Cornual Pregnancy

If there is one thing I can thank Donald Trump for it’s that his inflammatory rhetoric has been the catalyst I’ve needed to write about things that I’ve wanted to write about for a very long time.  My essay about perverted men started coming together in my brain several years ago.  Today’s essay has been in the making since March 4, 1994.   That’s the day my second pregnancy was terminated and I was reduced to zero.  Ever since that day, whenever Mother’s Day rolls around, I remember how I always intended to write an article about my experience with a cornual pregnancy and submit it to a magazine.  Imagine that.  The words I’m about to type have been in my head since the age of snail mail, and now, with just the click of the word “publish,” they will be available for the whole world to read.

I remember reading a New York Times article in March where Donald Trump said women who had abortions should “be punished.”  He later recanted, but you can’t un-spill the milk.  Once it’s out on the table, there is no putting it back in the glass.  It just lays there to sour until someone cleans it up. His words in March, and his words at the final debate about “ripping a baby out of the womb,” have once again stirred up my suppressed feelings.

My First Exposure To The Word “Abortion”

The first time I learned about abortion was in seventh grade when my English teacher made us choose a partner, pick a topic, form an opinion, and argue our opinion in front of the class.  I vividly remember the opening lines of our piece:  “Extra!  Extra!  Read All About It!  Mother Kills Child, But Was It Legal?”  Not only was that the first time that I found out about abortions, but it was also obviously the first time that I found out that some women aborted their babies because if they didn’t, the pregnancy would kill them.  I didn’t really understand what that meant.  I thought it was just an excuse women used.  But remember, I was only twelve years old, and it was 1977.  What did I know? I still had my Barbie townhouse up in my bedroom for heaven’s sake.  My naivete on the subject continued until years later when I found myself in that very situation.  I was pregnant and told that I needed to have my baby aborted or I might die.

Our Struggles With Infertility

It took Neily Bear and I six years to have our first baby.  We were married in 1987 and I became pregnant in 1992 after  surgery, fertility drugs, and finally giving up and applying for adoption.   In those days, fertility problems were handled by specialists and they were few and (literally) far between.  I had to travel an hour both ways to see my doctor.  But he was wonderful!  I, like I’m sure every woman does, vividly remember the moment when I found out I was pregnant.

We decided to try for baby number two as soon as possible, thinking it would still take several years. Before I even conceived, however, I knew things weren’t going to turn out well.  I can attest to the fact that a mother’s intuition is real.  We were so shocked when I became pregnant on the first try when our first baby was one year old.  We went from six years in the minor leagues to one-hit-wonders.

Because I was under the care of my fertility doctor for the first three months of my first pregnancy, I decided that it was a smart idea to let him know that I was pregnant again so he could monitor my progress and hormone levels more intimately than my regular ob/gyn would.  My decision saved my life.

My Instinct Was Right

I was sick with my first pregnancy the entire nine months and the second time around wasn’t any different.  I had to see the fertility doctor every other day and drive the one hour each way with our one-year-old in the car along with my barf bag.  I was so happy when the day arrived that the fertility doctor did my first vaginal ultrasound because it meant that Neily Bear could come with me and we could see the tiny little baby much sooner than we normally would if I had gone to my regular doctor.

I remember the details of that visit as vividly as I remember the moment when I found out I was pregnant for the first time, even though they are details that I would like to forget.  The doctor didn’t say anything during the ultrasound – he didn’t say anything at all.  When he was finished, he told us to go to his office.

He then proceeded to tell us that I needed to go to an ultrasound specialist another hour away (two hours from home each way) to confirm his findings.  He then told us that if the specialist confirmed his findings, we would need to get on an airplane immediately, go to NYC, and have the pregnancy “reduced.”

What?  We never even went to the movies, and this man was telling us that we needed to get on an airplane and go to a hospital in NYC to have a procedure that we had never heard of because he suspected that I had a type of pregnancy that we had never heard of.  Remember…this was in 1993 – no internet, no Google, no nothing.

Findings Confirmed

I drove the two hours to the ultrasound specialist by myself.  I don’t remember why that was.  I think I was in such a state of shock that I was operating outside of my body.  The nonchalance attitude of my fertility doctor was unsettling.  We weren’t people who just hopped on airplanes and flew to NYC – back then, anyway. 🙂  He gave us a phone number and a doctor’s name and when I called, they knew I was coming and they were going to make sure to clear their schedule to see me right away.  I had no idea what was going on.  People were assuming that I knew what they were talking about when they said “pregnancy reduction” and “cornual pregnancy.”  I didn’t.  We didn’t even know if we should fly into JFK or LaGuardia.  But before I knew it, our hotel and our flights were booked.  We were flying up in the morning, spending the night and coming home the following day.

For Chapter Two, click HERE. (You can receive an email when I post it by subscribing for email alerts in the box on my sidebar.)