Abortion is murder?

A law was passed in New York, "safeguarding rights laid out in Roe v. Wade and other court rulings, including a provision permitting late-term abortions when a woman's health is endangered". I believe this is a good thing. I believe this is NOT about "murdering babies".

I am Christian, from an Evangelical background, and I know many of my friends will have a knee-jerk reaction to this. So, please, friends, consider this.

I am a woman. I had two miscarriages, causing me deep emotional pain as well as physical pain. I am now 5 months pregnant and I thank God every day that my baby is alive and healthy so far. My point is, I know how it feels to have a baby grow inside of me.

I cannot believe, not for one second, that any woman would carry a baby in her womb for so long and then suddenly, out of the blue, decide to get rid of it for reasons of convenience. Serious health complications can and do arise later in pregnancy that leave a (heartbroken) woman no other choice but to abort. It's not only her life that can be in danger, it can be a fetus that is not viable. An acquaintance of mine found out during a second-term ultrasound scan that her baby's brain had failed to develop. We are not even talking about a brain problem that would result in severe physical or learning disabilities, but about an issue that would make the baby unable to survive once it is born. The lady had to abort. What else could she do?

Someone on Facebook shared a story about a fetus with an undeveloped heart which was detected late in the pregnancy. The mother was past 24 weeks, carrying a dying baby.

Babies can and do die in the womb for various reasons. What happens when a human dies? The body starts decaying. What happens if dead tissue starts decaying inside a person's (the mother's) body? You die of septic shock. So it is necessary to abort the dead fetus.

Those are the cases that make allowing late-term abortions necessary. I will not rejoice over abortions, but I am aware that in some cases, there is no other choice.

The second time - Chronicles of a miscarriage

The second time, you are prepared.

When you realize you are pregnant, you feel no rejoicing in your soul, only anxiety.

In fact you feel terrified, because you know the odds are real: between 1 in 3 and 1 in 5 pregnancies end in miscarriages in the first term. It's no longer a theoretical figure, because you've been through this before. It's not theoretical - it's potentially real. 

So you detach yourself emotionally. You say, "OK, I'm pregnant. But this pregnancy may or may not stick". You do not use the term "baby" in your mind. Ever. You dare not speak to the little one or call it loving names. You dare not feel excited. You dare not discuss baby names or look at baby clothes. You subsequently feel guilty for not bonding with it like you did for the first one.

Still, when you see a bright red spot of blood, you downplay it. Sometimes a little bleeding during pregnancy is normal. And this stinging pain in your right side, well, this can happen too and it isn't necessarily bad. Nothing to worry about. Right? You book an appointment with the doctor anyway. Your hormone levels indicate you are pregnant, but you already knew that. Another test is scheduled in a week to see if they are rising as normal.

When you start bleeding again and the swollen-ness of your breasts suddenly decreases, you just know. Even though you were prepared for this, you cry your heart out. And when the second blood test shows levels are dropping, you are not surprised. You resign yourself to the fact that you had a second miscarriage.

This time, it hurts more physically. And you feel angry. "Why is my body doing this to me?" 

There is no answer.

You turn to God and you cry out, "The Lord is my Shepherd... even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for you are with me."

But by the grace of God go I.

This small great loss

I have long hesitated to write about this, because it is deeply personal and painful. But it is time.

In early November 2017, I noticed a change in my body that I had never experienced before. My breasts felt bigger and swollen. I have known my breasts since I was 16, and they had never felt like this. My mother had told me years before that she knew she was pregnant, not because of a missed period or morning sickness, but from the way her breasts felt.

My period wasn't due yet, so I had to wait about a week. I woke up very early that Saturday morning, and just couldn't wait anymore: I took a home pregnancy test. It came back positive. I remember climbing back into bed and whispering to my partner, "Are you awake?"

The following week, I booked an appointment with my doctor, and she confirmed I was 6 weeks pregnant. I was overjoyed.

We had been trying for a baby for a long time, so you can imagine how excited we both felt. It was difficult not to get carried away. My partner expressed that he felt joyful and serene about being a father. We chose a boy's name and a girl's name. I talked to my baby a lot. I called it Peanut. I told them we were so happy they were finally here. I told them about about my partner, about my friends, about my work, about my family. I loved them already.

The following week, I noticed some light spotting, so I called my gynecologist. He reassured me that it was very common, nothing to worry about. So I put that nagging little fear at the back of my mind.

On the Thursday evening, I went to the bathroom. There was a lot of blood in my underwear. I started muttering, "No, no, no, no, no, no" over and over. When I wiped myself, there was something on the paper that wasn't a blot clot. It was no bigger than a grain of rice.

I had seen enough embryo development photographs to know what I was looking at. I knew I had just lost my baby.

I booked an appointment with the gynecologist. He was again very reassuring, saying bleeding does not equal miscarriage, and dismissed what I had seen. "Women always think they see something". There was nothing on the ultrasound, and he still was reassuring - at such an early stage, it's hard to see anything. Better wait for the blood test results. I clung to his words, to hope, but deep down, I knew. And sure enough, my pregnancy hormone levels were dropping dramatically. My gynecologist downplayed it, using words such as "chemical pregnancy", "a small miscarriage", "too early to call it a real pregnancy anyway". Maybe he was trying to be comforting, but it hurt even more to hear my grief dismissed in such a way.

