I am currently recovering from Sassy Girl's Birthday Weekend Extravaganza. Not only did we host both sets of grandparents, but we survived a birthday party attended by 15 two and three year olds. Ebo used his engineering degree by helping rig a pinata to break by pulling a string. Who knew physics could be so useful?
In my last post, I was reminiscing about how difficult it was to bring Sassy Girl into this world. Though the memories don't affect me as much anymore, the pain of infertility, IVF, and Sassy Girl's traumatic birth will remain with me always. I don't take any day with her for granted. Happy birthday, little girl! I love you!
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Thursday, September 6, 2007
Looking for "normal" in all the wrong places
Three years ago this week, I was in a hospital room trying to clear my mind by watching the USA network's "Monk" marathon. I was finishing my third week as an inpatient and I was almost finished with my 31st week of pregnancy. It was supposed to be the happiest time of my life, and yes, it was. But I was also scared shitless because there was a chance I could lose it all. My little peanut wasn't growing as she should and my blood pressure was climbing.
A few months before, I was interviewing Adela, a woman who had a 14 year old sister with a serious seizure disorder. Eva's seizures had caused significant brain damage and cognitive abilities were that of a 2-year-old. Adela, knowing that she would eventually be Eva's adult caregiver, worried a lot about the future. She said, "We don't know what's going to happen because nothing is normal. Nothing is normal about Eva's life. When you have normal life there are normal things that happen. You go to school. You go to college, get married, have babies. Eva can't have that, so we don't know what will happen." Within the context of my research, this statement describes what every family that has a disabled child feels, especially when services and opportunities are scarce. But Adela's words also me made look at the broader concept of what is "normal." As I was lying in that hospital room, not knowing when my baby girl was going to be born or if she would be okay, I began to realize how much we take "normal" for granted.
I used to think it was great to be abnormal. I was never one to want to be like everybody else. One of the things that attracted me to Ebo was that he was the same way - we liked doing our own thing. However, when the reality of our infertility hit us, we found ourselves for the first time wanting to be like everyone else.
Our infertility treatment was even abnormal, at least it seemed so at the time. To begin with, we knew exactly what our issue before we even stepped into a clinic. This was somewhat of a blessing because we wouldn't have to go through the tests to determine was was "wrong" with us. We knew already. However, we also knew there was no chance of having a "surprise." Also, because of the extent of our problem, IVF with ICSI (intracytoplasmic sperm injection) was our only option for getting pregnant. Furthermore, Ebo would have to go through a procedure called MESA (Microepididymal Sperm Aspiration) where his sperm would have to be removed surgically. Not only could we not get pregnant by having sex, my husband couldn't even enjoy the free porn during the IVF procedure.
Knowing all of this, we originally decided against IVF. All of the extra procedures would be costly and there was no guarantee. We had started attending adoption information sessions and getting documents together for our homestudy when a friend called. She knew about our decision to adopt and had heard of a potential situation. Could it really be this easy? Well, no. A week later, after Ebo and I were ready to go for it, our friend told us that the birthmother decided to parent this child. I had known this wasn't a sure thing, but my heart sank anyway.
This may sound weird, but Ebo wanted make me feel better by taking me to a fertility clinic. We had been to one once before and after that visit we decided that adoption would be the better option (the doctor had been a total ass and didn't warm the speculum before the exam). I also laughed out loud when he was going over the costs of all the medications and procedures. We thought that a visit with this new doctor would renew our committment to adoption. However, this doc was different. First, he didn't try to "dummy down" the description of the IVF procedure (I really hate it when doctors do this - I took biology, damn it! I know what an ovary is!) When he got to the subject of cost, Ebo and I shot a look at each other. Here it comes - expenses we can't afford and our insurance won't cover. I laughed out loud again. Then doc said, "I know this is expensive, but I think you would qualify for a study that's going on...."
Study? Meaning free IVF? WTF? Could it be that easy? If we agreed, we were going to be part of a study that compared two IVF drug protocols. The tests, drugs and procedure would be free. All we would have to pay for was the MESA and ICSI. Could we really go through with this? What about our decision to adopt? Ebo and I discussed this for hours. In the end, we came to the conclusion that if we did go through with IVF, we were not rejecting adoption. We were just putting it on hold to take advantage of this opportunity.
