a choice

Not surprisingly, it appears that my most recent post about the MS. magazine article where they will publish the names of 5,000 woman who have had an abortion has sparked some discussion. The comments here, for the most part, have been respectful of the sensitive nature of this topic. I am in awe of the courage and bravery in some of them, as well. It is for those women that I write this.

This is what I believe: 

• Forcing woman to stay pregnant by a matter of law is incomprehensible to me.
• Abortion should not be used as a primary birth control. It should be determined based on the circumstances of the pregnancy.
• It is interesting to observe that the most staunch opponents of abortion are the often stingiest when it comes to supporting social programs to help millions of unwanted children who are born each year.
• People don't simply get pregnant because they are under-educated or careless. Accidents happen.
• Pro-choice does not mean pro-abortion.

I was faced with a choice.

I was on the pill. I had sex with a man who I had just recently broken up with. Three weeks later, I found out that I was pregnant. I called my ex and told him. He said, “Hey, you don’t want to be with me. You take care of it.”

So I did.

I chose to keep my pregnancy a secret, even from those closest to me. Not out of a shame that I was pregnant, but out of a desire to stick with my choice to not keep the child.

During the early stages of my pregnancy, I made two different appointments to have an abortion. I chose not go to either. Instead, I kept an appointment with a lawyer. I chose a family to adopt my child. I chose to fight in court not to name the father, because the moment he told me to take care of it, his rights to any voice in the matter ended. I chose to never subject a child to that kind of indecision and indifference.

I chose a private adoption, meaning that there would be no contact between the adoptive family and myself. I imagine that there are plenty of people that can successfully maintain an open adoption. I knew I could not. I forced myself to admit that if I were going to do this, I needed to do it all the way. This was a serious act, and my life would forever be changed because of it. I chose to continue to keep the secret to ensure that I would not be talked out of my decision.

On the morning that my water broke, I drove myself to the hospital. I made two phone calls while I was there. To my lawyer and my doctor. That afternoon, I delivered a healthy 7 pound girl. She was lovely. I went home the next day, and she remained in the hospital.

Her family flew in early the following week for the court proceedings. Because of the nature of Ohio courts, I did not see them there. I had to fight for what seemed like a very long time in the judge’s office to not name the father. There is an Ohio law, however, that states that any time a man has sex with a woman, there is a Knowledge of the Fall, meaning that he understands the result of the union could produce a pregnancy. Beyond just knowledge, I argued, this man knew exactly the result, and chose not to participate. I chose to deny him further access to this child by naming him.

After the court proceedings, I went to the hospital. There was nothing that required me to do so, as the adoptive family would be able to pick her up shortly after their time in court. I, instead, chose to be there to give this child to them. I sat in a small room with her, waiting for their arrival. As I held her, I tried to fit a lifetime of understanding into her tiny body. I told her that I loved her. That I had every hope in the world for her. And that I was doing this with the hope that she would someday understand that.

Her family arrived and they were as lovely as I was incoherent. Through my sobs, I tried to explain to them that I was really a very nice person and I was sorry that I seemed like such a mess now. They understood. A young boy of three with them, also adopted, was standing on his tiptoes to see his new sister. He said she was pretty. I placed her softly in her new mother’s arms and said goodbye.

I made a choice.

I made a choice because I was lucky enough to live in a society where I had a choice. It was a difficult one, to be sure. But I believe that the choice is never an easy one. Nor is there a single one that is right. I would never presume to think that the choice that I made is right for all women, or even that it would be the right one for me again. If I were faced with a pregnancy today, I am not sure what choice I would make.

I do know that I stand up with the thousands of woman who had their names published in that magazine, with the thousands more that didn't, and with woman everywhere who deserve to be able to make that choice freely, privately, and legally.

I am Pro-Choice.

so afraid

It's Friday the 13th. Be afraid. Be very afraid. If you are, you suffer from Paraskevidekatriaphobia, the fear of Friday the 13th.

But who's really afraid of that? Not many. Here are the top 5 most common phobias:

1. Fear of snakes (ophidiophobia)
2. Fear of giving a speech (glossophobia)
3. Fear of heights (acrophobia)
4. Fear of rodents (musophobia)
5. Fear of flying (aviophobia)

I suffer from none of the above fears...but I have a few of my own.

  I am afraid that this man will continue to breed.
(Hasselhoffiphobia) 

I am afraid this man has bigger tits than I do.
(Gnarlestitaphobia) 

I am afraid that the latest Nobel Prize Winner is actually Fletch.
(YunusFletchaphobia) 

   

I am working through it.
Thanks for your support. 

sleepy head

Some of you who know me know that I am a narcoleptic. For those of you who don't, I am.

It's been a fun little problem for me for a while. My best friend Ali has some good stories to tell. She and I used to work together, and she would come into my office on numerous occasions to find me in various states of comatose. Drooling face-down on my desk was the most frequent...but there was the one time where I slid out of my chair and onto the floor-under my desk. She actually thought I had left until she saw my purse and had to search around for me. This was before I was diagnosed, to be sure. Now when she finds me sleeping on the job, it just means I'm drunk.

