Facing my fears

In case you don’t know me personally (which you don’t, right?), I have OCD. That means Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. And no, I do not have it in the sense that I use it casually or jokingly to describe my Type A personality or fear of germs or anal-retentive nature. I have a diagnosis from medical professionals that describes my symptoms/issues/behaviors as fulfilling DSM IV criteria for OCD. Ok, now that that’s out of the way….

When I first told my close friends and family that I was going to host strangers in my home during their abortions I could see the look of fear in their eyes. Some of them asked me things like, “Are you really sure you can handle that with all of your issues?” “Aren’t you afraid someone might make your apartment messy or move things around?”, and “What if someone steals from you?”. Those were all valid concerns from the people who know me best, and trust me, I was really frickin nervous that first time I hosted. Some people might worry that a woman will have abnormally severe cramping or start passing the pregnancy in their home, but my biggest fear was that my books or DVDs would be reordered. I worried about things like food spilled or muddy shoe tracks or stray fallen hairs. I knew I could handle all the emotional aspects and counseling that came with hosting a woman during her abortion, but it was the weird little stuff that freaked me out.

So far I have not faced anything I could not handle. The thing with OCD is that people who have it know all their fears and obsessions and compulsions are irrational. I am very cognizant of how my mind works and have gone through enough behavioral modification therapy at this point to talk myself out of my worst thoughts. The OCD issue is very similar to the non-vegan food one (which I wrote about here), meaning that at some point in my life I have to put others first, and if that means I am a bit uncomfortable, well I can suck it up. I don’t love having meat or dairy/eggs in my home, but I do it because I know it makes my guests happy. I also don’t love having strangers in my intimate space, but I can overcome that anxiety for the time they are with me.

And guess what? Someone did steal from me once. They stole a bath towel. I was upset that they had taken advantage of me, but was not really bothered by the actual towel loss. I really thought it over and realized they must have really needed a towel and at this point I am able to not be upset about it and I am still comfortable hosting without the constant fear of theft. This same person also ate lots of messy junk food on my pullout bed and got food and drink everywhere. It was a bit stressful for me that night but I never let on…and I just told myself I could do a major cleaning the next day and I did and the world did not end!

Ok, so I lost a towel. However, I should mention that many of the women I have hosted have gone out of their way to clean up after themselves or to insist that they put the pullout bed away and fold all the linens. I usually take women back to the clinic around 7am and the last thing I want them worrying about at that hour is making the bed (and I would remake it anyway after they left, right?).

I host women because there is a need. I host women because I love being there for them. I host women because it is a way to overcome my OCD one woman at a time.

Nightmare

I was pregnant. Really pregnant.

I had found out early in my second trimester. I was 14, perhaps 15 weeks along. I didn't get an abortion. I had to think about it first. It wasn't an issue of money; that I had. I was confused. Was it a good idea or a bad idea to carry an unwanted pregnancy? Were the antis right? Would all my fears and insecurities melt away the instant that that tiny fist clenched my pinky finger? Would my petty needs be trumped, no questions asked, by those of my unborn child? Lord knows I want children; was this a sign from above that now is the time?

All that pondering made my head spin, my heart ache, and my uterus fuller by the day. All of a sudden I was 35 weeks.

Or so I approximated. I hadn't actually seen an OB-GYN, had a sono. I had been far too busy wracking my brain to the point of exhaustion that I eventually put the whole situation out of my head. I just thought, "Gee, I sure haven't put on very much weight for being so close to term." I was pretty excited about that. Small victories in a losing battle.

So I took a camping trip. I was one with nature and distinct from my body, just the way I wanted it. I was so in tune with nature even that I attributed the water puddling between my legs to a happy, bubbling spring. Soon enough, though, the contractions kicked in and I was drop-kicked back to reality, in which I was having a baby all by myself in the woods and there was nothing I could do about it. I ran to find some other folks in the camp who had a car. I needed a lift to the hospital, but the bearded man's yellow jalopy needed a jump. After a while he got it running, barely, and we sallied forth, his cronies in tow.

Then they got hungry. They wanted to stop for drinks and a bite to eat. "You've got some time left, right?" I started to freak out. There was only one person who could really help me now. I found a cab and made the hours-long trip back home to find my mommy. I manage to make it up the stairs to her room, where she was sitting in bed with book in hand. Out of breath, but relieved to see her, I told her to get up and take me to the hospital. I was about to have a baby! She barely looked up at me.

"Sweetie, you know I didn't support your having a baby to begin with. You should have had the abortion when you had the chance." Dumbfounded! Was this my mother?! "Mom", I shouted, "it's too late for that now! The baby is coming!" Without batting an eyelash, she instructed me to go to the hospital, have the baby, and we would discuss it later. She would not take me, she would not be there. I burst into tears, shouted some more things. What was I supposed to do? I had nobody. I didn't even have $10 for a cab. I walked to the hospital, crying all the way, where I delivered a perfect little baby. I held her, and she grabbed my little finger with her whole hand. But my heart did not feel warm, my insides fuzzy. I did not smile. I could only cry.

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I sat straight up in bed, felt my belly to make sure it was still flat (relatively speaking!). Not trusting my sense of touch I proceeded to the mirror, stood sideways to make sure I had no unusual uterine bulge. It took me a good 60 seconds to be satisfied that what had just happened was a sad, horrible, frightening dream. I got back in bed for a few more minutes trying to figure out how I had managed to dream up something like that, especially since I haven't talked to a pregnant woman in quite some time.

Subliminally, though, I had managed to stash all the horror stories I heard from women about their problem pregnancies and smush them all together into one huge clusterfuck. I had been:

-The dawdler who just can't decide what to do about her unplanned pregnancy
-The young girl who still believes, if only on the surface, that if you close your eyes all your problems will fade
-The lost woman who instinctively turns to her mother for guidance, but is knocked back by her indifference
-The wanderer who has only strangers to confide in, at best
-The Everywoman who inevitably feels, at some point, completely alone.

I don't think I have ever felt so depressed upon waking up. I have never actually dealt with a problem pregnancy, but after having walked in another woman's moccasins I am assured that a) I never want to go there, and b) I will never force a human being to endure it.