And to answer the above question? No. It's not that easy. I realize now that again, our story is not normal. IVF is not free, and it doesn't usually work the first time. Moreover, even under the best of circumstances, going through IVF is hard emotionally and physically. It's not just about giving yourself shots, it's the anxiety about doing it right. I won't go into detail about the process itself - many other more experienced bloggers have done a fine job of this. What I will say is that on Ash Wednesday 2004 we received the news - we were pregnant!
Then, that summer, three months before the due date of our daughter, we were on our way to a level II ultrasound. My OBGyn felt that the baby was on the small side so she sent us to a perinatologist. I was expecting to do the sonogram, go home and mop the floor. Instead, the peri found that not only was my baby not growing, but my blood pressure was a lot higher than my normal. I wasn't going to mop the floor. I was going to be in the hospital and they didn't know when I was going home.
Three weeks, buckets of tears, and too many bad hospital meals later, my daughter was born at 32 weeks. I was going to go home a week later - but my 2 pound little girl would have to stay there. Up until that point, I had accepted all of the abnormalities that came with trying to have our baby. However, this by far was the worst. Looking at my baby through a plastic isolette and feeding her through a tube. Having to walk past the regular newborn nursery on my way to the NICU and watching the other "normal" mothers hold their "normal" sized babies. Leaving the hospital without my daughter in my arms. Not knowing when she would be able to come home. I wanted to be normal - if not for myself, but for my little Sassy Girl.
We are about to celebrate Sassy Girl's third birthday. In most respects, we have achieved a piece of "normal." But the pain and anxiety of her birth still linger. Despite everything, though, there is no doubt that Ebo and I are extremely lucky. Yes, we did have to go though IVF. Yes, our daughter was a preemie. We are not normal by any means, and I do get angry about this when I see people taking their "normalcy" for granted. But Sassy Girl is with us and we are thankful for that every single day.
A few months before, I was interviewing Adela, a woman who had a 14 year old sister with a serious seizure disorder. Eva's seizures had caused significant brain damage and cognitive abilities were that of a 2-year-old. Adela, knowing that she would eventually be Eva's adult caregiver, worried a lot about the future. She said, "We don't know what's going to happen because nothing is normal. Nothing is normal about Eva's life. When you have normal life there are normal things that happen. You go to school. You go to college, get married, have babies. Eva can't have that, so we don't know what will happen." Within the context of my research, this statement describes what every family that has a disabled child feels, especially when services and opportunities are scarce. But Adela's words also me made look at the broader concept of what is "normal." As I was lying in that hospital room, not knowing when my baby girl was going to be born or if she would be okay, I began to realize how much we take "normal" for granted.
I used to think it was great to be abnormal. I was never one to want to be like everybody else. One of the things that attracted me to Ebo was that he was the same way - we liked doing our own thing. However, when the reality of our infertility hit us, we found ourselves for the first time wanting to be like everyone else.
Our infertility treatment was even abnormal, at least it seemed so at the time. To begin with, we knew exactly what our issue before we even stepped into a clinic. This was somewhat of a blessing because we wouldn't have to go through the tests to determine was was "wrong" with us. We knew already. However, we also knew there was no chance of having a "surprise." Also, because of the extent of our problem, IVF with ICSI (intracytoplasmic sperm injection) was our only option for getting pregnant. Furthermore, Ebo would have to go through a procedure called MESA (Microepididymal Sperm Aspiration) where his sperm would have to be removed surgically. Not only could we not get pregnant by having sex, my husband couldn't even enjoy the free porn during the IVF procedure.
Knowing all of this, we originally decided against IVF. All of the extra procedures would be costly and there was no guarantee. We had started attending adoption information sessions and getting documents together for our homestudy when a friend called. She knew about our decision to adopt and had heard of a potential situation. Could it really be this easy? Well, no. A week later, after Ebo and I were ready to go for it, our friend told us that the birthmother decided to parent this child. I had known this wasn't a sure thing, but my heart sank anyway.
This may sound weird, but Ebo wanted make me feel better by taking me to a fertility clinic. We had been to one once before and after that visit we decided that adoption would be the better option (the doctor had been a total ass and didn't warm the speculum before the exam). I also laughed out loud when he was going over the costs of all the medications and procedures. We thought that a visit with this new doctor would renew our committment to adoption. However, this doc was different. First, he didn't try to "dummy down" the description of the IVF procedure (I really hate it when doctors do this - I took biology, damn it! I know what an ovary is!) When he got to the subject of cost, Ebo and I shot a look at each other. Here it comes - expenses we can't afford and our insurance won't cover. I laughed out loud again. Then doc said, "I know this is expensive, but I think you would qualify for a study that's going on...."
