Perspectives on Abortion: An Epilogue

Jacob sent me this video after my last post, so I thought I would share. The man videotaping a Pro-Life rally asks the attendees about their opinions on punishment for abortion, should the procedure become illegal. Their responses are very interesting.

[I can't embed the video, but here is the link. ]

Green Eyes [The Jealous Kind]

Two things that I want, but may not be able to get [at least not right away]:

Salman Rushdie is giving a lecture at Emory [where he is an Artist in Residence for the next five years] on "Autobiography and the Novel." This is a ripe field of interest for me, and this topic is perfect for Rushdie, in particular. It is probably a 12 hour round trip to go to Atlanta--maybe a little less--but Rushdie is one of my favorite novelists, and is certainly my second favorite novelist. I tell all of my friends that I have no doubt that Rushdie will win the Nobel in the next 15 to 20 years.

Here is what he has written about this lecture:

"This lecture will be an examination of how the lives of writers intertwine with their work, and in what ways, if at all, the life can be said to be the best explanation of that work. People nowadays assume that all fiction is somehow autobiographically inspired. And of course, life and experience have always contributed to art. But the fictionalitity of fiction is what makes it worthwhile."

The biggest problem is that the date of the lecture is the Sunday before the first exams of this semester. And I don't know if it is reasonable--or even feasible--to go to this. But missing it would seem like missing the opportunity of a lifetime.

The other thing I am wanting, desperately, right now is this book by E. E. Cummings. As an amateur and budding collector of Cummings material, I was astonished to find out that this had slipped past my radar. It was published as a limited print of 500. This one, in particular, is signed by Cummings. It is also $650. There are some cheaper ones available [unsigned], but I am wondering if it is worth the plunge to buy this one.

But, then again, when will I ever have $650 to throw around?

The Art of Waiting

On Friday, someone did something very unfair to me: scheduled a meeting a week in advance.

Not all people would see this as unfair, perhaps, but it is to me. The anticipation of meetings, the simple words "I have something to tell you," or "I have something to ask you," shake me to my bones. In most cases, I know that the information is fairly innocuous, that it is something I need to know, but not something bad. But you can't imagine the anxiety, the bomb of bipolar thinking that this drops in my life.

The bomb metaphor comes from Belinda, another woman who writes for Real Mental. When I was reading the entry, I found this metaphor to be so apt, and I understood--I was feeling, in fact--the exact thinking that she was talking about. When I find out about something that is out of my control, I freak. I get anxious. I overthink the situation, and I brood. Oh, God--the brooding.

This obsessive thought process is something that the medications alleviate, but do not remove. Instead, I've had to work hard to derail that thought process, to make a conscious note when it occurs, to change those patterns of behavior.

But the truth is, patterns of behavior become patterns because they are comforting, or at least comfortable. Defusing my own "thought bombs" is hard, because I have to consciously make an effort to change. It's funny, when you think about it, because it's like pressing some override button on my mind. It is allowing one part of my mind to take over, to tell another part of my [sick] mind that it's not right. And to back the fuck down.

This doesn't happen just once. With an anxiety trigger like this, where I worry about something for an extended period of time [hours or days], I go through this cycle tens to hundreds of times.
[remember trigger--anxiety--overthinking--calm down...remember trigger--anxiety--overthinking--calm down...ad nauseum].

But at least I have that final step down. I'm not perfect at it, and I still find myself brooding, but I am able to recognize that problem in myself and make strides to correct it. I don't know if I will ever live without this anxious backlash, but I can make my reactions to it better. It's just going to take more time...and more work. But I'm a medicated, changing-life-to-make-it-better bipolar person. And time and work might as well be my middle names.

I Opened My Mouth, and I Heard Myself

The idea of "voice" is an important one--you find it a lot. In literature, you talk about it constantly. The characters themselves have voices, certainly, but the authors also have voices. The voice is what pervades each piece of literature written--it is the author bleeding personality on the page. An author's voice is a translation of him or herself into words.

To compliment an author's voice is to validate the way that writer writes, the way he or she is. It is one of the most important--and perhaps, one of the most immutable--qualities of writing.

But outside of the realm of literature, voice is similarly important. I remember one of the most striking PostSecrets I read, a picture of a girl in a hoodie. Around it was written, "I am patiently waiting for the day I find my VOICE."

It's the thing that makes us speak up when we are being persecuted, tormented, treated unfairly. It is the thing that allows us to express our true selves in words. For some people, it comes easily, a natural part of their being. For others, it is hidden and must be tediously searched out.

