We Can't All Have A Full Quiver

     As I'm sure you have guessed, ATI is really big on people having big families. If you have had a surgery to prevent having more children, ATI wants you to have this reversed before you are accepted. At the conferences each year they have what is called "The Reversal Choir" which is made up of children who were born after their parents had their surgeries reversed. It's a group of  "Lost Pearls" as ATI refers to them (Nowhere near as much fun as the Lost Boys) who never would have existed if God didn't change their parents' mind about letting God decide the size of their family. Psalm 127:3-5 is often referenced, "Lo, children are an heritage of the LORD: and the fruit of he womb is his reward. As arrows are in the hand of a mighty man; so are children of the youth. Happy is the man that hath his quiver full of them:..." I was going through the Wisdom Booklets (ATI's "school" books) lately and found a great deal of writing on this passage. ATI takes the Bible very literally and notes that the husband is seen as successful and strong if he has a small army at home. However, if there is not a small army at home, this is the fault of the wife. "The fruit of the womb is his (God's) reward." So the lack of a fertile womb is clearly a punishment for a sin committed by the wife. I have found no mention of the woman being seen as stronger for having her quiver full of arrows.

At least Disney gets it. 

     I have one sister. In ATI this was unheard of. I was often asked why my parents were going against ATI's teachings and not having more children. I am not sure if my parents used anything to avoid pregnancy, I just assumed they didn't like each other that much. We lived in a one bedroom apartment until I was 16. "Letting God decide the size of our family" would, in my opinion, have been very irresponsible. It was hard enough to make ends meet with 2 kids. If God decided the size of our family, that size would be "malnourished". My mother is not good at being pregnant. She was very close to death when having me. She was on bed rest for 6 months when she was pregnant with my sister. When I was a teenager my mother got very sick and had to have emergency surgery because my little brother was a really rude, stealthy little embryo who no one knew existed until my mother almost died from bleeding out during a miscarriage. There may only be two of us, but Hope and I are all the arrows our parents could handle. Besides, We like to be able to spread out in our quiver. 

This is when we decided to wear non-ATI approved skirts for Thanksgiving

     Many of the families in ATI have children who are severely disabled. Obviously terminating a pregnancy is a sin punishable by death, according to Mr Gothard. Many families are struggling to provide for the rest of their children because one child needs all the resources available. Now, I give all the credit in the world to parents and siblings who have a child in their family with disabilities. I cannot begin to understand the daily struggles and worries they experience, and many of the kids I have met who have grown up with a disabled sibling turn out to be some of the most responsible, caring people I have ever met. However, a few weeks into the pregnancy if it is discovered that something is not right, I feel that further action should be the choice of the parents, not of the cult. ATI is not going to raise your child, or pay your bills. 

    Several times throughout the Wisdom Booklets I have found examples of  women who are plagued with physical or mental illness because of "guilt" about having ended a pregnancy, or who have been unable to conceive due to past sin in their lives. These "case studies" have all been done by men and have not included factors such as nutrition, sleep, fitness, family history, abuse, or medication. Of course these women were not on medications for their mental illness, because mental problems are caused by the Devil, and couldn't possibly be from a hormonal imbalance. One case was about a woman who was deathly afraid to leave her house and ATI clearly traced this back to the time when, as a teenager, she secretly ended a pregnancy. The Wisdom Book claims that once she confessed her sin to God and got her heart right with Him again that she was miraculously cured of her agoraphobia. 

    The thing that infuriates me the most about this is that they use the word "guilt". Yes, perhaps this woman had feelings of guilt, but that word is used over and over in their writings when guilt is not indicated by the woman. There are many, many feelings associated with pregnancy, or the lack thereof. Infertility is devastating enough without being told that it is your fault. I have had 6 pregnancies, and I have no arrows. I miscarried 5 of those. Without being told that I was sinning, I had what I feel were natural pangs of guilt. Did I skip a prenatal vitamin? Did I lift something too heavy? Should I not have gone to work? Could I have done anything to prevent one of my patients from punching me in the stomach?  No. After a few weeks I settled down and realized that none of this was anything that I could have done or prevented. My doctor said I probably wouldn't have even known about some of them if I hadn't tested so early (some were only 4-5 weeks along) and I would have had a missed miscarriage, which happens way more often than you would think seeing as the bleeding from the early miscarriage is often just mistaken for a slightly late, but heavy period. I always tested early though because each time, I knew instantly. I am not one of those pretty, glowing pregnant women. I've never had to wait until I was late to know that I should test. I start vomiting the instant that swimmer breaks his way past the barrier. I smell everything. I pee constantly. If my gums start bleeding, I call my OB, not my dentist. I become absolutely exhausted. I have even been able to tell which ovary was the releasing one for that pregnancy (confirmed by my doctor). I told you, my body is a wonderland.  

