Pregnancy

Last post, I focused on my concerns regarding genetics. I know that some people will argue that genetics shouldn’t be a reason to “give up on” having children. Some people will also argue that there are other options, like donor eggs.

Ok, I’ll bite. Let’s assume that either genetics aren’t a factor or that donor eggs aren’t prohibitively expensive (which they are). Or hell, let’s assume that I have an unlimited supply of money (which I very, very don’t). Now we run into the second issue in my lack of desire for children. Pregnancy.

I know what you’re thinking. There are ups and downs to every pregnancy, and every pregnancy is different. But the entire concept of a living thing growing inside my body absolutely freaks the living shit out of me. I straight-up can’t deal. You know how a lot of people see a pregnant lady and immediately want to touch her baby bump and feel the fetus kick/move/practice yoga? It took me until a week before the birth of my nephew to be able to drudge up the stomach to do that, and I only managed it with the help of a (legally prescribed, to me) benzodiazepine medication. And it still freaked me out.

Ever see those videos on the internet where a pregnant woman is laying on her back, and you can see a tiny fetal arm or leg kicking against the uterine wall? I get a sense of dread akin to that felt by Ellen Ripley in the dream sequence of Aliens. Whenever a friend or relative is pregnant, I think about how that would feel, and I get completely squicked out. We’re talking grade-A heebie jeebies. And then there’s the possible side effects of pregnancy. Ignoring the obvious weight gain and internal structural changes, there’s more than a few:

• Gnarly morning sickness
• Gestational diabetes
• Postpartum depression
• Braxton-Hicks contractions
• Preeclampsia
• Prodromal labor
• Gestational hypertension

So…those are some exciting prospects. Puking like crazy, constipation, high blood pressure, “false” labor. All before actually squeezing a watermelon through a hole as wide as a ping-pong ball. (Yes, I get that it stretches. It’s still gonna be uncomfortable, ok? And let’s not even get started on the horror stories about tearing and cutting and stitches.)

I’ve also heard that the flood of hormones that the body produces makes you feel less horrified by all of these things. I’ve heard this from several people who have already been pregnant. So just for craps and laughs, let’s assume that I can somehow not go into a blind panic every 10 seconds because of all the possible side effects of pregnancy. Remember in last week’s entry, when I discussed that I have bipolar disorder, depression and generalized anxiety disorder? Remember earlier in this post when I mentioned benzodiazepine medications?  Yeah, I take a variety of medications for my mental diseases.  I don’t like taking them, but I’ve learned that, in general, I need to take them in order to be a normally functioning member of society.  Without medical intervention, I become agitated, hostile, anxious, easily disturbed, and generally mean.  Being unmedicated is, for me, a terrible idea.  It’s been tried, and it has ended poorly. (Read: I had to take time off of work due to a breakdown, and I suspect it had a role in the loss of my job.) And each of the medications that I’m on (anticonvulsant, antidepressant, benzodiazepine) has the same warning: do not take while pregnant or nursing. The particular antidepressant that I’m on can be safely used in the first half of pregnancy, but can cause severe lung problems in a fetus if taken during the second half. I was born premature, with underdeveloped lungs and jaundice. The concept of deciding between my progeny’s health and my mental health is horrifying. Do I risk a child with ongoing lung disease (or worse, depending on the medications I continue to take) or do I risk becoming a danger to myself and/or others? How does one make that choice?

Now, certainly, some psychiatric medications can be used safely during pregnancy. “So why not just change your meds to safe ones?” you ask. The incredibly simple answer is: not all medications work for all people. It can take years to figure out the right combination of medications to successfully treat mental illness with a minimum amount of side effects. I’ve been treated for 10 years, and it’s taken almost that long to get the correct combination.  I don’t know how long this particular combo will continue to be effective. All I know for certain is that it’s working, and I do NOT want to fuck with that. There is a chance that the hormones associated with pregnancy will make medical intervention unnecessary for proper mental health, but it’s not guaranteed, and again, not a risk I’m willing to take.

“Ok, I get it. You’re not going to carry your own child,” you continue. “But that doesn’t mean you’re out of child-obtaining options! There’s still surrogacy or adoption!”

You’re right, reader. Those are viable options. And next week, I’ll get into why they’re not viable for me.