I cried for days. My partner was at loss, because he hadn't felt it all happen in his body. To him, it felt more like another failed attempt. But to me, it was devastating.

The first time a friend of mine referred to my miscarriage as "the loss of your child", I cried with relief. What I had seen that day, no bigger than a grain of rice - my child. I felt my grief was finally acknowledge for what it was.

Weeks passed, then months. I reached what would have been the 12-week mark, the moment when the miscarriage risk is supposed to decrease, the moment most people choose to make the happy announcement. And I cried and cried. I still cry now. I miss my pregnant body. Especially, I struggle with newborns and very small babies. Two of my colleagues recently gave birth and joyfully brought their child to work - I am happy for them, but I simply cannot look at, let alone hold, their baby. I do not know how much longer this will last.

What has amazed me even since is the amount of women who have told me these simple words: "It's happened to me too". My mother, my grandmother, friends, colleagues, refugee ladies. I had never realized it was so common. Between 1 in 3 and 1 in 5 in the first term - but this means nothing until it happens to you, and until you hear your sisters tell you how they suffered the same loss. And yet, not one really talks about it. Everyone tells you how how wonderful it is to carry another life inside you, how amazing it is to be a mother (and stories of how exhausting it is, and how it takes over your life!). But no one warns of you of this terrible grief you are actually quite likely to experience. No one tells you that you might suffer a loss that may be tiny in size, but leaves a huge hole in your heart.

This is why I am writing this. We should not hide it and pretend it never happened, pretend that the baby we started to love never existed at all. We should be able to talk about this and grieve together as sisters.

I put my baby in a small box, to bury in our garden.

How not to talk about menstruation

I follow a blog called Single Dad Laughing, written by Dan Pierce.

I like Dan Pearce. Some of his blog posts are hilarious, some others inspirational. As most bloggers (including yours truly), I suppose he is a little narcissistic, but I generally enjoy what he writes.

Except this piece. Dan had surgery that caused rectal bleeding, and, in a supposed attempt to sympathise with menstruating women, shares with us how horrific it was. I'm not sure whether he wanted to be funny or inspirational, but it ended up being neither.

I have so many issues with his post. 

Dan constantly describes it as "bleeding from your 'down there'". Funny as this may sound, a rectum and a vagina are not the same thing at all. They don't look the same. They don't feel the same. They don't have the same function. To put them in the same broad category and call it your "down there" is incorrect and, to me at least, rather offensive.

He complains about being constantly and uncomfortably aware of the bleeding - but that bleeding was the result of tissue trauma, so no wonder! Menstruation, on the other hand, is not the result of a wound or of surgery. It's a perfectly normal female bodily function. I am aware there is something called endometriosis, and that some women are plagued with very painful periods. Admittedly, as I don't experience either of these, I'm not representative of all women, but I'm not constantly aware of it when I'm on my period. I get on with my day just fine.

He also complains about the discomfort and irritation. I would argue that, heavy bleeding due to surgery aside, it's also caused by using disposable pads. I use cloth pads (trust me, much more comfortable than those sticky horrid disposables). He wasn't able to do some of the things he usually enjoys. Well, there again, this was due mainly to the fact that his (heavy) bleeding was caused by tissue trauma. When a woman is menstruating, however, she can choose a kind of protection that won't stop her from playing sports, dancing or swimming, such as tampons, or, even better and healthier, menstrual cups. As for staining your clothes, unless periods are extremely heavy (which isn't the case for everyone), wearing the right protection usually prevents that. 

Dan was uncomfortable disposing of soiled pads, and the odours were most unpleasant. Of course, as his bleeding was only temporary, he couldn't invest in washable ones, but for menstruation women, making that switch solves those issues (bad odour doesn't come from the blood per se, but from the mix of blood and the chemicals in the disposables).

To me, the worst part was his statement that "no human should ever have to bleed from their down theres", as if it was something horrendous. What he experienced was undoubtedly most unpleasant, but once again, comparing it to menstruation is inaccurate and unhelpful. We need to de-dramatise periods and fight the stigma against them, not patronisingly dramatise them. 

He is right on one thing, though: menstruation is a topic that deserves discussion - but a positive one.

So no, Dan Pierce, rectal bleeding isn't the same as menstruation. Not even close.

Why I will not watch 50 Shades of Grey

Mommy porn. Apprently, that's all the rage at the moment, with the 50 Shades of Grey film coming out on Valentine's Day. Female colleagues discuss it with giggles and a twinkle in their eye, and ask you - or me - if you'll go and watch it.

Well, I won't. I refuse to go and watch it.

You may think it's because I'm a Christian and as such, disapprove of BDSM. You could not be more wrong - I am of the opinion that whatever a couple decide to do in the intimacy of their bedroom is none of my business, including BDSM. In any case, as far as I am aware, nothing in the Bible forbids couples from being a little kinky with each other.