Study? Meaning free IVF? WTF? Could it be that easy? If we agreed, we were going to be part of a study that compared two IVF drug protocols. The tests, drugs and procedure would be free. All we would have to pay for was the MESA and ICSI. Could we really go through with this? What about our decision to adopt? Ebo and I discussed this for hours. In the end, we came to the conclusion that if we did go through with IVF, we were not rejecting adoption. We were just putting it on hold to take advantage of this opportunity.
And to answer the above question? No. It's not that easy. I realize now that again, our story is not normal. IVF is not free, and it doesn't usually work the first time. Moreover, even under the best of circumstances, going through IVF is hard emotionally and physically. It's not just about giving yourself shots, it's the anxiety about doing it right. I won't go into detail about the process itself - many other more experienced bloggers have done a fine job of this. What I will say is that on Ash Wednesday 2004 we received the news - we were pregnant!
Then, that summer, three months before the due date of our daughter, we were on our way to a level II ultrasound. My OBGyn felt that the baby was on the small side so she sent us to a perinatologist. I was expecting to do the sonogram, go home and mop the floor. Instead, the peri found that not only was my baby not growing, but my blood pressure was a lot higher than my normal. I wasn't going to mop the floor. I was going to be in the hospital and they didn't know when I was going home.
Three weeks, buckets of tears, and too many bad hospital meals later, my daughter was born at 32 weeks. I was going to go home a week later - but my 2 pound little girl would have to stay there. Up until that point, I had accepted all of the abnormalities that came with trying to have our baby. However, this by far was the worst. Looking at my baby through a plastic isolette and feeding her through a tube. Having to walk past the regular newborn nursery on my way to the NICU and watching the other "normal" mothers hold their "normal" sized babies. Leaving the hospital without my daughter in my arms. Not knowing when she would be able to come home. I wanted to be normal - if not for myself, but for my little Sassy Girl.
We are about to celebrate Sassy Girl's third birthday. In most respects, we have achieved a piece of "normal." But the pain and anxiety of her birth still linger. Despite everything, though, there is no doubt that Ebo and I are extremely lucky. Yes, we did have to go though IVF. Yes, our daughter was a preemie. We are not normal by any means, and I do get angry about this when I see people taking their "normalcy" for granted. But Sassy Girl is with us and we are thankful for that every single day.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
In Angelina Jolie's Shadow
I was originally going to write about the next chapter in our infertility saga, but I have been wanting to get something off my chest for a long time now.
NO, ANGELINA JOLIE WAS NOT A FACTOR IN OUR DECISION TO ADOPT!!!!
Ever since before Destructo Boy came home and we were telling people we were adopting, I have had many conversations with (for the most part) well-meaning people that that have sounded like this:
Curious person: Congratulations! He's so cute! Where is he from again?
Me: South Korea
Curious person: Wow! And [Sassy Girl], she's your biological child, right? (Sometimes this phrase doesn't come out so nice) Why did you decide to adopt?
Me: Well, it's a long story...
Curious person (not wanting to hear it): You guys are just like Brad and Angelina! Did you know that they.....
Celebrities can do what they want. I admit, the tabloids do give me entertainment and I do pay attention, especially when it is about adoption. I also believe that 90% of the crap I read isn't true and the stories are just PR stunts to promote movies, music, clothing lines, etc. However, I have mixed feelings about seeing adoption in the entertainment media. On the one hand, adoption has become more "normalized" because of the attention payed public figures who become adoptive parents. On the other hand, most of these stories are not meant to educate the public about adoption so they end up perpetuating the negative stereotypes associated with adoptive families.
I do not own a (real) Louis Vuitton bag, and if I did, it would not be because I saw Paris Hilton carry one on a red carpet. Nor did Ebo and I come to an adoption decision because it's the latest fad in Hollywood. Anyone who has gone through the adoption process will tell you that it's not easy and certainly not for everyone. Nobody can "just adopt," not even Angelina Jolie (although at times I have wondered if the process might have been streamlined for her, but I digress). Ebo and I had to ask ourselves (and were asked by a social worker) many questions about our desire and ability to be parents of an adopted child. How were we going to address adoption in the future? How do we feel about having both an adopted child and a biological child? How would we answer questions about our son's birthfamily? How would we honor his culture?
