The Baby quandry

This blog post is arguably one of the most personal I have-- and probably ever will write. Before I started to write this blog I decided that I was going to depict as honestly and accurately the experiences of my husband and I. That would include, I surmised, even the most personal, fearful, humiliating, horrible aspects of this journey. This includes experiences and feelings most people keep hidden. If people are going to empathize or understand the unique experiences of being a deportee-- or the wife of a deportee, I knew I had to be completely forthright.

So, here it goes: Khalid wants a child. In the early days of our relationship; before the realities of our precarious predicament became clear to me, I wanted a child as well.

In fact, in March 2007 I found out I was pregnant. I was overjoyed and found myself, as most expectant mothers do, fantasizing about holding, playing and teaching the future newborn. I could-- in my mind’s eye; see, touch, smell and hear the child. This child was as real and alive to me as any living being in this temporal world. Despite some basic trepidation of financial concerns and my own insecurities about a lack of parenting skills, I was looking forward to having a child.

But things began to go wrong. My blood pressure began to spiral out of control and I kept getting sick. I have asthma, and the respiratory infections I kept getting took a toll on my already weakened lungs. I had to take antibiotics and other medications that I could only hope would not adversely affect the baby.

Then, in the middle of May I got deathly sick. I coughed continuously for two full weeks, had a temperature and could not eat nor could I get any rest during most of those nights. Khalid was concerned because he had never seen me so ill. I stayed in bed and only went to go see the doctor after Khalid forced me.

Finally, I started to get better. However, on May 26th I had a miscarriage. I was devastated. Nothing can prepare you for this kind of tragedy. Women don’t normally talk about these types of experiences and now I know why. It’s as if a small but integral part of your heart dies along with the baby. How can you speak of things so intimate, inherently fragile; eternally and exclusively linked to all our women ancestors: women who look upon our collective misfortunes in empathy and forgiveness?

Khalid, though devastated too, was there beside me to hold me up, even though I struggled to swim above the current in a frothy, torrential, and merciless ocean of despair.

When I finally emerged from my grief I was empowered in a way I can’t explain. I knew I wanted to be consumed by something, something that would give me meaning and identity. I decided to go back to college: specifically Hamilton College and prove that I could succeed at such a prestigious institute. I needed to prove my intelligence, tenaciousness and creativity. Education and self improvement have always been an important part of my life and I finally wanted to complete my studies.

So, I started to take course at Hamilton College in the Fall of 2008. I decided to major in Women’s Studies; a decision I have never regretted.

Taking Women’s Studies has forever altered my viewpoint of the world. I won’t go into specific intricacies—that would take too long, but in general I have learned not to take the world or the people in it at face value. More specifically I have learned not to internalize the pressures and expectations of a patriarchal, mediocre, moderate ideology. Rather than defining myself and my success based on what the dominate culture qualifies as normal-- I can decide for myself.

So, you ask: do you still want a baby?

Honestly, there is still a slight desire to have a child: someone I can pass my knowledge, skills and talents to. We’ve tried..but it isn’t happening. Despite this failure I’m not devastated. For various reasons, including financial, my feminist sensibilities, environmental and political concerns I am not as intent on having a child as I was. Certainly, if Khalid had a green card, a job that pays him what his experience and skills are worth, I was ten years younger and had my college degree then I would be more likely to consider becoming a parent.

The truth is, we are still in a precarious situation. If I were to get pregnant now-- I would be in a high risk category. That means I would need to go to the doctor’s frequently and there is a high chance of complications and birth defects. Additionally, we would have to go through a fertility clinic. Despite having insurance, this process would be very expensive. I am-- at this point, unwilling to put myself, our finances and my body through this ordeal.

My one regret, is denying Khalid the chance at being a father. He has been very gracious and supportive during this painful reflective period. I know he would make a wonderful, attentive and loving father: all those things that were denied to me.

Even though he has never pressured me into having a child and sincerely understands my reluctance and concerns there is a tinge of regret that if circumstances were different, we would easily and freely have a child. This is just another causality in the ongoing battle between us and the U.S. immigration system.