At the beginning of this year, I wrote a post about my previous year. I submitted it to a mental health blog that I enjoy reading. I had submitted two previous posts, but I felt strongly about this one.

And then something happened. Or rather, for a time, nothing happened. My submission went unacknowledged for a week or so, due to backlogging at the site or the intervening [and undeniably important] real life of the webmaster. It didn't particularly stress me. I figured: this site can't always post everything sent in to it. So I went on with my life.

Then, last week, I got an email from the site's manager, with an apology for lateness, telling me that my post was up. On the posts I've had before, I've received a few responses, thanking me for sharing or offering advice.

This post received seven comments. Seven posts thanking me, congratulating me, complimenting me. Complimenting my voice.

I'm not really sure what the point of this post is--I am not really intending to brag about the good reception or to tell you to go read the same thing I wrote here in a different place.

I just think, after years of patiently waiting, that I may have found my voice.

Perspectives on Abortion: The End...ish

"Believe those who seek truth; doubt those who find it."

Truth: I made it through the movie without leaving, breaking down, crying. But I almost lost it when a woman explained to the abortion clinician how she once broke her jaw. "One quick punch."

Truth: Although the movie did not significantly change my mind about abortion, it did give me much more information. It did make us think, a lot--we talked about the movie for over an hour on the way home.

Truth: I still don't believe I would have an abortion, but I acknowledge that I state that from a pretty safe place. I acknowledge that I can never empirically state that I would not have an abortion.

Truth: I believe, still, that the best way to approach the abortion issue is from the top down, not the bottom up. This means that we should put much more emphasis on educating young women--not only about sex and birth control--but in general. We need to teach them that their lives are worth something.

Truth: It is not my job to legislate what other women do with their bodies. But, we can make it so that the choices those women make are made out of true choice, not desperation.

Truth: I do believe that we can decrease the number of abortions, and I believe we can do it without overturning Roe v Wade.

Perspectives on Abortion: Interlude and Anticipation

Tomorrow afternoon and evening, Jacob, Joe, and I are going on a trip. We are leaving town at noon and driving two hours to Columbia to watch a documentary at the Nickelodeon, an independent movie theatre.

One may ask why we would take that huge chunk of time out of the middle of our week. We are, after all, medical students, a sub-set of the human population not widely known for our excessive amount of free time. We have, in the last 7 days, covered about 150 pages in neuroscience, which is only one of our 3 lecture classes. We have other things we could be doing.

But we're going. Because the documentary we are going to see means a lot to us. Because Joe and I started talking about abortion, and how we thought we knew what we thought about it. How we're not so sure anymore.

I don't know how long I've had these conflicting emotions about it, but it has been a long time. And when I went with Allison to see Ira and Abby at the Nick, and I saw the poster for this movie, I knew I had to see it.

I know it is going to be rough--most reviews say that this documentary is gruesome, brutal, and very real. They also say that this is the most unbiased documentary they have ever seen. It is not often that you see a documentary that refuses to be partisan. Michael Moore, the man we consider our King of Documentaries, could be renamed the King of Partisan Documentaries. But this one, I hear, is perfectly balanced.

Part of the anticipation I feel is not knowing what to expect. I think I am as prepared as I can possibly be for the graphic nature of the film. I've worked really hard to read a lot of reviews, to mentally prepare myself for the experience. Through these blogs, and in talks with my friends, I've been thinking a lot about the issue, preparing myself to change my mind and my perspective. But I don't know how I will react with it. I don't know if I'll break down, lose my shit, have to leave the theatre, get so mad I can't see, get so sad I can't breathe. I don't know.

But I am prepared to find out.

An Interesting Look at Aging

On Friday, we had our Senior Mentor luncheon, where we met our Senior Mentors for the first time. The Senior Mentor program was set up by my school to introduce us to serving the needs of the aging baby boomer population. We are allowed to set up teams of two students, and then each team is assigned to one Senior Mentor.

We had talked about Senior Mentors a lot before the luncheon, often with a weird anticipation. We weaved wild possibilities about them, playing a constant "What if?" game.

"What if our Senior Mentor is that guy, the one who talks shit to everyone else?"

"What if our Senior Mentor dies, right there, in the middle of the luncheon?"

"What if our Senior Mentor is a weird old guy who tries to grab my ass?"