Adoption is about more than just having a baby. It's more about welcoming a child into your family and embracing his or her biological and cultural past. I'm sure Angelina and Brad do a fine job of this, but really, they are not the first people I look to for parenting advice.
NO, ANGELINA JOLIE WAS NOT A FACTOR IN OUR DECISION TO ADOPT!!!!
Ever since before Destructo Boy came home and we were telling people we were adopting, I have had many conversations with (for the most part) well-meaning people that that have sounded like this:
Curious person: Congratulations! He's so cute! Where is he from again?
Me: South Korea
Curious person: Wow! And [Sassy Girl], she's your biological child, right? (Sometimes this phrase doesn't come out so nice) Why did you decide to adopt?
Me: Well, it's a long story...
Curious person (not wanting to hear it): You guys are just like Brad and Angelina! Did you know that they.....
Celebrities can do what they want. I admit, the tabloids do give me entertainment and I do pay attention, especially when it is about adoption. I also believe that 90% of the crap I read isn't true and the stories are just PR stunts to promote movies, music, clothing lines, etc. However, I have mixed feelings about seeing adoption in the entertainment media. On the one hand, adoption has become more "normalized" because of the attention payed public figures who become adoptive parents. On the other hand, most of these stories are not meant to educate the public about adoption so they end up perpetuating the negative stereotypes associated with adoptive families.
I do not own a (real) Louis Vuitton bag, and if I did, it would not be because I saw Paris Hilton carry one on a red carpet. Nor did Ebo and I come to an adoption decision because it's the latest fad in Hollywood. Anyone who has gone through the adoption process will tell you that it's not easy and certainly not for everyone. Nobody can "just adopt," not even Angelina Jolie (although at times I have wondered if the process might have been streamlined for her, but I digress). Ebo and I had to ask ourselves (and were asked by a social worker) many questions about our desire and ability to be parents of an adopted child. How were we going to address adoption in the future? How do we feel about having both an adopted child and a biological child? How would we answer questions about our son's birthfamily? How would we honor his culture?
Adoption is about more than just having a baby. It's more about welcoming a child into your family and embracing his or her biological and cultural past. I'm sure Angelina and Brad do a fine job of this, but really, they are not the first people I look to for parenting advice.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
My Infertile Identity
With my teaching drama out of the way, I thought it was time to explain why I have Oprah Winfrey on the sidebar of my blog. I have joined the Traveling DVD Club, started by author/blogger Jenna, who I stumbled across while reading an infertility message board. Jenna recently appeared on the Oprah Winfrey Show and the Today Show where talked about her experiences with infertility. She has also written a book entitled The Empty Picture Frame that highlights her personal journey. She is determined to educate the public on the issues relating to infertility and the medical and emotional trauma that affects approximately 2.1 million couples in the United States. As part of the Traveling DVD Club, I will view her appearances and provide a written review on my blog. While I wait for the DVD to come to me, I will provide a preface and talk about my own experiences with infertility and how it has affected my life, my family, and my career.
As I mentioned in the first post of this blog, Ebo and I are unable to conceive a child without Assisted Reproductive Technology (ART). Ebo has Cystic Fibrosis, a genetic condition that mainly affects the lungs and the digestive system. Most people who have heard of CF know about that part, but few realize the CF also affects the male reproductive system. 99% of males with CF have a blocked or impaired vas deferens. I won't draw a diagram, but the important fact is that we are unable to conceive "naturally." Period. There is no maybe in this equation. No surprise ending.
Ebo and I knew this fact going into our relationship. Like I said before, when I was in my early twenties, I didn't think it was a big deal. So what if we weren't going to have kids? Having kids was the last thing on my mind. I couldn't have a child when I was backpacking though Peru or climbing the volcano Cotopaxi. Then two events hit me like a ton of bricks. I already talked about my beautiful goddaughter, D. being born. As soon as I held her in my arms, my biological clock began winding and the reality of our infertility began to kick in. I began to notice how many pregnant women were out there - and they all seemed to be in Target at the same time.
Around the same time, I decided to concentrate on medical anthropology in graduate school. I must explain that although my research has nothing to do with reproduction, a great deal of the research in this field revolves around pregnancy, childbirth, and midwifery. Even my advisor, for whom I was analyzing data, was completing a project on childbirth among African immigrants in France. I can't tell you how many articles I had to read about childbirth. One book in particular was called Birth as an American Rite of Passage by Robbie Davis-Floyd. She talks about women, though their childbirth experiences are "socialized" into the technocratic medical system. Although Davis-Floyd was very critical of the biomedical way of birth, I couldn't help becoming kind of sad that I wouldn't be welcomed into this system because I was unable to give birth.
