From a Cathedral in Italy

“I stared hard at the shot of the cathedral on the TV. How could I even begin to describe it? But say my life depended on it. Say my life was being threatened by an insane guy who said I had to do it or else.”
—Raymond Carver, “Cathedral”

It’s not just about abortion. By restricting funding and forcing clinics to close, recent legislation has already inhibited women’s access to wellness visits, contraception, STD screenings, and other family planning services, thereby putting women’s health at greater risk and limiting the resources that could prevent unwanted pregnancies. These laws make it so the poorest among us will have the least at their disposal. These laws may in fact increase the number of unwanted pregnancies, but I highly doubt they will decrease the number of abortions. People will do what they have to do, as they always have, whether that means going out of state (or out of country, if you live in Chile) or something far worse.

Santiago, Chile

Yet, legislators pass these laws, most recently in Texas.

Meanwhile, Chile may finally give victims of rape and incest who become pregnant by their abusers access to therapeutic abortion, thanks to the efforts of Amnesty International and several other NGOs. Things may in fact be about to change even though that change felt so far off so recently here. Ironically, my rights as a U.S. citizen in charge of my health and reproduction felt far from change as well recently, but here they are, subject to a catalyzing mix of government and power and religion that says my physical and emotional health are actually not very important.

How strange, these twists and turns.

Does it help to know my story? For many of you, the answer has been ‘Yes.’ You’ve proven that time and again with your support. And now I have the good will of strangers, sending hearts, responding to my words about Lorenzo. But I know that isn’t the whole story. I know there is judgment, whether or not it’s directed my way. I read about it all too often in the hateful comments added to articles written by other brave women.

So, I offer another part of the story that can maybe act as something of a bridge. My aunt was recently in Italy, standing in a Cathedral in Siena. As she looked up, she saw framed hearts all over the high walls. They were offerings from those honoring their loved ones. They were expressions of gratitude to Mary, symbols of devotion, perhaps thank you’s for answered prayers or acceptance of those that went unanswered. My aunt felt overwhelmed in the presence of this symbolized love, this devotion to the Mother figure from whom we seek comfort and understanding. Then she overwhelmed me, saying that Lorenzo was blessed to have me as his mother. That I had also brought the pain of another onto my shoulders to alleviate suffering.

La cattedrale metropolitana di
Santa Maria Assunta, Siena, Italy

“Never was the sacrifice so clear,” she said.

This is not a direct comparison of saint and sinner, immortal spirit and mortal human. This is about motherhood and suffering and alleviation and love and seeing where we are similar in something often viewed so differently. I hope things like devotion and faith can also apply to stories of loss, not just stories of birth. I hope I am not considered outside the holiness of this cathedral or the sacredness of an open field of grass or the borders of Texas or North Dakota or Arkansas because I chose to alleviate my child’s senseless suffering.

We are not so different, me and these politicians. The vast majority of them just haven’t had to choose, so instead they choose for others, but don’t make their sacrifice. Again, when I say that, it’s not just about abortion.

 

“‘Close your eyes now,’ the blind man said to me. I did it. I closed them just like he said.
‘Are they closed?’ he said. ‘Don’t fudge.’
‘They’re closed,’ I said.
‘Keep them that way,’ he said. He said, ‘Don’t stop now. Draw.’
So we kept on with it. His fingers rode my fingers as my hand went over the paper. It was like nothing else in my life up to now.
Then he said, ‘I think that’s it. I think you got it,’ he said. ‘Take a look. What do you think?’
But I had my eyes closed. I thought I’d keep them that way for a little longer. I thought it was something I ought to do.
‘Well? he said. ‘Are you looking?’
My eyes were still closed. I was in my house. I knew that. But I didn’t feel like I was inside anything.
‘It’s really something,’ I said.”—Raymond Carver, “Cathedral”

 

Doing Something, Part II

Last time, I wrote about doing something for what you believe in, whatever that happens to be. Since then, I have been blown away by what I see being done by others, and I’m proud to share a few of those efforts here.