Of course, this is telling of a few things. One is that medical students, with the potentially crushing weight of all of the challenges we face, have two choices: to laugh or to crumble. In the face of these things, we make light of them, which is a strongly interesting phenomenon. In not knowing what to expect, we had made a list of the things, controlling the situations in our minds if we could not control them in reality.

But when we went to the luncheon, most of us were very pleased with our Senior Mentors. Jacob got the mentor who talks shit to everyone, an 89 year old man who gave him the advice "Don't get old--it's not for sissies."

Joe and I got a great mentor, an 82 year old who shared with us his love of "everything." Joe described him as a man who is "hopeful without sappy," which was a perfect description. He has a great sense of humor, and I am really looking forward to working with him.

Later that night, I found this video, an interesting longitudinal look at aging, with video of 100 people--in order from ages 1 to 100--hitting a drum. It's pretty cool, actually, to watch the minute differences from age to age, realizing at the end the vastness of human experiences represented in these two and a half minutes.


via videosift.com

Perspectives on Abortion: Number Two

My father's cousin and his wife are expecting a baby. Near the beginning of my Christmas break, my family learned that an abnormality had shown up on the ultrasound. My family waited and prayed for days, waiting for the results of tests on the fetus. The results revealed that the fetus has Down Syndrome. We also learned that the wife's side of the family was pressuring for the couple to abort the fetus.

My parents, quintessential southern Republicans, are staunchly pro-life. This has, at times, been a point of contention between us. Not in any ugly sense, of course, but I think there is a sometimes obvious disapproval of each other's views.

When my mom called to give me the news, she sounded so heartbroken. She explained to me that she and my dad had talked, and that if the couple decided to abort the fetus, she and my father wanted to offer to adopt the child if it was taken to full term.

I'm not saying that this would have been a feasible solution, and I'm not saying that it would have been the best solution--but at that moment, when she told me about that theoretical baby sister, the Down Syndrome child that had a 0.1% chance of belonging to my parents, to my siblings and me, my heart felt like it was expanding to encompass the possibility of that turn of events. I had a visceral human reaction, and I knew immediately that I could [and would] love that child, and that I would one million times rather she belonged to us than be lost to the world. My emotions totally overpowered all sense of rationality I had. In that minute, even, one could have described me as staunchly pro-life.

As tests for anything other than a "perfectly healthy" child continue to be developed, tested, and introduced into the clinical setting, situations like this will become increasingly prevalent. Statistics now show that 90% of expectant parents who discover that the fetus has Down Syndrome choose to abort. But here's the somewhat hairy problem: people with Down Syndrome are generally considered to have a high quality of life. The congenital heart defects common amongst them are now easily corrected with surgery. Though they exhibit mild to moderate mental retardation, they are integrated into public schools, and are known for their amicability. They can hold down jobs; in fact, my ticket-tearer at the movie theater the other night had Down Syndrome, and she pointed me in the right direction, politely wishing me well, making eye contact and displaying excellent social skills. But their community is shrinking, a fact that frightens many parents who do have children with Down Syndrome. They fear that the rich community will dwindle, taking with it the power to inspire legislature, to make the world richer for these children.

I am not saying that I am not in support of people who abort fetuses who will have a markedly decreased quality of life. One of the diseases that most intrigues me is Tay Sachs disease. A look at the Jewish community is a look into a group of people who have put considerable thought into the abortion debate, a group of people that supports the expectant parents who chose to abort fetuses with Tay Sachs. As this disease has its highest prevalence in the Ashkenazi Jewish population, it is understandable that this disease carried a high emotional toll for this community. Rabbis put their support between behind the expectant mothers and fathers who terminate a Tay Sachs pregnancy, based on the "acute psychic pain" that stems from knowing the the child "is doomed to such a brief, miserable life."

But, this reasoning is a certain slippery slope. At what point do we draw the "misery line"? At what point do we say, "it is reasonable for this fetus to be aborted, but not for this one"? At what singular disorder do we call it quits, and what are the implications of this for the medical field, and for all humanity.

This is a tough debate, no doubt, and I am entirely on the fence, but not in a static way. My position is dynamic, and I think about it almost every day. At what point is it mercy, and at what point is it eugenics?

At what point must we say that logic can no longer proceed? What about those visceral human reactions? And what about that little girl who somehow managed to bury herself in my heart?

Literary Interlude

'We disliked the rigours of existence, the unfulfilled longings, the enshrined injustices of the world, the labyrinths of love, the ignorance of parents, the fact of dying, and the amazing indifference of the Living in the midst of the simple beauties of the universe.'