Then came the final straw - Robbie Davis-Floyd was going to be teaching a class at my university. Not just any class, but one that was required in my program. I had to endure a whole semester of her talking about birth, pregnancy, and breastfeeding. I was forced to sit through a film entitled "Birth in the Squatting Position." She also assigned a book (which she edited of course) called Cyborg Babies: From Techno-Sex to Techno-Tots which critiques reproductive technologies like In-Vitro Fertilization (IVF). Needless to say, this class left me depressed. Not only was I not going to be part of the birth rite of passage, but it was also wrong for me to try IVF to try and do so.
After that horrible semester, I did another summer of research in Quito. While I was there, I thought a lot about if I was going to have a future as a parent. When I got home, Ebo and I decided not to think of children as something that will happen to us in the future, but start to make the idea of children happen for us in the present. This is when I began to discover the myriad of infertility message boards and online support groups. Thus our journey began.
I will post about our experience about each of our children later, but I will conclude now with this thought. My infertility journey was short compared to most. I don't claim to be a veteran and my scars do not run as deep. However, infertility is part of who I am. Even with two children, Ebo and I are still detached from the rest of the world. Perhaps it's because we haven't participated in that "American Rite of Passage."
As I mentioned in the first post of this blog, Ebo and I are unable to conceive a child without Assisted Reproductive Technology (ART). Ebo has Cystic Fibrosis, a genetic condition that mainly affects the lungs and the digestive system. Most people who have heard of CF know about that part, but few realize the CF also affects the male reproductive system. 99% of males with CF have a blocked or impaired vas deferens. I won't draw a diagram, but the important fact is that we are unable to conceive "naturally." Period. There is no maybe in this equation. No surprise ending.
Ebo and I knew this fact going into our relationship. Like I said before, when I was in my early twenties, I didn't think it was a big deal. So what if we weren't going to have kids? Having kids was the last thing on my mind. I couldn't have a child when I was backpacking though Peru or climbing the volcano Cotopaxi. Then two events hit me like a ton of bricks. I already talked about my beautiful goddaughter, D. being born. As soon as I held her in my arms, my biological clock began winding and the reality of our infertility began to kick in. I began to notice how many pregnant women were out there - and they all seemed to be in Target at the same time.
Around the same time, I decided to concentrate on medical anthropology in graduate school. I must explain that although my research has nothing to do with reproduction, a great deal of the research in this field revolves around pregnancy, childbirth, and midwifery. Even my advisor, for whom I was analyzing data, was completing a project on childbirth among African immigrants in France. I can't tell you how many articles I had to read about childbirth. One book in particular was called Birth as an American Rite of Passage by Robbie Davis-Floyd. She talks about women, though their childbirth experiences are "socialized" into the technocratic medical system. Although Davis-Floyd was very critical of the biomedical way of birth, I couldn't help becoming kind of sad that I wouldn't be welcomed into this system because I was unable to give birth.
Then came the final straw - Robbie Davis-Floyd was going to be teaching a class at my university. Not just any class, but one that was required in my program. I had to endure a whole semester of her talking about birth, pregnancy, and breastfeeding. I was forced to sit through a film entitled "Birth in the Squatting Position." She also assigned a book (which she edited of course) called Cyborg Babies: From Techno-Sex to Techno-Tots which critiques reproductive technologies like In-Vitro Fertilization (IVF). Needless to say, this class left me depressed. Not only was I not going to be part of the birth rite of passage, but it was also wrong for me to try IVF to try and do so.
After that horrible semester, I did another summer of research in Quito. While I was there, I thought a lot about if I was going to have a future as a parent. When I got home, Ebo and I decided not to think of children as something that will happen to us in the future, but start to make the idea of children happen for us in the present. This is when I began to discover the myriad of infertility message boards and online support groups. Thus our journey began.
I will post about our experience about each of our children later, but I will conclude now with this thought. My infertility journey was short compared to most. I don't claim to be a veteran and my scars do not run as deep. However, infertility is part of who I am. Even with two children, Ebo and I are still detached from the rest of the world. Perhaps it's because we haven't participated in that "American Rite of Passage."
