white-knuckled

Part 3 of this story begins with the mundane work of me finding a GYN nearby that took my insurance and had an appointment in the near future. I was in no real rush to make the appointment, because I wanted to mull over the experience of watching the birth video, of the extraordinary talk I’d had with BF about it, and of possibly making connections between one psychological issue and another in my head. I also didn’t want to rush this decision. I tend to rush all decisions, from whether or not to buy an item at Target to whether I should get involved with BF (a rushed decision that turned out to be good), but I didn’t want to rush this one.

I got an appointment a month away. The doctor I was going to see was, ominously, named Chastity. I was very concerned about making my case to any doctor that I should be sterilized at age 28; I am a practical person and understand that it’s wholly likely that as an average patient, I’ll change my mind, and then come to blame the doctor for what was actually my decision (presumably, the doctor should have known better), and then sue the doctor, and then win a zillion dollars, and then ruin the doctor’s reputation. No doctor wants to be subject to that, and I fully understand.

I also didn’t want to hear any motherly crap about the joy of children and how I shouldn’t deny myself the best experience of my life, the one thing that unites us all as humans, what a waste it’ll be if BF and I don’t make babies, etc etc. I didn’t want a patronizing smile telling me I’d change my mind. I’ve heard it all before and it makes me furious, because you out there? You do not know my mind. You don’t know my priorities. You don’t know how sickened I am by pregnancy, how fearful, and how 18 years of raising a child sounds to me like a prison sentence in the worst jail on the planet.

A lot of women feel tokophobia almost as a fear of the unknown. They are afraid of what could happen to them during birth; they’re afraid it means death, the cutting or ripping of their labia, lots of blood, etc etc. It sounds, to them, “medieval.” They are afraid of the physically punishing side of labor and delivery. That’s not exactly how I feel; I’m repelled by the whole thing, from the moment the baby starts growing until…well, really until s/he walks out the door to go to college, but actual repulsion comes from pregnancy through birth. I think giving birth sounds like a horrible experience, one I never want to have, but worth it, for women who want children. The notion of pregnancy makes me shudder in horror, and I have no idea how I’d stand it for nine long months, knowing there was a parasite inside me. I hoped that I could make this understood, that it wasn’t just a fear of what could go wrong in the L&D ward, but a strong force propelling me in the opposite direction of anything that had to do with pregnancy or birth, that brought me to this doctor’s office.

So, a week or so ago, I went to the appointment. All day I was petrified. Tiffany had, in a case of spectacular bad timing, written a post about a prejudiced and totally unprofessional doctor she’d seen who hurt her feelings and made her cry over this very issue. I’m younger than Tiffany and haven’t raised stepchildren, so I knew it would be an even harder sell; Tiffany’s evil doctor probably would have thrown me in the street and spit on me (or perhaps knocked me out and had an orderly impregnate me). I hoped that Chastity would be kinder to me, and that I’d at least be able to get my story out before she told me that what I asked was absurd and no doctor would ever consider it.

I must have called BF three times that day to talk to him about how afraid I was. My heart was beating hard all day, with adrenalin twisting my stomach into butterflies about every twenty minutes. I was so afraid of what I’d have to say to justify myself, about how the doctor – how Chastity – would react to me. BF was patient and kind and loving, as he always is; he helped, but I was still so nervous that I couldn’t keep a thought in my head.

Upon testing, my blood pressure was fifteen points higher than normal. I waited in the examining room for the doctor, trembling. I went over and over all the points I wanted to make when I talked to her; I tested my voice to make sure I could keep it steady and calm. After ten awful minutes, she came in.

To be continued.