Ben Okri, from The Famished Road

Movies of 2007

The movies I saw in theatres in 2007 were:

Because I Said So, Zodiac, 300, Blades of Glory, Aqua Teen Hunger Force, Spider-Man 3, Pirates of the Caribbean 3, Knocked Up [twice], Ocean's Thirteen, Nancy Drew, 1408, Sicko, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Hairspray [four times], The Simpson's Movie, Superbad, 3:10 to Yuma [twice], Across the Universe, For the Bible Tells Me So, Gone Baby Gone, Dan in Real Life, No Country for Old Men, Enchanted, August Rush, Charlie Wilson's War, National Treasure 2, and Sweeney Todd.

Of these, my personal top five is:

5. For the Bible Tells Me So / Sicko [both documentaries]
4. 3:10 to Yuma
3. Charlie Wilson's War
2. Gone, Baby, Gone
1. Hairspray

Some arbitrary superlatives:

Funniest: Knocked Up
Most Tear-Jerking: Gone, Baby, Gone
Most Appalling: Sicko
Bloodiest: Sweeney Todd
Best Soundtrack: Hairspray / Across the Universe
Best Casting: Helena Bonham Carter as Bellatrix LeStrange in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
Most Suspenseful: No Country for Old Men

And Most Unexpectedly Wonderful: Gone, Baby, Gone

Perspectives on Abortion: Number One

I've been thinking about writing a post about abortion for quite a while, now, but lately, I've had a lot of exposure to many different [conflicting] perspectives on abortion. From now until January 22nd [the 35th anniversary of Roe v. Wade], I will be exploring some of these perspectives here.

So, I start with an article from Skirt!, a monthly magazine written primarily for and by women, although I think men would certainly benefit from reading it. It is a free publication, and I pick it up almost every month. I usually end up reading it cover to cover, which says a lot for it, and I find myself thinking, often, about the articles in it.

In November, one of the featured articles was an essay by Allison Piepmeier, who is the director of the Women and Gender Studies program at College of Charleston. The article, entitled "Choosing Us," is a bravely narrated personal story about an abortion. Piepmeier--who was in a stable marital relationship, employed, and an adult--describes the circumstances of her unwanted pregnancy, which happened despite the use of birth control. She further explains the reasons why she and her husband decided to abort the fetus; more importantly, she stresses the difficulty of the decision, the magical thinking [" I wondered, are you even allowed to reject a gift like that without disastrous consequences?"], the rationality they tried to use ["How would we feel about having a baby right now? (Scared out of our minds.)"], the thoughts that made the decision harder ["I would think, 'I’m pregnant right now. I wonder if it’s a girl or a boy.'"].

More than anything, though, I think this essay most affected me because it is a perfect example of the reason we have legalized abortion. This is a couple that felt unprepared to have an unplanned child. This is not a couple or an individual who was careless, who didn't use protection, who attempted to use abortion in lieu of birth control. This is our legalized abortion system working for a family who wanted children, but due to circumstances, did not feel like the present was the best time.

Many women slammed Piepmeier for making what they called a "selfish" decision, in deciding that the pregnancy came at an "inconvenient" time. But abortion rights are in place so that women may become the most fit mothers possible. Or, at least, so that people who believe that they--in their circumstances--may not be fit to be the best parent possible can wait until they are more fit.

Right now, I have a fairly floppy idea of how I feel about abortion. I don't know if I will ever have a solid perspective on it. Right now, I feel that abortions should be legal and that partial birth abortions should be illegal. I feel that I would never abort a child who I knew to be healthy and have the possibility of a high quality of life. But really--I don't know if I can say that with one hundred percent surety. What if I got pregnant right now, in the middle of my medical school career? What if I got pregnant, and I knew it would be a bad time to go off of the medicines that keep my mind stable? Is it worse for a baby to be aborted or to be born to a mother who is, at that time, unstable and unprepared for the mental challenges of pregnancy and motherhood?

The truth is, I want to be a mother very badly. It is an odd drive, and one that I'm ok with, because I know that it will be fulfilled eventually. More than that, however, I know that I have a lot to take care of--more than most people--before I bear a child. I need to have a therapist I can see on a weekly basis; I need to either find alternative pharmacological management or discontinue pharmacological management for my bipolar disorder; I need to optimize fertility so that the time I am not on my medicine is minimized.