The diagnoses was a long time coming. I have always seemed to need more sleep than most. I loved naps-even as a child when you were supposed to hate them. As I grew older, though, I suspected that there was something wrong. I would doze off all the time. I would feel sleepy-even after a good night's sleep. I grew a little ashamed - only really lazy slobs slept as much as I wanted to. When I was married, I would sometimes leave work early to take a nap, taking care to set the alarm for 15 minutes before he was going to be home. I would even make sure I used a satin pillow so there would be no tell-tale crease marks on my face.

I was a junkie hiding a nasty little habit. Naps.

I had what seemed like every test known to man. Blood tests for sugar, protein, all manner of levels. I had my thyroid tested. I even went and saw a shrink because everyone kept saying, "Oh, you're just depressed. That's why you sleep so much." Well, after about 4 sessions, she confirmed that I was, indeed, a whack-job...but not a depressed one. No help there. It finally dawned on me that if there was no other medical problem that was causing me to sleep too much...that maybe it was the sleep itself. I scheduled an appointment at a sleep clinic.

A few weeks later, I had my bags packed for "Sleep Camp" (my name, not theirs). I was to check in in the evening, and get hooked up to a fuckton of electrodes. Then I settled in for bed with a camera trained on me (and not in the fun Paris Hilton video way) and machines quietly measuring me. (A Multiple Sleep Latency Test-or MSLT for you brainy types.) The next morning, I was woken up at 7:00 a.m. and was scheduled to take naps at 8, 10, noon, and 2. They basically say, "Go to sleep"...and you try. Being the overachiever I am, in two of the "naps" I fell asleep in under 30 seconds...the other two in under 15 seconds. I entered REM Sleep every time. Yeah, I'm that good.

The nurse informed me upon leaving that the doctor would call me within a few weeks and I would come back for a visit. To my surprise, he called the next day asking, "Um...how do you function?" I actually think I cried with relief at the diagnosis. It is so hard to know that there is something wrong, but not be able to name it. It makes you feel a bit nuts, to be honest. He called in a script that night for Provigil, and said that I needed to start on the medication the next morning. I did, and the change was immediate.  Like many users, I thought that it wasn't working-there was no "high"...no buzz...nothing that I could feel. Until it was 6:00 that night, and I was still awake. And then at 10:00. I fought the urge to stay up later, but had no problem sleeping once I did settle in. It was amazing. I could go on in greater detail about how this diagnoses-and this expensive little drug-changed my life.

But perhaps another time. Because...I told you that story to tell you this story.

I got a pretty good night's sleep on Monday-turning in at a fairly early hour for me, anyhow. I woke up, drank my coffee, and even ate breakfast. As I settled in to work on a client's site, I washed my face, grabbed a Coke, and a Provigil. I was coding away when I heard from the next room the little dog that lives with me having a little dog nightmare. I went over to her, woke her up, and petted her until she calmed down. When I woke up two hours later still curled up on the bed, I was stunned. What the hell? I immediately started to worry. Maybe I am getting worse. Maybe the drug isn't working. Maybe this is all happening again. The mind reeled.

It wasn't until I walked out to the kitchen to grab another Coke that I saw the untaken pill sitting on the counter where I had left it. 

I had to take another nap after that because I was exhausted from kicking my own ass. What a fucktard. 

oh, little girl

Stuff I miss about being a kid:

• Trick or Treating with your Dad trailing close (but not too close) behind. Then going home and spreading out all of the candy on the floor before trade negotiations began with my brother.  ("I'll trade you three Bazookas and one Tootsie Pop for that Kit Kat." ... "Okay, but not root beer flavored, okay?")
• Jumping in a pile of leaves taller than you are and being swallowed up by that crunchy, fall smell.
• Pink Erasers.
• Cheering for your high school football team and then going to the Homecoming bonfire after the game.
• Playing for fun...not exercise or transportation. ("Hey-wanna go ride bikes?" ... "Sure!")
• Stretching the phone cord all the way across the kitchen so you could talk to That Boy in Private. Then calling all of your girlfriends to repeat every word that was said.
• Pizza Day in the Cafeteria.
• Notebook paper. Sharp pencils. Homework. Trapper Keepers. Book covers made out of brown paper bags.
• Stuffed animals. My pink canopy bed.
• Not worrying so much all the time.

wasted talent

Over at I Will Fucking Tear You Apart, I was reviewed by Love Bites. And ... oh! ... I got bit, love.

"So, I give it two stars for the content and for having the potential to be a great blogger, but the short bus for being 70% mundane and 30% great. Oh, and for the stupid ugly buttons in the sidebar. Get rid of bust, get rid of Avitable's fat face, get rid of all the other stupid blog promotion buttons, and focus on giving us a little more soul in your writing. You've got it. You've got a gift. Stop squandering it, and start honing it. There are ten million bloggers out there who would gladly rip your gift for words/soul out of your fingers and throw you into the dust for 1/10 of the writing talent you're wasting in most of your *space filler* posts."

Sadly, she's right. (About the writing...Avi's fat face stays.)

That's a little hard to admit. But I appreciate the honesty.

And my buddy Bitter Bitch will be happy to know what LB thinks of the color..."The blog design is nice and clean, although I must say I'm not a fan of green. Particularly that shade of green. It makes me bilious."

She should've been here in October for the Pepto-Pink.