Posted on 07/18/2004 11:39:14 AM PDT by dennisw
July 18, 2004 LIVES When One Is Enough By AMY RICHARDS as told to AMY BARRETT
I grew up in a working-class family in Pennsylvania not knowing my father. I have never missed not having him. I firmly believe that, but for much of my life I felt that what I probably would have gained was economic security and with that societal security. Growing up with a single mother, I was always buying into the myth that I was going to be seduced in the back of a pickup truck and become pregnant when I was 16. I had friends when I was in school who were helping to rear nieces and nephews, because their siblings, who were not much older, were having babies. I had friends from all over the class spectrum: I saw the nieces and nephews on the one hand and country-club memberships and station wagons on the other. I felt I was in the middle. I had this fear: What would it take for me to just slip?
Now I'm 34. My boyfriend, Peter, and I have been together three years. I'm old enough to presume that I wasn't going to have an easy time becoming pregnant. I was tired of being on the pill, because it made me moody. Before I went off it, Peter and I talked about what would happen if I became pregnant, and we both agreed that we would have the child.
I found out I was having triplets when I went to my obstetrician. The doctor had just finished telling me I was going to have a low-risk pregnancy. She turned on the sonogram machine. There was a long pause, then she said, ''Are you sure you didn't take fertility drugs?'' I said, ''I'm positive.'' Peter and I were very shocked when she said there were three. ''You know, this changes everything,'' she said. ''You'll have to see a specialist.''
My immediate response was, I cannot have triplets. I was not married; I lived in a five-story walk-up in the East Village; I worked freelance; and I would have to go on bed rest in March. I lecture at colleges, and my biggest months are March and April. I would have to give up my main income for the rest of the year. There was a part of me that was sure I could work around that. But it was a matter of, Do I want to?
I looked at Peter and asked the doctor: ''Is it possible to get rid of one of them? Or two of them?'' The obstetrician wasn't an expert in selective reduction, but she knew that with a shot of potassium chloride you could eliminate one or more.
Having felt physically fine up to this point, I got on the subway afterward, and all of a sudden, I felt ill. I didn't want to eat anything. What I was going through seemed like a very unnatural experience. On the subway, Peter asked, ''Shouldn't we consider having triplets?'' And I had this adverse reaction: ''This is why they say it's the woman's choice, because you think I could just carry triplets. That's easy for you to say, but I'd have to give up my life.'' Not only would I have to be on bed rest at 20 weeks, I wouldn't be able to fly after 15. I was already at eight weeks. When I found out about the triplets, I felt like: It's not the back of a pickup at 16, but now I'm going to have to move to Staten Island. I'll never leave my house because I'll have to care for these children. I'll have to start shopping only at Costco and buying big jars of mayonnaise. Even in my moments of thinking about having three, I don't think that deep down I was ever considering it.
The specialist called me back at 10 p.m. I had just finished watching a Boston Pops concert at Symphony Hall. As everybody burst into applause, I watched my cellphone vibrating, grabbed it and ran into the lobby. He told me that he does a detailed sonogram before doing a selective reduction to see if one fetus appears to be struggling. The procedure involves a shot of potassium chloride to the heart of the fetus. There are a lot more complications when a woman carries multiples. And so, from the doctor's perspective, it's a matter of trying to save the woman this trauma. After I talked to the specialist, I told Peter, ''That's what I'm going to do.'' He replied, ''What we're going to do.'' He respected what I was going through, but at a certain point, he felt that this was a decision we were making. I agreed.
When we saw the specialist, we found out that I was carrying identical twins and a stand alone. My doctors thought the stand alone was three days older. There was something psychologically comforting about that, since I wanted to have just one. Before the procedure, I was focused on relaxing. But Peter was staring at the sonogram screen thinking: Oh, my gosh, there are three heartbeats. I can't believe we're about to make two disappear. The doctor came in, and then Peter was asked to leave. I said, ''Can Peter stay?'' The doctor said no. I know Peter was offended by that.
Two days after the procedure, smells no longer set me off and I no longer wanted to eat nothing but sour-apple gum. I went on to have a pretty seamless pregnancy. But I had a recurring feeling that this was going to come back and haunt me. Was I going to have a stillbirth or miscarry late in my pregnancy?
I had a boy, and everything is fine. But thinking about becoming pregnant again is terrifying. Am I going to have quintuplets? I would do the same thing if I had triplets again, but if I had twins, I would probably have twins. Then again, I don't know.
Being three days older (supposedly, like how could they tell???) is what saved the stand-alone's life--now that's splitting the old viability hairs pretty thin.
She has no ides how lucky she was.
I thought this was going to be an article about China at first.
Let me see: she is unmarried, stops using birthcontrol, gets pregnant (but doesn't want to change her life) . . . so selectively kills two. I know you cannot force people be do the right thing but it is still sad to see how people think about the next generation.
Yes, you can. It's called a law.
Yup.
Not a fun choice, I'd imagine.
This article is amazing.
This is the type of woman I meet on an everyday basis. Pretty much the major political issue for these women is "keep your rosaries off my ovaries, but please buy me a $600 pair of Manolo Blahniks."
So, she's actually killed three of her children?!? This is past sick . . .
Thought you might find this line of interest. Many Manhattanites fear having to move to Staten Island more than aborting their children.
Totally and utterly nauseating.
Yeah, its Brooklyn circa 1960, attitudes and all, with uglier houses.
Nevertheless, there is NO excusing this woman's behavior. Disgusting.
While focusing on relaxing.
I hope she repents, I'd hate to think she has to go to hell because she didn't want to give up flying.
I wonder if she professes to be a Christian?
They aren't any better in Seattle, although at least women in Manhattan bathe...
Good grief, what a cold useless excuse for a human.
It was not a case of setting out to create three babies, they were already created.
You moved to Seattle? Or from Seattle?
In any case the women in Las Vegas are better, they bathe and the immoral ones are honest about it. Just the thing for a bachelor like me! ;-)
Our family has gone from two to five within fourteen months--not quite triplets, but close (twins, and a 'surprise' baby). Never once did we consider that we would be happier if we murdered one of our children--indeed, after a previous stillbirth, the idea is horrific. What a moral emptiness this stupid, shallow woman must be.
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