    I handled the miscarriages "okay". I stopped getting excited when I saw that second blue line after I peed on a stick. I never told many people, or even started to look at baby stuff, because it got to the point where I was never surprised when I would start to bleed and feel like my insides were tearing. I went to the ER one of the times, and they didn't even do an exam. I got some fluids and was sent on my way. After that I just started handling them on my own. Drink lots of fluids to combat the blood loss, take some Advil for the tearing, and cry a little. I didn't even call out of work for the last 3.

      Pregnancy number 6 is what got me. I had started to feel some of the usual symptoms, but I had just miscarried a month before, so I figured I just still didn't feel great. I didn't test as early and didn't find out until week 6, when the baby was about the size of a lentil. This became my sister's name for the baby, Lentil. The only reason I even decided to test was to convince my brain that I truly did just have a new found taste for mayonnaise covered Butterfingers and that nothing else could possibly be happening. I was wrong.

Yep, the first thing I did was go get nachos. 

    I went for my ultrasound and Lentil was too small to be seen from the external ultrasound, so they had to do an internal one.  They said that based on my last period, Lentil was much smaller than he should be, but not to worry yet because it was possible that I just ovulated later than they would have expected. They scheduled me for another ultrasound in two weeks to see if it really was just a matter of late ovulation. I went home disappointed but not surprised. I tried not to worry, but that was nearly impossible. Some of my girlfriends have told me that sometimes they would forget that they were pregnant because nothing bothered them. Not me. I was reminded almost constantly. I had every symptom possible. I even hated the smell of water. After a very long two weeks it was time for the follow-up ultrasound. They were still not able to see Lentil on the external ultrasound, so they had to do another internal ultrasound. Before we saw Lentil on the screen I knew the news would be bad because by now he should have been big enough for the external one. There is a song called "The Piano Is Not Firewood Yet" and a line in that songs goes "the heart beats in threes, just like a waltz..." that got stuck in my head as we sat there and heard Lentil's heartbeat for the first time. We were now three heartbeats, but one was much, much slower than it should have been. They told me I would probably miscarry soon.

     Being pregnant is unpleasant as it is. I imagine that it is made slightly better by knowing that at the end of it all you will get a tiny little squishy (my word for babies. I got it from Finding Nemo). One night at work I had brought a man into the ER who was quite high. Before I could give report, I fainted. My patient was kind enough to help get me up and sit me on a stretcher. He then kept yelling "Hey! Medic lady! Are you pregnant? I know that's it! Medic lady! I told them you was gonna fall out but they didn't let me get you a chair! I got you, Medic lady!" He was sweet but I wanted him to stop giving my coworkers the idea of pregnancy. Most people don't announce a pregnancy for a while anyway. I had no desire to share my news only to follow it with the information that I was only waiting for the pregnancy to end any day.

     I went to the doctor a few weeks later and the pregnancy still hadn't been lost. Lentil was still so small that we couldn't see him on the external ultrasound. I was never able to find out officially if Lentil was a girl or boy, so I decided boy. I had also chosen a unisex name in case I was wrong, but I didn't get that far, and I don't like "it", so he's a boy because who is anyone to tell me otherwise?  If by some chance Lentil made it to birth, he would have been severely disabled, mentally and physically, and even making it to birth was a huge "IF". The bigger he got (he was growing, but just very slowly), the more difficult it would be to either deliver a stillborn, or have surgery to end the pregnancy after several more weeks of torture and heading down the path of possible sepsis. If I was an ATI follower, there would be nothing to think about. The plan would be to do all I could to bring a child into the world who had very little hope for a future, even if that meant huge risks to my health. That was not something I could do to my child.

      After many nights of tears, I made the Dr recommended (yes, with second opinion) choice to have the surgery to end the pregnancy. My Dr did not perform these surgeries, which is one of the reasons I went to him in the first place. He referred me to planned parenthood for the D&C. Never in my life would I have imagined I would find myself in that waiting room. I had one final ultrasound, which at 3 months still needed to be internal. I had been so upset until that point, until we saw that ultrasound photo. Lentil was so small and his heartbeat was so slow. It was surprising I had made it to 3 months. That was when I felt this was absolutely the right thing for us to do.  I had to go in for the surgery and prep alone because they don't want women feeling pressured by the fathers to do anything they don't want to do, which is perfectly understandable. So I went in for the surgery and he waited in the waiting room, holding the final picture.