In my San Francisco Chronicle op-ed, I said that I thought a fight for reproductive rights, even in the most extreme cases, was so far off in Chile (where abortion remains illegal without exception) I wasn’t sure it would ever arrive. Part of me still believes that. But a Chilean woman had the right to a therapeutic abortion from the 1930s through 1989—and she was supported in that decision. Pinochet put across-the-board restrictions in place that have been upheld by subsequent governments. But I was alive in 1989, as were so many Chileans. Maybe, just maybe, they will fight for what they once had.

A pretty amazing woman on the streets of Santiago.
She must remember it all.

My friend, Emily, recently published an informative, heart-felt blog post, inspired both by Lorenzo and our choice for him as well as her own feelings about abortion. She, too, is from the U.S. and living in Chile and is invested in both countries and their politics. I honor her for speaking out in a country where voices of dissent over this issue must travel far further than they do in the U.S. before reaching someone who understands. And I was thrilled to see how many people, from within and without Chile, spoke up in support of her, as I’ve been humbled by the overwhelming support I’ve received from Chronicle readers.

This morning, my friend Amanda, who is also from the U.S. and living in Chile, sent me a link to a petition to sign in support of therapeutic abortion here in Chile. If that is also what you believe in, I encourage you to do something by signing it as well so that the government here may see the numbers of people who do believe a change must be made.

Currently, that government is run by President Pinera, who this week praised an 11-year-old girl for wanting to keep the baby she conceived through being sexually abused by her mother’s boyfriend over a period of two years. (Never mind that she lives in a country where she cannot legally make any other choice.) Another government official, Congressman Issa Kort, has said that this child is ready to become a mother because her body is biologically capable of becoming one. I believe this mentality contributes further to the abuse of this child, first by her perpetrator, then by her complicit mother, and now by the highest members of the government that is supposed to protect her. This is the country I am living in.

For some time, I thought that things were better back home. But yesterday, despite the efforts of Senator Wendy Davis and her many supporters among Texas voters, the Texas House passed HB2, which will limit abortion to 20 weeks, force many clinics to close, and make access to healthcare all the more difficult for women in Texas, especially those living in rural poverty. The corresponding Senate bill is also expected to pass.

If we learn from history, Chile’s being a case in point, we know that one limitation often begets another. This could be the first in a slippery slope of regulations that will scale back abortion to being illegal all together, which scales women’s rights—human rights, constitutional rights—back to pre-Roe v. Wade 1960s’ America, a time when choices were limited to unsafe means. Yet, anti-abortion legislators in Texas and several other states uphold women’s health as a reason for these restrictions? Ladies, we are being duped. Just today, the New York Times reported that when it comes to an abortion, “Risks rise with the length, with one death occurring for every one million abortions in the first 8 weeks, one per 29,000 at 16 to 20 weeks and one per 11,000 in the small fraction of abortions performed at 21 weeks or more.” In 2008, the maternal mortality rate in the U.S. was 24 per 100,000—the highest rate of all.

And just once, I’d love for the often male government officials who propose this kind of legislation to accept responsibility, no matter what choice is made. No woman gets pregnant alone, but it’s implied that her abortion is a solo act. Why is she the only one shamed if she makes a certain choice? Why is it allowed to be shamed? Why is her life deemed less valuable than the life growing inside of her? The shaming needs to end so that when these decisions come down to an 11-year-old girl, she will not be praised for keeping a baby that has resulted from rape, but will be taken care of as the child SHE is, as the life SHE is, first and foremost, rather than the mother her perpetrator (and her government) is making her become.

 

Doing Something

Recently, I addressed the 20-week abortion ban that passed in the U.S. House. I wrote about it because I couldn’t sit still, much less not stand up and speak out in the face of a ruling that subjugated women and jeopardized future parents like Ryan and me from being able to make the best choice for their unborn children. Whatever that choice happens to be, I believe our country must support these difficult decisions and do something when our rights start disappearing, state by state.

