Blue
“Her name was Blue. She came and left with the bluebonnets. Named after that state flower in a state whose standard of care couldn't support me- something else took root.”
Blue. Born in Texas, 4 years prior to the overturning of Roe v Wade.
Our relationship was 6 months fresh. Tender, exciting, big, momentous. Then those two pink lines threatened a larger leap than anticipated. It pressure-cooked our relationship and made enemies of what we’d thought to be our closest allies. In our time discerning our compatibility with each other- the pregnancy took the back burner. My heart felt fiercely ready to bring this child earth-side with or without traditional support systems. Without insurance, without income (myself in the final stage of a Midwifery apprenticeship I was praying for) and J working minimum wage in Texas ($7.25)-we could not afford an ultrasound.
We went to a teaching college for our anatomy scan.At first I thought she just seemed green and lacked confidence. Myself being a student, I lent patience and gratitude as she went over and over her measurements. Then she silently called her supervisor who, also, thin-lipped and silent, clicked away as though attempting to resolve some glitch.
“ We've had a concern regarding some measurements and will send them to your doctor”. I dug deeper, I knew the terminology, they yielded a a bit more information: “cranial measurements”. I pushed further: Trisomy? Hydrocephalus? microcephaly? I was stonewalled.
“We will send them to your doctor to discuss with you”
“ I don't have a doctor”.
“Then we can't release this information”.
“But these are my medical records. I am entitled to them”.
“We can't release this information to anyone other than a physician for interpretation”.
I'm pulling Texas law up on my phone explaining that my Midwife is deemed an suitable health care provider. They “hmmmmmm”ed and “huuuuhhhh”d and finally agreed to fax to my midwife.
Anencephaly.
Requiring a Maternal-Fetal-Medicine consult.
Driving an hour away- for a “kind, and midwife friendly MFM”.
He showed us our baby, translated the medical prognosis, and ultimately revealed a prayer that “I would never walk through his door” and that he was “too ethically conflicted to provide care to me”.
The back of her skull never formed and her brain had prolapsed against her spine- incompatible with life outside the womb.
Unsure if this unborn child felt pain, and uncertain if my life was at risk- he could only offer further confirmation of what we already knew. A CYA policy. Another in-depth ultrasound with another provider that I couldn't afford. A second opinion to sway the vote against his own conscience. Amid the conflict and sorrow, and the kicks in my belly- I took self authority. Agency. Radical responsibility. I was the second opinion no one had accounted for.
I delivered my daughter on the floor of my teenage bedroom in my parents home-guarded by my fiance and my SoundCloud playlist. I got to hold her, and weep, and tuck her into a cigar box with a painting and a prayer. I got to break open myself and give birth to something and someone more powerful than I'd ever expected. I began a road of holding myself, and my babies in intention.
Her name was Blue. She came and left with the bluebonnets. Named after that state flower in a state whose standard of care couldn't support me- something else took root.