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Canceled...and other random happenings
Yesterday I had just finished the final touches of my new syllabus for the seminar I was going to teach this semester. I had prepared my lecture/discussion for the first day. I had modified all of the assignments for the semester. I was patting myself on the back because this had been the most prepared I had ever been at the beginning of a semester. Then came "the call" - I was canceled. The University decided at the last minute that they could not hold onto a class with such a low enrollment. Mind you, I had the same enrollment number last time I taught this course, but I had double the students by the end of the second week. My students loved the class and enjoyed the project-oriented curriculum. But this time the University didn't want to take a chance on me. Money talks.
I'm really kind of bummed. Not only was I looking forward to teaching, but I was really excited about feeling like a "professional" again. The money wasn't the only incentive; in fact, I really don't make much. I just wanted to feel like I was contributing something to society. I know, I know - raising my children is contribution. I just wanted to have another identity for two days a week, know what I mean?
But maybe this is what I was asking for. Ebo said we shouldn't take the kids out of their daycare/parent's day out program we enrolled them in when I thought I was going to be working. He encouraged me to use this time for the dissertation. So is this a sign? Was I really getting the gift of time? A part of me really wants to just write, but then I really want to start earning a little money. I said before that adjunct positions don't pay much, but it does help pay for some of my shopping vices - crafty stuff, children's clothes, and gourmet coffee. I have inquired about a couple of part-time jobs, but we'll see.
Some other happenings...my friend, Carol just identified me as a "Rockin' Girl Blogger." Thanks, Carol! When I originally started this blog, I didn't have any intention of showing it to anyone. However, recently I decided to come out of the blogging closet and open myself up to my friends and the general public. I think I need the support and it feels great to know that I have people cheering me on. But with this decision comes responsiblities...I now have to answer to the blogging community! My first task...identify other Rockin' Girl Bloggers:
1. Snoopy's Crafts: Joanne rocks! I know Carol has also identified her as "rockin'," but I want to mention her again. Carol rocks, too, but I can't tag her back
2. Bama Girl: I met Bama Girl through a message board called "Rubber-Ducky." She supported me when we were going through the adoption process for Destructo Boy. She is now waiting for her daughter to come home from Guatemala.
3. Inca: I also met Inca through Rubber Ducky. She has been through a lot of heartache, but she uses her experiences to help others.
The following two bloggers don't know me personally, but I read their blogs on a regular basis:
4. Twice the Rice: Ji-In is an adult adoptee from Korea. Her blog is very insightful and critical and I have learned a lot about how I want to raise my son.
5. Inconceivable Journey: Jenna has written a wonderful book about her experience with infertility. She now writes a blog (or epi-blog) that chronicles her life where the book stops. She is also going through the adoption process. She is also the person behind the "Traveling DVD Club" (see sidebar).
I salute you, rockin' bloggers!
I'm really kind of bummed. Not only was I looking forward to teaching, but I was really excited about feeling like a "professional" again. The money wasn't the only incentive; in fact, I really don't make much. I just wanted to feel like I was contributing something to society. I know, I know - raising my children is contribution. I just wanted to have another identity for two days a week, know what I mean?
But maybe this is what I was asking for. Ebo said we shouldn't take the kids out of their daycare/parent's day out program we enrolled them in when I thought I was going to be working. He encouraged me to use this time for the dissertation. So is this a sign? Was I really getting the gift of time? A part of me really wants to just write, but then I really want to start earning a little money. I said before that adjunct positions don't pay much, but it does help pay for some of my shopping vices - crafty stuff, children's clothes, and gourmet coffee. I have inquired about a couple of part-time jobs, but we'll see.
Some other happenings...my friend, Carol just identified me as a "Rockin' Girl Blogger." Thanks, Carol! When I originally started this blog, I didn't have any intention of showing it to anyone. However, recently I decided to come out of the blogging closet and open myself up to my friends and the general public. I think I need the support and it feels great to know that I have people cheering me on. But with this decision comes responsiblities...I now have to answer to the blogging community! My first task...identify other Rockin' Girl Bloggers:1. Snoopy's Crafts: Joanne rocks! I know Carol has also identified her as "rockin'," but I want to mention her again. Carol rocks, too, but I can't tag her back
2. Bama Girl: I met Bama Girl through a message board called "Rubber-Ducky." She supported me when we were going through the adoption process for Destructo Boy. She is now waiting for her daughter to come home from Guatemala.
3. Inca: I also met Inca through Rubber Ducky. She has been through a lot of heartache, but she uses her experiences to help others.