You may think that because I am an avid reader, I think the books were poorly written. This isn't the reason I disapprove of those books, either.

The reason I dislike fiction such as 50 Shades of Grey is simple: I think it glamourizes an abusive relationship. Now, before you start explaining to me that BDSM between consenting adults does not constitute abuse: I know that, thank you. As I said above, the BDSM is not what I take issue with.

Christian Grey is basically a controlling man who is emotionally abusing a young, inexperienced woman with low self-esteem. He wants to control every aspect of her life, including what she eats! He stalks her, he intimidates her and coerces her - not just sexually. Their relationship isn't about a sexual game where the submissive partner volontarily relinquishes control - it's about bullying.

Glamourizing such a relationship is dangerous. It sends the message that Mr Right has, indeed, the right to control you, intimidate you and belittle you. It grooms future victims of relationship abuse into thinking such abusive behaviour is acceptable, even desirable. It empowers abusers.

In fact, I am not suprised by the way 50 Shades depicts an ideal relationship. E. L. James admitted that she started writing this story as a Twilight Fanfiction.

So, hang on a minute. Male character presented as out of the female character's league, and she as a girl with low self-esteem? Check. Male character who stalks his love interest? Check. Bosses her around? Check. Emotionally manipulates her? Check. Isolates her from her loved ones? Check. Jealous and possessive? Check. Does not respect her desires and wishes but imposes his own? Check.

So all in all, at least you can say E.L. James respected the spirit of the works she inspired her novels from.

More seriously, though. I once was in an emotionally abusive relationship. I can assure you there is nothing romantic or glamourous about being controlled and manipulated. When your whole world revolves around someone who disapproves or belittles things you enjoy, lashes out at you out of the blue, wants to control the way you manage your money and berates you for not spending it the way they think you ought to... it's not romantic. It's not love.

And of course, they will apologize in tears after lashing out and hurting you. They will tell you they love you. And you want to believe them.

But at the end of the day, the relationship is toxic, and it will drain all emotional strength and health out of you as you slowly wither.

Fiction such as 50 Shades and Twilight set a very, very bad model for relationships... whatever you do, don't follow it.

And while I'm at it... (related to last post)

This is an ad for menstruation products I like. It's hilariously funny!

 

This post is about menstruation. Get over it.

I'm feeling rather annoyed right now. Why? Because I stumbled across this article, and it made me cringe. But not for the reasons you might think.

The article presents all the clichés about menstruation: it makes women bitchy and moody, makes them irrational (or even more irrational than usual, let's maintain those sexist stereotypes, right?), causes them to have weird cravings, stops them from doing what they usually enjoy, it's messy and gross. Some parts made me think I was given advice about some kind of disease - stay away from certain foods, have painkillers ready...

Unfortunately, this kind of view is perpetuated by feminine hygiene adverts. Menstruation is presented as dirty, smelly and messy, to the point of needing "odour absorber technology" in pads, while using a blue liquid that bears not resemblance to blood whatsoever when showing you how absorbant a pad is.

Newsflash: menstruation is not a disease. It's not a curse. It's not something to be ashamed of. It's a healthy natural process a women's body goes through every month. It means she is able to bear children. If anything, it ought to be celebrated - we women are able to give life, isn't that fantastic?

Now I'll admit that I may be biaised. I am fortunate enough that I don't get menstrual cramps - only a light tension in my lower abdomen on the day my period starts. I honestly feel sorry for women who get cramps, I'm pretty sure they're awful (the cramps, not the women). And I don't seem to get PMS either.

And that's another thing that really irks me. I am a human being. I am entitled to having emotions, whether I am on my period or not. If, when someone displays anger, they're asked "jokingly" whether they're on their period, I feel offended. Why exactly would menstruation turn us into irrational, irate monsters?

I am begining to wonder whether some (not all - I do aknowledge the reality of cramps for some women) of those symptoms may not be psychosomatic. If we're being constantly brainwashed into thinking that periods are horrible and make women cranky, of course we're going to feel rubbish about it.

Menstruation is treated as something dirty and shameful. Why is that? It's only blood, for heaven's sake. You have about 10 pints of blood in your veins, and actually, it's pretty darn useful. It delivers nutrients and oxygen to your cells and organs and transports waste back to where it can be disposed of (including carbon dioxide). White blood cells fight infections; platelet cells cover an open wound so you can stop bleeding and start healing. Blood is not just extremely useful, it's vital. So why should we be grossed out or freaked out if we lose a little bit of it each month?

OK, it stains. But it's no harder to cleanse than tomato sauce. Do you feel grossed out when you have to scrub off a tomato sauce stain? I didn't think so!

We need to stop feeling ashamed of natural bodily processes. We need to stop feeling ashamed of our bodies! Our bodies are wonderfully intricate machines that function fantastically well and have an amazing ability to self-repair within certain limits. Our bodies are beautiful - all of our bodies - yes, including vaginas and ovaries.

I don't feel I should apologize for discussing this. We need to get over ourselves and embrace our womanhood - all of it.