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.
As for me, I'd love to be the one to tell him about his "brothers".
Just effen damn! Shit!
Indeed. NARAL and other abortion proponents now credit legalized abortion with reducing the crime rate. This at least is a relatively honest statement of their intent, but not honest enough.
Suppose that 30 years ago, some law-and-order politician had stood up and declared, "Hey, I have a great idea for reducing crime! Let's kill every third black, brown, or poor white baby who is conceived in this country. That'll thin 'em out!"
There would have been riots and howls of racism, the miscreant would have been run out of public life (if not worse) and rightly so. Yet this is exactly what was done, and the proponents of this genocide are cheered and praised rather than hanged.
So far.
This is the future of the designer baby movement.
Secondly, as a person who draws a distinction between abortions at 4+ weeks and abortions performed after only a few days, this story really shakes me. I imagine many of you would scorn my views the same way I detest this terrible woman's view. How much of a distinction can one draw between injecting KCl into the heart of a fetus and chemically ceasing the development of a blastocyst?
At what point does the conceived entity become a human?
Middle of the night PING
That will alway be the eternal question. At what point is that single fertilized cell different than any other cell in your body? And you loose cells all the time via sneezing, urinating, coughing, scratching, etc.
That will alway be the eternal question. At what point is that single fertilized cell different than any other cell in your body? And you loose cells all the time via sneezing, urinating, coughing, scratching, etc.
What I wouldn't give to have more babies---and have to move to Staten Island and never leave the house (except for mayonnaise).
Heaven forbid. She might actually have to mingle with people who read the Staten Island Advance instead of the New York Times and vote Republican!
Maybe she doesn't want the Sopranos for neighbors/sarcasm
All this writing "talent", yet she had to do an "as told to" column in the New York Times, with a ghostwriter? Doesn't say much about her oh-so-important work, does it?
Perhaps if you weren't such a snob about people from Staten Island, you'd have met a truly better class of people in NYC than women who are obsessed with Manolo Blahniks. Just a thought.
A search of the web found the following. Note that the time table is based on the time to the last menstreution - so 2 weeks = 0 days (fertilization/conception). I guess I would have to say that it is different from all the other "cells" of your body at conception. ("forty-six chromosomes combine....")
2 weeks - Fertilization: the sperm and egg join in the fallopian tube to form a unique human being. Forty-six chromosomes combine, which pre-determine all of a person's physical characteristics.
The picture on the right is a fertilized egg, only thirty hours after conception. Magnified here, it is no larger than the head of a pin. Still rapidly dividing, the developing embryo, called a zygote at this stage, floats down from the fallopian tube and towards the uterus.
No comment, as I have encountered many of the Staten Island Nail Salon set in the bars on Third Avenue in Bay Ridge when I lived there. Maybe if they spent more time in school than at the nail and/or tanning salon...
There are good girls out there in ALL five boroughs, you've just got to look hard through all the plasticity and stupidity of the rest.
Why is the fertilized egg different? I would say the most fascinating aspect of this tiny life is that somehow, as it divides, it "knows" how to begin to differentiate itself. Some cells become skin, some nerves, some muscle, etc. How(!) does it know this? I don't think science has come up with a good answer yet. As I said, every cell in your body has 46 chromosomes, an exact replica of your original DNA. Yet, A skin cell "knows" it's a skin cell, muscle "knows" it's muscle, blood "knows" it's blood and not something else (at least in healthy humans). That to me, is miraculous.
Not your body.
Not your decision.
Get over it. 'God' did.
BUMP
I don't care if you are prochoice, tm, but if you can read that and not be horrified, your heart's as cold as hers is. She didn't even throw you the "blob of tissue" bone to justify your position. I'll give her credit for that much -- that she was honest enough to admit she heard three heartbeats and still ended two of them.
I truly feel sorry for you, tm.
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