 

 

Then, Senator Wendy Davis stood up on the floor of the Texas Senate in Austin and didn’t sit back down for 11 hours. She read testimony from moms like me, she explained why the legislation put women’s health at risk, she galvanized an overflowing gallery of loud and proud Texan voters and supporters. I sent her a letter. Then, I wrote an op-ed.

 

 

I’m happy to announce that my hometown newspaper, the San Francisco Chronicle, published that op-ed, “Abortion Choice Can Spare Future Pain,” in today’s paper and online. I encourage you to read it and comment if you’re so inspired. I encourage you to do something, whatever it is, in support of what you believe in, especially in the face of barriers.

 

 

Many of you know our story. You’ve followed along. You’ve saved me in that way. Now, it’s time to find out what the public really thinks. It’s time to find out how mothers who don’t know me feel.

 

 

Since losing Lorenzo and realizing that so few people truly understand our experience, I’ve clung to stories by other mothers like me who lost children like Lorenzo and who are surviving them each day. This solidarity is another lifeline… like Ruby, like the Chain-Link Heart Project, like the kiddos at the orphanage, like you all. As I’ve mentioned before, these women are brave to share their choices and their circumstances.

 

 

Now, that I feel stronger than I have in over a year, I must keep that bravery close and brace myself. I’ve read enough of these stories online to know that not everyone is supportive. In fact, people judge—openly and cruelly and often without any personal experience to rest their judgment upon. That said, I accept what comes with having choice. I remember that your body is most stable with both feet on the ground. And when I have Ryan and Ruby standing right there with me, when I know many of you are standing in support where you are, I know everything will be just fine. Maybe, even, some hearts will change along the way.

 

The Consequences of Banning Abortions After 20 Weeks

For the past year, I’ve tried not to get political in this space, as I grieve Lorenzo and do my best to honor his short physical existence and eternal significance.

I can no longer do so.

Earlier this week, the House of Representatives passed an unconsitutional bill banning abortion after 20 weeks post-fertilization (22 weeks including pre-fertilization). The New York Times said “the bill is a violation of Supreme Court precedent. The court has ruled that women have a right to an abortion until the fetus could live outside the womb, generally starting around 24 weeks of pregnancy.” But states have been violating this precedent for the past two years, evidence that our constitutional reproductive rights are under real threat. Why aren’t we standing up and defending these rights as passionately as members of the NRA are defending our Second Amendment rights? As Judy Nicastro wrote in her New York Times op-ed yesterday about her termination at 23 weeks due to her child’s unlikely survival outside the womb, this is “part of a trend toward restricting second- and even first-trimester abortions. Ten states have banned most abortions after 20 or 22 weeks; Arkansas, after 12, and North Dakota, after 6.”

While these laws may be challenged, and while President Obama has said he won’t sign this bill into law, as it “shows contempt for women’s health and rights,” (New York Times) the scary reality is that they reflect a mass effort to whittle away hard-earned reproductive rights that women have had for over 40 years. That is the big picture. When we take a more personal view (and trust me, every choice is personal), we see the painful consequences of a bill like this passing. If it were to become law under different leadership, the general public likely wouldn’t realize the difference two weeks can make. Allow me to tell you just what a difference it would make.

My son’s fatal heart defect, Hypoplastic Left Heart Syndrome (HLHS), was not detected until my 23rd week of pregnancy. When Ryan and I were told that Lorenzo had only two chambers instead of four, our own hearts were cut in half. We acted fast. Within 48 hours, we were on a plane home to California to seek second opinions. Neither our minds nor our hearts were in any way made up about what we would do for our son, whom we wanted more than anything in the world.

Five days elapsed from the time we heard the words “the heart does not look normal” to when I held my lifeless son in my arms, after choosing to prevent his suffering while he was still safe and warm inside me. I made a subsequent choice, choosing to deliver his body into our world, giving him a dignity in death I would not have been able to give him life. This experience came down to a matter of days as well as a matter of measurement because while I was nearly 24 weeks pregnant, by son was measuring closer to 22 weeks. We’ll never know for sure, but I can surmise that his heart was already slowing his growth.

