“Four Pregnancies, Two Live Births”
It’s my answer to the question on the paperwork I fill out for my yearly checkup at my gynecologist’s office.
“How many pregnancies have you had?”
“How many live births?”
I always thought it was an odd way of wording it. The clinic is trying to make a discovery and be, well, clinical about the data as well. The first time I started getting any routine medical checkups was in my early 30’s when I became pregnant with my daughter. My past felt far enough behind me that I considered this my first pregnancy, but of course, technically it wasn’t.
CHOICE.
I got pregnant with my daughter at age 32, and again with my son at 39 — I consider myself a late bloomer, I was not ready to make big life changing decisions until I had a college degree, was married, securely employed, a homeowner, and supported by a circle of friends and family who I could trust and rely on. When all those boxes were checked, my husband and I dove into parenthood.
The woman you know today is the one with two amazing kids — a fifteen-year-old daughter who is so sweet and humble, an eight-year-old son who has enough energy and imagination to make anything happen, a husband who is the most supportive partner in every way, I’m a businesswoman who runs two design firms, we are financially secure, and I’m oozing with gratitude.
But obviously — I went through a lot of growing pains to get to where I am.
CHOICE.
I got pregnant the very first time I was sexually active at age eighteen. Again, late to the game, most of my girlfriends were having sex in high school. A couple of them got pregnant and had babies, dropped out of school, disappeared into a life of young motherhood. I grew up in a state where, and especially now, women’s health care services were not readily available. Abstinence was the law of the land — and we all know how effective that form of birth control is, especially in teens.
There was zero talk about birth control in my home. I have well-meaning parents, but in this arena, they were ill equipped to have ‘the sex talk’ with me. So, I navigated the best I could, which meant that I feared having sex, and just avoided any relationships that would likely lead to it. I was also a very shy introverted teen who was extremely insecure.
I’m eighteen years old living in a new city, new state. I’m living alone in a studio apartment, attending a community college, working at a deli on campus. I meet a boy, he is way cooler than me, he gives me a lot of attention. I was consumed with the fact that I was a virgin, and I was ready to get it done. My internal dialogue went like this, “Just do it and get it over with, it doesn’t even matter who it’s with.” And so, this new boy seemed like a good candidate.
Unfortunately, he did not take the necessary precautions and I was way too insecure and shy to say anything. Roughly 45 days later I was feeling nauseous enough to stop smoking cigarettes when a new friend said, “do you think you’re pregnant?” My stomach dropped; I knew the answer. I waited another 30 days to make the appointment with the local Planned Parenthood clinic, I was alone and scared. My boyfriend checked out — he did not drive me there or take me home, he did not pay for the procedure. I didn’t tell anyone. I was embarrassed and ashamed. Luckily, I was now living in a state where abortion and other women’s health care needs were accessible, the Planned Parenthood clinic took really good care of me, I remember feeling out of my body — but supported by a group of doctors and clinic staff — I knew I was doing the right thing.
CHOICE.
I made a lot of mistakes in my late teens and into my twenties. I continued to date the same boy. We were together for over three years. During that time he cheated and lied, and broke my trust repeatedly. I got pregnant again just after I turned twenty. Looking back at my life it is so obvious that I had no control over my body, I had no self. There was nothing empowering or strong about me. I hadn’t found my voice yet. I let my boyfriend act irresponsibly, and I couldn’t stand up for myself. I thought about having this baby. I thought about punishing myself, and him.
But something deep down inside of me, a tiny, blurred glimpse of who I wanted to be started to take shape. I wanted more for myself. I wanted to get out of this relationship, even if it meant moving back home with my parents. I wanted to go back to school, even if it meant starting over. I wanted to trust people, I wanted to trust myself.
CHOICE.
And I did, eventually.
The college I went to offered free birth control from the health clinic on campus. And I stopped dating assholes, for the most part.
CHOICE.
My life would look a lot different if I didn’t have that choice. I wouldn’t be sitting here in my lovely home with my lovely family. I’m 47 and can confidently say that I have no regrets. All my life choices, including the bad ones, have led me here. I just wasn’t very nice to myself, and it has taken me a long time to understand how important it is to make myself a priority. I want complete autonomy over my body, and I want my teenage daughter to have the same.
CHOICE.
This fight is about health care and having access to it. And now we all need to use our voices, tell our stories, and fight for our younger selves.