The following two bloggers don't know me personally, but I read their blogs on a regular basis:
4. Twice the Rice: Ji-In is an adult adoptee from Korea. Her blog is very insightful and critical and I have learned a lot about how I want to raise my son.
5. Inconceivable Journey: Jenna has written a wonderful book about her experience with infertility. She now writes a blog (or epi-blog) that chronicles her life where the book stops. She is also going through the adoption process. She is also the person behind the "Traveling DVD Club" (see sidebar).
I salute you, rockin' bloggers!
Friday, August 17, 2007
Teaching - my other distraction
My hectic family life isn't my only distraction from writing. Ever since I got home from my final trip to the field, I have been attempting to look like a "professional" by teaching classes at two universities. It makes me feel like I'm actually using the degree that I been working on and the past six years haven't been a total waste. But it is kind of counter productive; every moment I spend preparing lectures, correcting midterms, and meeting students adds up to hours I could have spent writing. But like my time with my family, it really doesn't bo ther me that much. To tell you the truth, I love teaching and could reasonably spend the rest of my career ABD (All But Dissertation) and teaching adjunct. But I have to answer to others besides myself.
So today I'm putting the finishing touches on my syllabus for next week. Wish me a productive semester!
So today I'm putting the finishing touches on my syllabus for next week. Wish me a productive semester!
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Going Native
In an undergraduate anthropology course, a professor had us read Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad. We compared the character Kurtz's experience to that of Bronislaw Malinowski (who is described to all anthropology students, including mine, as the "father of ethnography") as revealed in his not-so-culturally-relative tell-all diaries. In the end, Kurtz's is found behaving like the "savages" that surround him. Because anthropologists have historically studied indigenous and other non-industrial groups, early ethnographers-in-training were warned not to be come Kurtz - not to get oneself so immersed in their studies that they never return to the "civilized" world. Anthropologists are thought to be the most in danger of "going native" because it is a part of their job description to become an active participant observer of the "exotic."
Today, anthropologists are not really concerned with "going native"; in fact, most of us find that phrase outright offensive to us and the people we study. However, the idea of me "going native" has crossed my mind several times as I try to put my dissertation together. No, I am not going to become a hunter-gatherer or a herder. I'm not even going to do a Carlos Casteneda and make my career by taking hallucinogenic drugs. But many aspects of my life are starting to mirror my informants', though I can tell you this is not voluntary.
Let me first explain to those who do not know me: I have spent the last six years following several families in Ecuador. The focus of my research is how they cope with having a child with a disability. Most of the children are non-ambulatory and will require care well into adulthood. Over the years I have collected many stories that describe heartache, fear, sacrifice, and unconditional love. Parents not only have to fulfill their roles as mothers and fathers, but they become caregivers, teachers, and therapists for their children.
When I started my study, I was newly married and wasn't thinking about children. By the time I finished my fieldwork in 2005, I had become a mother. My experience started out as abnormal - because we had conceived via IVF, my pregnancy was immediately labeled as "high risk." By my third trimester, I was really at risk. I was diagnosed with pre-eclampsia at 28 weeks and my daughter (Sassy Girl) was born at 32 weeks. My fieldwork was not only cut short, but I had a lot more worries than I was ready for. I knew having a child would be difficult and take up all my time, but I never envisioned having a 2 pound baby in intensive care. Even after she came home, my time was spent going to specialists, pumping milk, and being worried. Day care was out of the question - Sassy girl's immune system wouldn't be able to handle it. And I couldn't embrace the idea of another person taking responsibility for my daughter, especially when she was so sick.
A year later, I resumed my fieldwork and taken Sassy Girl with me to South America. I thought I would resume my life...then after we came home the unimaginable happened. Sassy Girl contracted E. Coli and ended up in the hospital with kidney failure. I almost lost my little girl. Again. It took her over a year to fully recover.
I don't think people really grasp what Ebo and I went through, especially other parents. I have been told by countless well-meaning mommies and daddies that I worry too much, that my kids are fine, that "they know what it's like." I know every parent worries about their little ones, I feel like I live in constant fear. Because of the kids's histories, we take every sniffle, every fever, every pain very seriously. I feel like my whole life is on hold because I'm waiting for my kids to be "well." And I don't even know what "well" would mean.