I can likely never fully explain to you why we made the choice we did. The politicians who debated in Congress talked about the sanctity of life, as if women in my position do not believe in that sanctity. Let me tell you that I believe in it so strongly that I did not want the being Ryan and I created out of love to be subjected to near constant pain, discomfort, confusion, and fear in an effort to prolong his life. How do you explain to a baby why he is being poked and prodded all day long? How does he understand multiple open-heart surgeries over his first two years of life, if he’s “lucky” enough to survive that long?  How do you prepare him to die? Did you know that the NICU prescribes anti-anxiety medication to these infants as they are being treated for the host of complications that arise when half a heart begins to ravage a tiny body? Imagine your newborn child also confronting anxiety as he battles infection, bleeds, blood clots, strokes, as he requires oxygen and vomits formula because his body can’t process it, as he eventually eats only breast milk at one year old, weighing only 12 pounds.

I wonder who in Washington imagined this on Tuesday. I wonder who in Washington actually thinks anyone wants an abortion, much less a second-trimester abortion. If you are a mother having to terminate in the second trimester, it is because your child is going to face such unimaginable suffering you cannot imagine putting him through it. It’s because your own life is in jeopardy. It’s because you are brave enough to let go of all of your dreams in order to spare another life. Yes, I call it bravery, just as I call it brave for any mother to carry a fatally ill child to term and care for that child through all of his days, no matter how little they are. All of it is as brave as it is heartbreaking, something that is not being acknowledged by this bill.

The bill’s premise is one of pain, “based on the medically disputed theory that fetuses can feel pain” (HuffPo) after 22 weeks. Why are politicians acting like doctors? Especially over disputed theories? Why are they allowed to? What prompted this when the country is facing so many other problems? House Republicans (women account for only 19 out of 234) “argued that the bill was necessary in light of the case of Kermit Gosnell, a Philidelphia abortion provider who was recently convicted of murder for providing late-term abortions,” (HuffPo). I am just as horrified by that man’s actions as Congress is, and justice should be served for the lives he took. It’s despicable, but it’s my understanding that he was performing those atrocities on healthy babies after 24 weeks, the current legal limit for a termination. A two-week change in the law would not have saved those babies, but for a parent carrying a terminally-ill child, it can make a world of difference.

I would like to tell those politicians that pain was at the basis of our decision as well. It was the first question I asked about Lorenzo fighting his disease, and it was the first question I asked when we made our decision to spare him that fight: Would it hurt him? The head of gynecology at one of the top medical institutions in the world assured me that it wouldn’t. There would be a shot of medicine into my amniotic fluid. He would be untouched. He would go to sleep. All the pain would be mine and Ryan’s.

Were this bill law last June, Ryan and I wouldn’t have been able to do what we did—out of love—to prevent Lorenzo’s pain. We would have been legally bound to bring him into our world even though his heart was not designed to survive in it. We would then have been ethically and legally obligated to perform countless surgeries to prolong physical life, but I am sorry, not the quality or sanctity of that life. And we would have done so with all the love in our hearts and all the pain in seeing him suffer.

When I held my son, his face was at peace. There was no grimace, no evidence of struggle. Again, all of that was happening on my face as I sobbed in awe at my child and on Ryan’s as he sat stunned next to us. Lorenzo’s was as beautiful and serene a face as I could ever imagine laying eyes upon. I am grateful for that hour with Lorenzo, and I am grateful that we could act on our son’s behalf within the confines of the law.

Thank you for listening. I don’t expect all of you to agree with me, but I do expect all of us to consider the consequences of these bills as they pass. Still, I worry all of our minds are made up on these issues—abortion, gun control. What does it take to change a mind? To sway a heart? Usually, a massacre, a tragedy, a Sandy Hook. In my world, the tragedy happened the day I learned my son wouldn’t survive long in our world. The added tragedy would have been having no choice but to make him live a shortened, painful life and knowing there had been a time, recently in our country, when his father and I could have prevented it.