Lentil's birthday is May 14th, and he is named Francis. 

      The surgery was fairly quick, and the staff was amazingly supportive and attentive. Anesthesia would have cost me $1000 out of pocket, so I opted for a localized pain killer. It didn't hurt any more than a spontaneous miscarriage, but there was a great deal more tearing this time. The sudden tearing feeling of Francis being separated from me is not one I will forget. If I could go back in time and change only one thing about my life, it would be to have spent that $1000.  My recovery went fairly well, mostly because I have an amazing support system of people who, no matter what their stance on the issue, told me that they agreed that I made the best choice for the three of us. 

     For anyone who has ever known me for longer than 40 seconds, you know that all I want is my own squishy. However, I want my squishy when the timing is best, and I want only what is best for my squishy. I did not desire to try to hold onto the hope of carrying Francis full term when that would not have been best for him. Another very meaningful line from a song has become "Love is watching someone die". At first this may seem morbid, but it is very, very true for us. Love is doing what is best for that person, even if it isn't the way you wanted things to happen. Guilt was never an emotion that I felt during this process. Sadness, helplessness, anger, but mostly love. Not guilt. 

     Since the surgery, my body has still not returned to normal and neither has my subconscious. When I was pregnant, I couldn't stand eggs, mint, or peanut butter. Now I have had to work very hard not to cry over being able to eat those things again. I am frequently nauseated because my body is a wonderland, and the first thing anyone ever asks is if I am pregnant. I understand that this is the most common response to a vomiting 27 year old woman, but I have become pretty good (depending on the day) at not breaking down in tears over an innocent question. The worst part is that I still have recurring dreams about the surgery. My most common dream is where I am holding a snow globe and tiny Francis is inside of it, but no matter what I do, I can't wake him up, and then suddenly, the snow globe shatters in my hands. That is only one among several, but I have that one most often. I am most comfortable sleeping on my stomach, and I have been known to wake up in a panic that I am crushing my squishy. In all of my dreams, I am still pregnant, but I also still have a broken ankle. My subconscious is not great at updating its files. Seeing a counselor has helped a great deal, as well as friends who understand and never offer me mints or peanut butter cups.  I went to the Dr for my follow up visits, and it seems that the surgery left me with some scarring. It now seems that the chance of getting pregnant is near impossible. If by some chance any little swimmers are actually able to get past the "initial tunnel", the chance of implantation is remarkably small (hence even IVF would be futile). That being said, I am not looking to try to have a squishy in the very near future, so even with the small, small chance of anything happening, hooray nuvaring! When I am ready again, I can always adopt, or I can borrow someone else's oven for my bun. 

A few months after all of this, I got this tattoo. "Even miracles take a little time" is one of my favorite Cinderella quotes, because eventually, in some way, I will have my squishy. In the scroll work you can see Francis' initials. 

(This photo was taken right after I got it done, hence the redness.)

     I adore all of the squishies  I get to borrow and snuggle. I love the twins I watch as if they were my own. I will barter almost anything for babysitting, and if there is a squishy at an event, I am going to find it and give it a whole bunch of love. I am grateful that I have understanding friends who know that I only want one person to tell me "Happy Mothers' Day", because no matter what, I was a mom, but I want to be ignored by everyone else. I have very sweet coworkers who know that I need to sob after doing a call for a 14 week home delivery, or that I get more angry than others who deal with squishy abuse cases while trying so hard not wonder why things are so unfair. I utterly despise anyone who, after learning of 6 lost pregnancies, asks "Did you try to figure out why that happens? Do you think it was stress? Did you ask a doctor? There has to be a reason that keeps happening". Those people end up regretting their words almost instantly.  I adore my friends who know what it's like to scroll through a facebook feed full of your friend's kids while you are still posting pictures of your latest night out, or who know that that bump you have is from too much pizza, and not from an adorable reason to loosen your pants. I love my best friend who will automatically squeeze my hand if we are watching TV and anything pregnancy or squishy related comes on. 

     Of all of the reasons I am thrilled to be free from ATI and the cult, this has been the one with the most impact for me. I am so glad that I don't have to hear that this all happened as a punishment for something I had done. I am not forced to feel guilty for committing no wrong. I love that I don't have to do things the way that ATI would want me to, and if in several years I decide that men are still terrible, I have options for making a squishy without a husband if I need to do so. (Yay, science!)  I may have a quiver of invisible arrows, and I may need to find a different way to acquire future arrows, but that doesn't make your quiver any more blessed than mine.