Embryo Bearer's first encounter with the NHS midwifery service didn't go well. The midwife was so off-the-scale stupid it EB found it hard to stay in the room. The midwife, now known privately as DaleyB seemed to think chickenpox is an STI.
DB: 'Do you have any STIs? HIV-syphilis-clamydia-chickenpox...'
EB: 'Chickenpox is not an STI.'
DB: 'Oh, that's the next section. Sorry.'
DaleyB had not heard of gmail.
DB: 'What's your email address?'
EB: embryobearer@gmail.com
DB writes down @female.com. The Boy points out her error. It takes five minutes for her to grasp the concept of gmail. EB decides to register the domain femail.com and start a dotcom empire before DB has finished the forms.
At the next visit, she takes me along so that I can see just how stupid DB is. Stupidity as a spectator sport. Great. We get a different, lovely, intelligent midwife who recognises me. She delivered EB someteen years ago. She and EB go through the form that DB filled in. Most of it is missing and the rest wrong. They start again.
In the weeks between DB and intelligent midwife, EB gets a phone call from an NHS group that supports teen parents. It is for stupid people. More worryingly, DB had handed out EB's mobile number without her permission. The woman from the Stupid Group says 'you asked for me to call you'. EB pointed out that she didn't. 'You gave permisissin?' 'I didn't.' The woman from Stupid Group explains what will happen if EB attends the group:
'We will explain what pregnancy is.' [Bit late for that]. 'We will tell you all about what happens to your body in pregnancy.' The woman uses the most patronising tone that EB has heard for a long time. EB explains that she has many books she has been reading about how her body changes and she doesn't want to go to a group for teenagers. EB is just back from a discussion with the genetics consultant about the three phenotypes of the genetic disease The Boy is a carrier for. EB held her own, explaining to the consultant her understanding of the phenotypes, their implications and prevalence. The consultant asked if she was studying medicine. EB doesn't need a DB from the Stupid Group telling her where her womb is and what might be lurking there.
Now, we're not against the NHS providing information for people who know less than EB. But older parents aren't automatically invited to Stupid Group. They aren't spoken to in a patronising way that comes from an assumption that they know nothing. Why assume EB is stupid because she is young? Why assume anyone is stupid because they are young? EB's GP - who knows her well - had not mentioned Stupid Group, presumably because she knows just how inappropriate it would be for this bright, knowledgeable girl.
Saturday, 29 June 2013
Wednesday, 5 June 2013
The embryo's guide to grandparents, great and small
Every teenager has two parents. Count them: one, two. And every embryo has two parents. Which means there are four grandparents: one, two, three, four. At least. Add a step-grandparent. Oh, but one of this embryo's grandparents is missing - gone AWOL years ago. Recount: one, two, three, (four). Add some great-grandparents. I think if you count the parents of the missing grandparent, and don't count the dead or mad parents of the step-grandparent, there are eight. That's a lot of people to tell.
A lot of reactions to anticipate and confront. Reactions ranged from bursting into tears of joy (The Boy's mother) to cries of 'she's ruined her life' (a great-grandparent). The Embryo Bearer's Other Parent was predictably solemn. He must have guessed what was coming from her desire to see him urgently to tell him something important. She's done almost all the other challenging things teenagers can do (apart from being arrested) - it was all that's left (given that she wouldn't have been there if arrested).
'You need to think about what you're going to do.'
Of course she had thought about it! Why do people say that? Do they imagine the Embryo-Bearer has spent the last four weeks going 'tra-la-la, look at the butterfly, look at the flowers.? No. Embryo-Bearer has thought about nothing else. The embryo and its impact have dominated every waking minute. What a stupid thing to say to her.
'I have thought it. We're keeping it.'
'It's not just your decision. It affects lots of people.'
WTF? Of course it's her/their decision, no matter how many people it affects! It would affect lots of people if I decide to live in Australia, but it's still my decision to make. Of course, the person it affects most is the embryo, who doesn't get a say.
There were a good few minutes of stern talking-to. Then the step-mother - not usually Embryo-Bearer's champion, to say the least -said that if the decision was made, we should raise a toast to the embroy. Well, to Embryo-Bearer and The Boy's baby, to be precise. But she used their names, of course.
Five minutes late, EB's father returned to his position.
'You need to give it more thought.' And so on. Step-mother kicked him, and later apologised to me for his crassness. Ten minutes later, we drank another toast. This embryo was well toasted by the end of the evening. Not by EB, of course - she doesn't drink, and didn't even before the embryo snuck in and demanded its own regime of health and safety measures.
A week later, he bought a pram. On board for the ride, then.
Next target, EB's sister. A tough one. Four years older than EB, a person of steely determination, terrifying intellect and usurper of all EB's dreams for the future (having bagged EB's ideal job), leaving teenage-drop-out-with-embryo as only unoccupied niche, she was disapproval on a stick. She went silent for four days, then wrote a thoughtful and honest message on Facebook that left EB in floods of tears that would have daunted Noah. EB needs sister's approval. Sister's approval is about as likely as aeronautic porcine mammals. I defend most of sister's position, but agree that one or two points were unnecessary and cruel. It takes more than a week before sister will speak to either of us properly. But when sent the scan pictures, she said they were sweet. (Really? That is generous. A scan picture is a grey blob that looks as if it could be auditioning for a cheap remake of Alien. In the days before HD anything.)