 

Two Years in Chile

As focused as I’ve been on anniversaries, placeholders of passing time, I almost didn’t notice that today marks two years of living in Chile. It wasn’t until one of the very first friends I made here in my first Spanish class that first week said, “Hey, haven’t you been there about two years now?,” that I realized, “Yes, in fact, I have.” Two years exactly.

Street art in Bellavista, 2011

It’s tempting to look back and see the timeline divided: one year of culture shock, travel, talking about home, sizing up Chile, and the general adjustment and adventure of expat living. Then, one year of an altogether different kind of shock, grief, coping, and an adjustment to a version of motherhood more foreign than anything that came before.

Chicks at Los Dominicos market, 2011

June divides time in that way, being both the month I moved here and the month I held Lorenzo. Had our second pregnancy made it, June also would have been the month we welcomed another baby into the world. That date passed quietly a few days ago… I made it all the way to noon before I realized I’ve now seen two due dates come and go after our babies have. To take June a few steps further, it’s the month we got Ruby. If you can believe it, we arrived back in Chile after saying goodbye to Lorenzo on Sunday, June 17 last year, which happened to be Father’s Day. Three days later, I picked Ruby up from a dirt yard in the rain and took her home.

Our first Dieciocho, 2011

I’ve stopped asking, “How did this happen?” I’ve stopped wondering exactly when anything will happen. In more ways than one, Chile has prepared me to go as things go. In a small way, I never know how long the line at the bank will take. In a larger way, with Ryan’s job the way it is, we still don’t know where we will move next or when or how long we will be there. In the most significant way, I do not know when I will become a mother to a healthy, living child. We embrace the unknown, right?

Backyard rain, always welcome, 2012

As Pema says, “the answer to these questions seems to have to do with bringing everything that we encounter to the path… It comes into existence moment by moment and at the same time drops away behind us… The source of wisdom is whatever is happening to us right at this very instant.” (When Things Fall Apart, Pema Chodron). In this very instant, that could mean bringing fear and worry and hope right onto the path. That’s not to say we focus on it or let it undo us. But we accept it as part of who we are and we carry on.

Art therapy, 2012

It’s reassuring to think this way because it divorces us from “time.” Instead, we see the present and what we have on hand, whatever that is. The past and the future are where they are, but not here right now. This helps, which is why I still wonder about, “time healing all wounds.” Why do we resort to that in times of hardship? Why do we put it on the future to resolve the present, or, Heaven help us, the past? Yes, time distances us from the significant event. But what kind of real barrier is distance, anyhow? Doesn’t it just make our heart grow all the fonder? Doesn’t it teach us what longing is all about? Doesn’t every parent who has lost a child think of that child when leaving this world and going to the next?

Walking Ruby, 2013

Instead, I believe it’s on us, and really us alone, to heal. It’s about what we do day-by-day, as time passes, that matters. It’s how we generate meaning in our lives and the lives of others. Biology may fail us. The chaotic world may bear down. And still beautiful babies are born. Still, we must accept circumstance, we must accept ourselves, and we must accept others.

A heart on the way to the orphanage, 2013

So, as I look back over these two years as an expat, I am thinking about all I might have chronicled for you had time not split last June: a list of our favorite trips through South America; how I got locked in the bedroom the other day and had to hollar my sweet Spanish skills out the bathroom window so Ruby and I could be rescued (yes, this happened); or all the people we would never have met unless we took this leap of faith and moved to Chile as newlyweds two years ago.

My loves, 2013

But mostly, I am thinking about all the meaning Chile is now a part of: hearts from Lorenzo and all of you; the faces of the children at the orphanage; the real conversations with Ryan; writing the words; holding Ruby; and the tethers of love you have cast down to me so I haven’t gone and slipped right off this earth we’re so close to the bottom of. Thank you for those tethers. They are countless, independent of time, and rooted in meaning.