excellent job making sure the listserv itself is free of judgment and coercion. However, some people join the list under false pretenses (you’re supposed to tell your own story to the moderator before being approved for membership, and some people simply lie) and use the list as a means of mining e-mail addresses for the purposes of sending confused pregnant women nasty e-mails. And lo and behold, after I signed one of my posts to the list Namaste (I’m not Hindu, but I appreciate the concept of “I honor the divine in you”), look what arrived in my in box:

Hi Vegan. I couldn’t help but notice the irony of your signing off with “Namaste”, and so casually discussing the termination of your own child. I assume you are a vegetarian and possibly Hindu. You put so much importance on the lives of animals, yet you are going to kill your own baby? Do you not see the hypocrisy here? And I know that the Hindu faith teaches the sacredness of all life. That includes your unborn son or daughter, who is alive and kicking, heart beating and brain waves. What are you doing with your life that you keep putting yourself in the position of having to tear your own children apart limb from limb?

I know what I say will make you very angry. Do you really know why? Are these words touching a sore spot, a wound on your conscience? I am truly so sorry – I don’t want to cause anyone undue pain. But you need to see the reality of your actions, or you will continue to cause harm to your children and your own soul. Please reconsider. I would do anything in the world to help you give life to this baby. You say the birthfather has come around and is now supportive. I think he will also come around to loving this child as he does his older son. Please give him this chance. You can also consider adoption – as hard as it is, it is a choice that you can feel good about, not guilty.

Please prayerfully consider these words, not as a personal attack, but as the God’s honest truth. Please let me know if there is anything I can do to help you let your baby live. There is support out there. You don’t have to do it alone.

My response is simply, Ugh. Two things strike me as dishonest: “having to tear your own children apart limb from limb” and “your unborn son or daughter, who is alive and kicking, heart beating and brain waves.”

I’m not an expert on anatomy and physiology, but I have miscarried a child when I was 6w4d pregnant and, when I passed the embryo, it wasn’t anything with the capacity to kick. I’ve read — and looked the pictures in — Lennart Nilsson’s A Child is Born. I’ve seen the ultrasounds when my sister began spontaneously bleeding at at 7w6d and no one could figure out why. To put it bluntly: characterizing what is growing inside of me in the above manner is not only dishonest, it’s morally reprehensible (and cruel).

I am not saying abortion is an amoral issue. Indeed, it is something that deserves careful consideration, and as a vegan I see the moral connections probably a bit more distinct than most (see Gary Francione’s essay in Animals and Women). But the guilt I feel or the anger at the e-mail I received isn’t a “wound on my conscience” — it’s part of a struggle to do the right thing, which isn’t always the easy or most comfortable thing.

Many years ago, when I thought I might be pregnant (I wasn’t), I visited a crisis pregnancy center. I didn’t realize they were a front for pro-life groups. While they were performing the pregnancy test (a urine-based test that takes no more than two to four minutes to get an accurate result) whose results “wouldn’t be definitive for 20 minutes” I was locked in a small room with a television no more than a foot from my face. There was no space for me to turn away, and the volume was turned up so loud it gave me a headache. The graphic video showed dead fetuses from second- and third-trimester abortions in explicit detail. The whole thing horrified me. Their scare tactics worked; had I been pregnant, I wouldn’t have had an abortion. I suppose they “won” that day.

Now, older and a bit wiser, I see abortion as a moral issue, but not the same way that pro-life activists do (and I definitely don’t equivocate the images from that video I saw with early first-trimester embryos). I see unplanned pregnancies not as inconveniences but as sad events that bring us to the point of being unsure what the next step is. I don’t believe pregnancy in general should be treated flippantly — but how is it that a 16-year-old girl who has a baby because she wants a living doll can be judged “good” and a 33-year-old woman honestly assessing her capacities and abilities is branded “evil”?

There are good and bad reasons for doing everything, and the best I can do right now is not engage with people who aren’t trying to be helpful. Want to say I’m discussing these things “casually”? You don’t know what I’m feeling or not. Want to say I’m a bad person? Go ahead. The truth of the matter is that if I were a “bad person” I wouldn’t be having this struggle. It’s the good people in the world who aim to make thoughtful decisions based on valid reasons, who seek to cause the least harm, who strive to be responsible — who want desperately to do all of these things without falling back on knee-jerk reactions predicated on half-truths and mean-spirited accusations.

5w0d

Today, the magical thinking begins. I am pondering the list of reasons I don’t have to and my (perhaps delusional) optimism is worrisome. In this state of mind, there are no (good) reasons I can’t have a baby: surely the financial, emotional, and physical factors (not to mention the shaky state of my relationship with D.) are incidental, irrelevant facts, fragments of information not necessary when weighing my options.

And, of course, when I mention to D. that perhaps we need to reconsider, he doesn’t argue. What does this all mean? I wonder. I’m notorious for accepting jobs, responsibilities, projects, that I then push aside because I’ve overestimated my ability to handle them (in addition to my regular work, children, etc.). But a baby isn’t a freelance job I can drop at the last minute. How, exactly, can I think about this at all rationally? I feel as though I am working through the stages of grief in my decision-making process: Denial? Check. Anger? Check. Bargaining? Well, wouldn’t you know it…I’m right there.

4w6d

This is going to sound silly, he says. And I know it’s my fault. But I want my old girlfriend back.

You and me, both, sweetie. I’ll keep looking.

4w5 (evening)

Just as I am starting to feel as comforted this week as I felt abandoned last week, I realize I have shut down completely. I don’t feel most anything; even anger just sits there: stillborn, voiceless, disconnected from passion, in the pit of my soul. I have not laughed in 24 hours. I could cry if it didn’t feel fraudulent and hollow.

This is what I wanted, I tell myself, to feel nothing when I realized I was in this alone. Now that I am not alone, I recoil from embraces, hesitate on the precipice of kisses, screen my phone calls, ignore well wishers. Most of all D. seems a burden, someone I must tolerate because we had something I wanted before I stopped wanting anything. Today V. suggested I take another candlelit bath, force the tears, scream to Ani DiFranco at the top of my lungs. But my skin is parched from too much soaking in waters that bring no clarity, the tears refuse summoning, and I sold my Ani CDs some time ago to pay my rent.

I am reminded of Sharon Olds — “once you lose someone it is never exactly the same person who comes back” — and wonder how it is one we reconnect after loss. Even more: How can I return to the person I was ten days, two weeks, a month ago? After the pain, the abandonment, the quick and fearful realization — maybe I’ve lost him for good this time — how is it possible that a familiar embrace, the scent of our bodies, gentle kisses and hesitant touches, or anything intimate could possibly bring us back to a time when we couldn’t possibly imagine the point at which love would be painful?

I am reeling from the not-losing, wondering when I’ll recognize myself again.