Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance
In 2013, I was 23 years old with a toddler and a boyfriend. I had just graduated from undergrad at the University of New Mexico and I was excited to leave my job at a call center to being a coordinator for the Respect ABQ Women campaign– a community effort to block a 20 week abortion ban in the city of Albuquerque.
I was (and still am!) so in love with the father of my little toddler, she has looked like him since the sperm met the egg. I was excited to get a positive pregnancy test in September 2013 and I remember feeling so lucky that I did not have morning sickness or fatigue- little did I know that I would find out why I was not having symptoms for a few more months. I was working my first paid campaign job and I learned so much about abortion access. I learned to undo my beliefs that there’s a “good” abortion and “bad” abortion.
In early November 2013, my latest prenatal appointment showed that the fetus had no cardiac activity and no growth was happening. The nurse said I will just have to wait for the pregnancy to pass. If I couldn’t stand up straight while bleeding, then head to the emergency room. Abortion was never mentioned. I waited for about a month for the pregnancy to pass- finally on December 4, 2013, it was time for me to go to the emergency room.
I could not stand up straight and as soon as I sat down in the waiting room, I began bleeding profusely onto my chair. I was taken into triage and placed in a room. I started having contractions and began losing my sight because the pain was so intense. I remember my daughter crying and my boyfriend trying to soothe me, looking for someone to help with the pain. I remember him telling me that he was leaving to take our daughter to his mother’s and he’d be right back.
When he returned, I still had not been seen for what was essentially an abortion. I remember asking for more pain management but I was told I had the maximum because of my weight. The callousness of the nurse was so hurtful, looking back, but in the moment, I was so desperate to be put under to escape pain. I was ready for death. What was taking so long? This isn’t a Catholic hospital, either.
I remember begging the doctor to tie my tubes or take my uterus out. She was so calming to me. “I know it hurts. It’s almost over, I’m going to help you. You’ll be ok. You’ll be ok.” I fell into a deep sleep.
I woke up in a recovery room with other beds but they were all empty. My boyfriend was near me sans toddler and took me home. I was unbearably sad and downed my prescription oxycontin like candy. My mother told me, “Maybe it was for the best” after asking me how my pregnancy was going… after I told her I wasn’t pregnant anymore. Why would she ask such a question after telling her I nearly died?
Over the years, I’ve come to understand that while her question was cruel, there’s also an element of generational shame and anger surrounding pregnancy, the circumstances under which we become pregnant, the perceived failure of becoming pregnant, the idea that as educated Native women, we need to pull 100% our weight so men don’t need to take care of us, even if that was not spoken out loud. Empathy and understanding have helped me heal some of that generational hurt.
We do not have these conversations with each other often enough about pregnancy loss and grief. I did not want to be told “Maybe it’s for the best”, “At least you can become pregnant…” I wanted to be held and to sleep, and to be told that it’s okay for me to feel sad. It’s okay to grieve the future that won’t ever be. It’s okay to be angry with the nurses who used their own beliefs to delay care. Frankly, I also wanted to be so high, I could sleep all day. Maybe sleep forever. Not prioritizing the reproductive health of our community members has so many more consequences for us, our families, and our communities- substance use to cope, inability to hold a job, loss of friendships, trying to care for our children. My abortion experience helped me understand how reproductive health is the center of all we do and who we are, whether we are menstruating or experiencing menopause or somewhere in between. Abortion also helped me have the family I wanted- a son to complete my family before I decided to undergo a tubal ligation.
I want to be clear- my abortion is not the “good” kind of abortion. All abortions are good. We make decisions about our bodies with the information we have at the time.
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I grew up on the Pueblo of Laguna reservation. I am not an enrolled member of the tribal community I grew up in but I’m recognized by the people who matter: my grandma Elaine, my grandma Adeline-shé, my auntie Percy, my grandma Pam, my cousin Irene, my in-laws, among many others. My lived experience as a queer and Indigenous femme, with the values we were all raised with, ones of love and respect for one another, helped me see that the people who birth the future generations are more sacred than we know or understand. Yet we have such a long way to go in caring for women’s physical safety, mental and spiritual health, and our emotional health.
I created Indigenous Women Rising to have a home for us to share our stories. I never want any relative to feel alone in their pregnancy journey, no matter the outcome. In our Native communities, women, trans men, gender fluid folks- any of us who have the capability of becoming pregnant- deserve culturally respectful reproductive healthcare as we had before colonization. We deserve to know how our ancestors cared for each other in times of grief, loss, and joy surrounding pregnancy.
I hope by sharing my story, this helps someone share their story, when they’re ready, with a loved one. Our overall health and our future generations are depending on us to normalize all pregnancy outcomes, including abortion and pregnancy loss.
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