One of my informants is a woman Susana with a daughter named Gabriela. Gabi has severe cerebral palsy and is also visually impaired. Susana considers herself fortunate enough to be able to stay home and care for Gabi. However, being a caregiver has affected her own health. When we last spoke, she needed surgery to fix a hernia, but was afraid to have it done because it would mean that there would be no one to take care of Gabi. At the same time, lifting Gabi in and out of her wheelchair was making her problem worse. Living with the pain didn't phase her - "Es la vida," she would tell me.
Granted, my daughter is able to walk and does not have any impairments. My children are more than likely to grow up healthy, despite their tough beginnings. I also don't have a hernia and am able to take care of myself (most of the time). Yet, I must say that dealing with my kids' health crises changed me - I no longer have the same priorities. Yes, my degree remains unfinished. But I'm not going to take a back seat to my kids' lives just to be able to put "Ph.D." at the end of my name.
What did happen, though, was I started identifying a lot more with my informants' stories. I could relate to their struggles with doctors, specialists, and therapy. But could I relate too well? It seemed like the more progress I made on the dissertation, the more my kids would get sick. Was I "going native"?
If anything, my experiences will make a great preface in the finished work.
Today, anthropologists are not really concerned with "going native"; in fact, most of us find that phrase outright offensive to us and the people we study. However, the idea of me "going native" has crossed my mind several times as I try to put my dissertation together. No, I am not going to become a hunter-gatherer or a herder. I'm not even going to do a Carlos Casteneda and make my career by taking hallucinogenic drugs. But many aspects of my life are starting to mirror my informants', though I can tell you this is not voluntary.
Let me first explain to those who do not know me: I have spent the last six years following several families in Ecuador. The focus of my research is how they cope with having a child with a disability. Most of the children are non-ambulatory and will require care well into adulthood. Over the years I have collected many stories that describe heartache, fear, sacrifice, and unconditional love. Parents not only have to fulfill their roles as mothers and fathers, but they become caregivers, teachers, and therapists for their children.
When I started my study, I was newly married and wasn't thinking about children. By the time I finished my fieldwork in 2005, I had become a mother. My experience started out as abnormal - because we had conceived via IVF, my pregnancy was immediately labeled as "high risk." By my third trimester, I was really at risk. I was diagnosed with pre-eclampsia at 28 weeks and my daughter (Sassy Girl) was born at 32 weeks. My fieldwork was not only cut short, but I had a lot more worries than I was ready for. I knew having a child would be difficult and take up all my time, but I never envisioned having a 2 pound baby in intensive care. Even after she came home, my time was spent going to specialists, pumping milk, and being worried. Day care was out of the question - Sassy girl's immune system wouldn't be able to handle it. And I couldn't embrace the idea of another person taking responsibility for my daughter, especially when she was so sick.
A year later, I resumed my fieldwork and taken Sassy Girl with me to South America. I thought I would resume my life...then after we came home the unimaginable happened. Sassy Girl contracted E. Coli and ended up in the hospital with kidney failure. I almost lost my little girl. Again. It took her over a year to fully recover.
I don't think people really grasp what Ebo and I went through, especially other parents. I have been told by countless well-meaning mommies and daddies that I worry too much, that my kids are fine, that "they know what it's like." I know every parent worries about their little ones, I feel like I live in constant fear. Because of the kids's histories, we take every sniffle, every fever, every pain very seriously. I feel like my whole life is on hold because I'm waiting for my kids to be "well." And I don't even know what "well" would mean.
One of my informants is a woman Susana with a daughter named Gabriela. Gabi has severe cerebral palsy and is also visually impaired. Susana considers herself fortunate enough to be able to stay home and care for Gabi. However, being a caregiver has affected her own health. When we last spoke, she needed surgery to fix a hernia, but was afraid to have it done because it would mean that there would be no one to take care of Gabi. At the same time, lifting Gabi in and out of her wheelchair was making her problem worse. Living with the pain didn't phase her - "Es la vida," she would tell me.
Granted, my daughter is able to walk and does not have any impairments. My children are more than likely to grow up healthy, despite their tough beginnings. I also don't have a hernia and am able to take care of myself (most of the time). Yet, I must say that dealing with my kids' health crises changed me - I no longer have the same priorities. Yes, my degree remains unfinished. But I'm not going to take a back seat to my kids' lives just to be able to put "Ph.D." at the end of my name.
What did happen, though, was I started identifying a lot more with my informants' stories. I could relate to their struggles with doctors, specialists, and therapy. But could I relate too well? It seemed like the more progress I made on the dissertation, the more my kids would get sick. Was I "going native"?
If anything, my experiences will make a great preface in the finished work.
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