A Half Dozen or So or Nine Months to Grow

Michelle Obama; Gabrielle Union; Mariah Carey; Brook Shields; Tyra Banks; Angela Bassett, and Chrissy Tiegen are just a few of the famous names that we can put a face with of women that have been transparent about their struggles with infertility—-or an inability to carry a pregnancy to term, if they could conceive at all.  I want to share another side—-perhaps perspective to this reality.       

     Not every face and name are known—-not every woman is famous, wealthy, or willing to share this tender reality. And for some women it may even  be a root of bitterness or resentment-—for others it can stir up an obsessive-like behavior and pathology over other women’s pregnancies or children. I share this because I was the object of both extremes. I had one woman who could no longer conceive randomly sharing pictures of my youngest, (infant) daughter with strangers and referencing her ambiguously as if to omit that she wasn’t hers—-and it was brought to my attention for awareness. I had another scenario where a woman that could not conceive or carry simulate hitting my infant in the face with a crab mallet when I approached her with my one-month old beautiful baby girl, nestled in the nook of my curled arm—-swaddled in a beautiful pink-white crochet blanket to show her my latest point of pride and joy. She, blurted out, “You didn’t have anything better to do than to have another baby?!” And proceeded to simulate hitting her in the head with the mallet. I will use creative discretion concerning how the rest of that scenario played out. But what I remembered was roughly a year and a half prior—-this same woman tearfully said to me as I made a reference to my, now, middle daughter, “You are a good mother. I can’t have a baby even if someone were to put it inside of me.” So, I knew that the alcohol induced response to my newborn was a response of resentment, bitterness —-and depression. The mental health component of this reality should not trivialized.

     Nor is this discussion intended to shame any women experiencing these emotions—-in fact it’s just the opposite—-it’s to say, that you are not alone—-we see and support you. But, consequently; I think these emotions are masked more than any other facet of this conundrum—-they are not discussed as openly as they could be—-therefore exasperating the secret embarrassment some women feel. For other women, they are ashamed for various reasons, that they are unable to carry a pregnancy i.e., they question the completeness their womanhood—-which is in no way true, but that doesn’t negate the validity of those feelings—-so stigmas persist. But in other instances where many women had the good fortune and resources to afford In vitro fertilization (IVF) or the blessing of surrogacy —-their dreams, desire and willingness to have children, and a family were realized because on the other side of this conundrum was a young woman capable and willing to donate her eggs or to be a surrogate.

     The reason I have decided to write and share this blog/ post is because I hope to invoke thought, compassion, conversation and maybe even “involvement.”

     And while we fight for our “right to choose”, (which I support); I also empathize with any woman that would give anything to be able to conceive and can’t—-to carry and can’t. I know women in my life, and networks that can’t. And it wasn’t until I met the first of those women that I realized what I took for granted, as being as natural as breathing—-was someone else’s physical impossibility.

     That said, I think pregnancy is beautiful—-the entire process. I remember various times being told, “You look beautiful pregnant.” Well, I know that wasn’t always true, but I felt beautiful, and that’s what was permeating—-how I felt. If I were happily married, and wealthy; I would have had several children, but as a single, and later a divorced woman—-my purse strings tied up at three —- though I birthed four—with one dying prematurely.   Nevertheless, absolutely could not expand any further beyond the three. But I wanted more under the right conditions, nevertheless time and chance played its hand. 

     So, this one thing will remain on the list of things I always wanted to do—-the thing I let slip through my fingers because I either got distracted, sidetracked, or just procrastinated, therefore not elevating it to the level of importance I wished I had—-consequently missing the window of opportunity, to have enrolled in an egg donor or surrogacy program. I utterly wanted to make this a part of my legacy, and a blessing realized for someone else.

     As a young woman; I am convinced that I was blessed by the fertility “gods”, and I realized that I was blessed once meeting one woman after another that could not conceive children, while I took for granted the ease by which I could. So much-so, that I could count on my children being born precisely on their due dates because I knew their conception  dates—-allowing for a 24-48 hour variance. 

     I remember reading in Will Smith’s memoir, that his wife, Jada Pinkett Smith  knew within the seconds that she was pregnant, (Smith, W., 2021). Some thought and still ‘meme’ it as ridiculousness—-but I totally know of that reality.

     Oddly, the last time this crossed my mind was in my early fifties, by which time, was moot because of my age. 

However, on December 22, 2022, the day before my fifty-eighth birthday; I underwent a total hysterectomy due to uterine fibroids. 

     Now, having shared this; I don’t want to glaze over the adverse history of the pattern of excessive hysterectomy procedures performed on Black women and other women of color. If it’s something you want to know more about; I encourage you to do some research—-if for no other reason than to be informed. When I was a young girl, I remember several women in my orbit talking about having undergone or having a procedure scheduled. During this era, it would appear that the procedures had a more nefarious intent. Even today, I am not sure we have totally mediated the targeted race (s), and capitalistic gain agendas concerning this phenomenon. In fact, in the very recent past I happened to be on a leadership call with a medical institution when the unit where these surgeries are performed was referenced as, “Our money making procedures.” Definitely a tone death statement and one where “saying the quiet part out loud”, was surely a faux pas. So, before I digress from sharing historical information; I want to share a couple of poignant facts for awareness: 

*”In 1961, Fannie Lou Hamer received a hysterectomy by a white doctor without her consent while undergoing surgery to remove a uterine tumor.”

womenshistory.org

*”J. Marion Sims—-a doctor that performed unauthorized and non consented hysterectomy on enslaved women without anesthesia because according to him; Black women don't feel pain.” 

washingtonpost.com

As for me—-I voluntarily opted to have a total hysterectomy for which I was afraid of the anesthesia—-not the procedure. Following an annual gynecological visit —-an exam would reveal that I had been carrying one fibroid the size of a ten week fetus and several other smaller ones surrounding it. But it would not be until after the surgery that, (I elected to have), when the final number of fourteen in total would be confirmed.  As stoic and professionally composed as the doctor had always been throughout my visits, it was for the first time, when he stood beside me as I lay in bed in recovery, that I saw his facial expression (forehead) contort, as he stated, “You had fourteen fibroids.” And in my groggy state, I responded, “That’s massive”, and the doctor’s response was, “In medical terms, yes that is massive.” He proceeded to show me pictures for me to see for myself — which gave me the chills-—but it was when he pointed to my ovaries in the picture, and said,  “Your ovaries were in pristine condition—-they were both optimal”, was when I quickly turned my head to hide my teary eyes that were filling up. But in keeping with the procedure, he removed one of my ovaries. I was saddened, reminded, and now deeply regretting, that I let the window of opportunity to assist another woman in her ability to have children close—-another woman who wasn’t as fortunate as I had been to be blessed with fertility, or the ability to carry a pregnancy. And now that the ability to do so, without question, no longer exist for me—-it’s my hope to be a part of the larger conversation. A conversation that contributes to debunking the stigmas and shame around infertility, and perhaps stimulate thought and stir up additional conversations, sensitivity, and compassion within my sphere of reach for those women that may be a possibility to another woman’s impossibility.

There was an inside joke recently—-following my procedure of “Dang! You mean all this time I could have tapped you on the shoulder to borrow some eggs.”  Hilarious to the point of laughing tears—-but yet a truth. 

So while this may feel awkward to some, even crass to others—-I hope it’s liberating to someone else—-even if it’s just one other.

Have a wonderfully blessed New Year!

 

Grace, Peace & Love🤍

#Cshaw 

#ABetterYouisaBetterMe 🌹

*Content included in upcoming book, “Be Who You Say You Are” 2023

Copyright © 2022 by Christie Y. Shaw