One set of grandparents got out the knitting needles. The other set did the 'ruining her life/ruining your life' routine. I was cross. After all, when your own parents suggest a child is a life-ruining disaster, it does make you wonder about all those 'light of my life' speeches. Luckily, I'm tough. And I believe they love me. So they were just wrong about that. People can be wrong. Maybe they will come round. I hope so, but we'll have to wait and see.
A lot of reactions to anticipate and confront. Reactions ranged from bursting into tears of joy (The Boy's mother) to cries of 'she's ruined her life' (a great-grandparent). The Embryo Bearer's Other Parent was predictably solemn. He must have guessed what was coming from her desire to see him urgently to tell him something important. She's done almost all the other challenging things teenagers can do (apart from being arrested) - it was all that's left (given that she wouldn't have been there if arrested).
'You need to think about what you're going to do.'
Of course she had thought about it! Why do people say that? Do they imagine the Embryo-Bearer has spent the last four weeks going 'tra-la-la, look at the butterfly, look at the flowers.? No. Embryo-Bearer has thought about nothing else. The embryo and its impact have dominated every waking minute. What a stupid thing to say to her.
'I have thought it. We're keeping it.'
'It's not just your decision. It affects lots of people.'
WTF? Of course it's her/their decision, no matter how many people it affects! It would affect lots of people if I decide to live in Australia, but it's still my decision to make. Of course, the person it affects most is the embryo, who doesn't get a say.
There were a good few minutes of stern talking-to. Then the step-mother - not usually Embryo-Bearer's champion, to say the least -said that if the decision was made, we should raise a toast to the embroy. Well, to Embryo-Bearer and The Boy's baby, to be precise. But she used their names, of course.
Five minutes late, EB's father returned to his position.
'You need to give it more thought.' And so on. Step-mother kicked him, and later apologised to me for his crassness. Ten minutes later, we drank another toast. This embryo was well toasted by the end of the evening. Not by EB, of course - she doesn't drink, and didn't even before the embryo snuck in and demanded its own regime of health and safety measures.
A week later, he bought a pram. On board for the ride, then.
Next target, EB's sister. A tough one. Four years older than EB, a person of steely determination, terrifying intellect and usurper of all EB's dreams for the future (having bagged EB's ideal job), leaving teenage-drop-out-with-embryo as only unoccupied niche, she was disapproval on a stick. She went silent for four days, then wrote a thoughtful and honest message on Facebook that left EB in floods of tears that would have daunted Noah. EB needs sister's approval. Sister's approval is about as likely as aeronautic porcine mammals. I defend most of sister's position, but agree that one or two points were unnecessary and cruel. It takes more than a week before sister will speak to either of us properly. But when sent the scan pictures, she said they were sweet. (Really? That is generous. A scan picture is a grey blob that looks as if it could be auditioning for a cheap remake of Alien. In the days before HD anything.)
One set of grandparents got out the knitting needles. The other set did the 'ruining her life/ruining your life' routine. I was cross. After all, when your own parents suggest a child is a life-ruining disaster, it does make you wonder about all those 'light of my life' speeches. Luckily, I'm tough. And I believe they love me. So they were just wrong about that. People can be wrong. Maybe they will come round. I hope so, but we'll have to wait and see.
Tuesday, 4 June 2013
It started with a bang
No one ever thinks teenage pregnancy will happen to them. Especially if they're not a teenager.
Well, I thought I was a few decades the safe side of teenage pregnancy. Until I found my younger daughter sobbing and vomitting (she's good at multitasking) in the bathroom. Aha! Teengage pregnancy can happen to you even if you don't get pregant. Even if you're old enough to be a teenager's parent. Especially if you are a teenager's parent. Even if you're male. Etc.
She had already done the pregnancy test and the thinking, so I had nothing to do apart from the hugging and wiping up the vomit. She sent me downstairs to see The Boy.
'Why?'
'To tell him you're not cross.'
I went downstairs and told the boy I was not cross.
'There's no point pretending you're not cross,' he said. 'Just be honest.'
'I'm not cross.'
'Why not?'
'What would be the point?'
And so the not-cross adventure begins...
Well, I thought I was a few decades the safe side of teenage pregnancy. Until I found my younger daughter sobbing and vomitting (she's good at multitasking) in the bathroom. Aha! Teengage pregnancy can happen to you even if you don't get pregant. Even if you're old enough to be a teenager's parent. Especially if you are a teenager's parent. Even if you're male. Etc.
She had already done the pregnancy test and the thinking, so I had nothing to do apart from the hugging and wiping up the vomit. She sent me downstairs to see The Boy.
'Why?'
'To tell him you're not cross.'
I went downstairs and told the boy I was not cross.
'There's no point pretending you're not cross,' he said. 'Just be honest.'
'I'm not cross.'
'Why not?'
'What would be the point?'
And so the not-cross adventure begins...
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