Middle Aged & Pregnant

It’s only when you walk in someone else’s shoes (literally) that the great unravelling takes place, and the learning of a major lesson gets thrown at you whether you like it or not.

I am not religious, despite growing up in a catholic country during my formative years. For lack of better reasoning, I would say that I was brought up catholic because I went to a private catholic school during my whole schooling life and it made sense to follow the traditions. But in reality, I only attended church when strictly necessary and once for my Holly Communion, out of tradition and societal pressure — nothing else. I was lucky to have been raise in a household where spirituality and kindness were more important than a set of rules backed by political agendas and men in positions of power (church). However, some of the legacies of having spent 15 years attending a catholic school, as well as growing up in a majority catholic society still lingered — even if unconsciously. For example, as much as I agreed with women having control over their bodies (for so many reasons), I still viewed abortion as the ultimate “no no”. In my skewed view, it was easier to be responsible and prevent pregnancy rather than ending a pregnancy as a way of contraception.

If only it was that simple… As I grew older I understood that there isn’t one rule fits all scenario. I still attribute my naive views and my ignorance to having lived a life of privilege with low exposure to the realities of a diverse and complex world. It was only when I moved away and was able to grasp the subtle differences of different cultures, that I realised I had been wearing blinkers all along.

As you must’ve read from previous posts, I have a pigeon pair (a boy and a girl) exactly 3 years apart. I always saw myself as a mother of two children in this exact order. So much so, that when my daughter was six months old, I booked my husband in for a vasectomy — no questions asked. My body my choice, right?! I had already been through two difficult pregnancies (suffered from cholestasis) that culminated into severe post-natal depression — I was certain a third child would be the end of me not only physically, but also psychologically.

Around March, beginning of April 2016, as we were getting organised to move to Austria (Innsbruck) for three years on our European adventure, I was taken into hospital. It was a normal Tuesday morning, getting up and getting ready for work. The usual morning rush: kids up, breakfast, lunch boxes, shower, makeup routine, get dressed, drop kids at school and start work (at least this time my husband was in the country). Truth be told, I remember not feeling 100% but mums don’t get a chance to feel sick while in the throws of all that needs to be accomplished daily. It was around midday when I started fevering, shivering and feeling unwell, but I took a Paracetamol and carried on, as I had one more hour until school was over for the day. By 2:00pm I was hunched over in pain, unable to walk, not knowing what was going on (period cramps? stomach-ache? indigestion? Kidney stones?), I really had no clue.

I called my husband and he took me straight to hospital — such a surreal experience, since my only previous hospital stays was to do with the birth of my children. After what felt like an eternity, but in reality only a few hours that included blood tests, urine samples, intravenous drip, poking and testing for everything… the nurse came by and said: ’It looks like a severe case of UTI, but is there any way you could be pregnant?’ I don’t know what my facial expression was like (I am not subtle when I feel patronised), but she called her supervisor over and dropped the BOMB! She said: ‘According to the urine test you’re 4 weeks pregnant!’

Try to imagine the situation. I am a hot mess, feeling angry, in disbelief, compromised, sad, trying to make sense of the situation while crying my eyes out, sobbing and just wanting for the world to swallow me whole — it’s a dream, a movie I’ve been brought into by mistake, this is not my life, it’s a different matrix where I also exist at, not my plans whatsoever. Amidst the chaos, the nurse made the mistake of saying in a condescending tone “Oh, I guess this is not happy news then.” — I lost it! The feisty Brazilian genes got the better of me.

All I could think about was: I am almost 40 it can’t be happening, I never wanted more than two children, I was responsible enough to book my husband for a vasectomy, my kids will soon be teenagers, no way I want another baby, I am moving overseas in five months, I can’t cope with another difficult pregnancy, has the vasectomy failed? it looks like I’ve cheated on my husband, I don’t have all the baby paraphernalia anymore, I don’t have the energy nor the patience to raise another small human etc. My dear husband was looking at me not knowing what to do, what to say, how to behave and ultimately just feeling as lost as I was. He finally says: ‘Darling, it’s entirely up to you. As much as I don’t want another child, I respect your decision.’ I started sobbing again. Then came the hospital psychologist to have a chat with me and she gave me a few brochures about ‘pregnancy termination’ — I sobbed even more.

The condescending nurse came over again to take some more blood for yet another pregnancy test, but this time I would get the results in two days time at my outpatient appointment with the gynaecologist, and once the antibiotic infusion was finished I was allowed to go home and come back in 48 hours. Those were the longest 48 hours of my life… I was like a cat on a hot tin roof, unable to eat, sleep and function normally, while listening to my husband’s conversation (interrogation) with the urologist that performed his vasectomy a decade ago. There was no way I could be pregnant, ten years had passed since we chose not to have more children. No, I wasn’t cheating on my husband either… just in case it crossed someone’s mind.

As it turned out, I wasn’t pregnant (Thank God). At the gynaecologist appointment the blood results revealed a major hormonal change, possibly due to the severity of the UTI. It was also revealed that the urine pregnancy test is very unreliable during early development, that not at any stage I should’ve been told I was four weeks pregnant without a proper pregnancy blood test. The nurses apologised for the inconvenience caused (more like life long trauma) and there I went on my merry way! knew I could not cope with another child, my body could not cope with another pregnancy, I didn’t want to bring another child into the world without that feeling of being blessed, I didn’t want to end up resenting having had another child, I wanted to be able to give another child all the love and devotion I’ve given to my two kids and I knew I wasn’t able to do so.

The reason I am recounting this? Because after seeing the abortion laws in Texas plastered all over the news, it reminded me of how I was shaken to my core knowing that I had decided to terminate the (phantom) pregnancy as fast as I got to know about it. I understood there and then, that until I was confronted with the real situation any commentary about such circumstances was pure judgement disguised as helpful opinion. Moreover, when laws are are made on the basis of the narrow views held by patriarchy and religious institutions, more and more women will suffer and lose their lives while society as a whole continues to pretend that “we have full control over our bodies”.

Therefore, to all the women out there that had to make the hard decision to terminate a pregnancy, I applaud you!

I applaud you for:

• knowing your limit and sticking to it.
• having the strengths in such a difficult time.
• putting yourselves first rather than taking on a lifetime commitment, often as a sole parent.
• sticking to your inner knowing as you’ve been there before and you know your body.
• being courageous despite people’s opinion and disguised judgment.
• not being influenced by others, since the majority of child raising still falls onto a woman’s shoulders.
• looking after your mental health, not overloading yourself by having another human to raise.
• choosing the guilt over that powerless feeling of being unable to fully love/provide for that child.
• having control over your body.

Raising a human being is no easy task. It’s hard, and any parent who says differently is lying. Parenting is emotionally and intellectually draining, and it often requires professional sacrifice and serious financial hardship. Kids are needy and demanding from the moment of their birth to… well, forever.

As a woman you’re the pillar that supports everything around you, your family (immediate or extended) depends on your efforts to emotionally thrive. Therefore, when you’re not well, when you’re unable to cope, the family falls apart… Looking after #1 is your main job!