So, really--this is why I am writing these blogs about abortion. The perspectives are more varied than one can imagine, and I--as a scientist, as a future Ob/Gyn, as a mentally ill individual, as a woman--have several to examine.

Alright Already

Classes started today, and everything slid into a vague familiarity: losing shit over new professors, the constant failing of IT equipment, and the immediate confusion over things that should be somewhat simple.

Although we have already been given syllabi for two of our classes, and these syllabi probably comprise approximately five grown trees per student, I feel a certain calm. Last semester, the overarching question seemed to be, "Can I do this?" In the literal sense of the phrase. Now, at least, I know it is possible for me to take in that information and retain it long enough to spit it back onto a multiple choice test. And, even above that, I found today that I had retained an impressive amount of information. I guess that's the wonder of learning.

So, until tomorrow, there's this:



Because we all will float on.

Unexpected

Joey and I went to see Juno this weekend, and we saw this preview. At the beginning of the preview, I was pretty much thinking "NO" but, well, my mind had certainly changed at the end.



In other news, classes start back tomorrow. I'm not ready. But I don't think I will ever be ready.

Quote of the Week

In the middle of a random conversation about furries, Adam Thompson said this:

"I don't really get the big deal. I mean, I would understand if it was dinosaurs, but..."

My Shorter Hair, My Loud Laugh, My Another Chance To Get It Right

Annus Mirabilis

One year ago today, my entire universe fell apart. I reaped the seeds I had sown. I had the unfortunate task of knowing that the falling apart was my fault. I had backed myself into a corner. I had almost ruined everything.

One year ago today, Joey took away the engagement ring, the beautiful one he had designed himself. The one that fit me perfectly, the one that was better than any one I could have built myself. The one with the emeralds for both of our birthdays.

One year ago today, I was presented with a few choices. I could give up. I could start over. I could try to fix the things that were broken. I chose the latter.

January was cold last year, cold in so many ways. I spent a lot of time on walks outside. I chased Joey down sidewalks after he rightfully turned his back on me. I cried almost every day. I started to put my life back together. We started to put our life back together.

I can still remember all of the small gestures of love, the small assurances that let me know he still cared. One cold day in January, I walked into his dorm with a cold nose. Instinctively, he pressed his warm cheek up against it. I knew he cared so much about me. That's the time I often pinpoint that I knew we could get through this.

In March, after many appointments with therapists, testing psychologists, and a psychiatrist, I got the medical help I needed. The afternoon I got tested, the first thing I did was sit in my car, turning circles in the parking lot. The first thing I said to him on the phone was, "I'm bipolar, Joey." Then, "I can never adopt babies from China."

I don't want to be bipolar. I never wanted to be bipolar. But I don't have a choice. Regardless of my feelings, I am bipolar. Treated or not, I have a mental illness. I am mentally ill.

But I am also so lucky. The other night, fairly tipsy, Joey looked at me and said, "It's been a good year." I pressed my face up to his.

"It has been a good year, baby." I said. "It has."

When I tell people about this past year, when I tell them about breaking an engagement, about losing so many friends [including a best friend], when I tell them about finding out I was bipolar, they look at me with pity. What a bad year, they think or say. I am constantly reassuring people.

This was not a bad year. This was a great year. This was a beautiful year. This was the year that my mind got un-cracked. This is the year that I fell in love, over and over and over again, with a patient, loving, kind boy. This is the year that I fell in love, over and over and over again, knowing that the person I am in love with is the person I want to spend my life with, the person who is perfect for me. The boy of my dreams. This is the first year that I've experienced a lucid clarity of mind, with thoughts unclouded.

This is the first year in my entire life that I've had to fight for things. The first year that it didn't just come easy. The first year that everything good came, but only after an equally good fight.

This has been an annus miribilis, my year of wonders that cradled me as it brought me home.

Now Paging Doctor Bitch

This month's blog header was made using the font Digital Readout, from this website.

The tagline is from a series of text messages sent between Ally-son and me. The last one I sent her was a simple, "I miss you." [I know, I know. I'm so lame.]

Her [decidedly more badass] reply was "I miss you too, Doctor Bitch."

Anyway, I know what you are all thinking--don't you know what day it is? Where is your damned obligatory New Year's Day blog post? You know, the one where you outline your goals for the year and navel-gaze about your last year?

Well, I guess I do have some navel-gazing to do...but I will do it as part of tomorrow's much better, much more exciting blog post. I have so much more to celebrate than just a new year.