The Egg Drop Post

It wasn’t too bad, even though I had been dreading it for a few months.

Last night Nadia and I dined with Dad and we planned to tell him the big news–about our plans to adopt. I was nervous because he is a 77 year old conservative Christian with very definite views on how life should be lived. And that’s the reason why, during our three year journey, I never told him that I was trying to get pregnant. I always suspected that he would have a big problem with our usage of assisted reproductive technology, and I just didn’t feel like testing the waters in the midst of feeling so vulnerable. But, lately, I’ve been feeling like I need some more support.

 On the other hand, he has surprised me on numerous occasions. For example, he totally adores Nadia treating her like a daughter (sometimes treating her better than his own daughter!) Then there was the time that I told him that I was studying to be an interfaith–not Christian– minister and he told him how proud he was.

 Would this be any different?

 So, at dinner last night, actually over dessert, I took a deep breath, braced myself and said, “Nadia and I are planning to adopt an infant.”

 And he looked at us and said in a gruff tone, “So where is this baby coming from?”

 And I said, “well, you know about the birds and the bees don’t you?” in an attempt to be funny, but my father wasn’t in a laughing mood. My joke fell flat. He didn’t even crack a smile.

 I thought to myself, “Here we go.” The old man will never accept a child that’s not directly from his bloodline.

 ”Well, Nadia and I are working with a private attorney to identify a birth mom.”

 “Isn’t it really, really difficult to get an infant?” He said.

 “Not really,” I responded.

 Then there was a silence for a few beats.

 ”Congratulations, “he eventually said. “Keep me posted.”

 For my Dad, that’s downright enthusiasm.

 Whew!

 Acceptance.  

 Exhilaration.

Okay, I have been harboring a dirty little secret but I feel as if it’s time for me to come clean: I really like the show Army Wives on Lifetime. Any of my friends who know me in real life would be kinda surprised that I like a sappy, overly-sentimental show about the Army, but I have to admit I was hooked after the first episode.

So here is my somewhat-spoiler filled post. Read at your own risk.

Typically, I am weary of sentimental serial dramas that wrap up complex life and death stories in 50 minutes or less. I can’t say that I gravitate towards ‘women’s programming’, though I have been known to watch a soap or two. I have to admit that before this show, I never really spent too much time thinking about the army wives and how difficult it must be for them when their husbands are at war. Now, believe it or not I find myself getting sentimental, almost teary-eyed when I watch the show and I think about the trials and tribulations that these women must go through.

This season the show is dealing with several themes that hit close to home: breast cancer, pregnancy, and mother-daughter relationships. Many of you know that I lost my mom to breast cancer about fifteen years ago and I’ve missed her every single day during the time she left me. Over the years, I have become hardened to mother-daughther themes in movies and TV serial dramas because they are often hooky and overly-simplified, but I have to admit that I like the way the’ve developed and dealt with the mother-daugther theme from the beginning. I think they show the complexities of the relationship from multiple points of view and, at times, I’ve found myself moved to the brink of tears.

When Claudia Joy lost her daughter this season, I really lost it. I have no idea why that hit me so hard but it reminded me of the time I lost my mom but also forced me to think about how I would feel if I lost my own 18 year old daughter. Her daughter was just about to go to college and I lost my mom just when I graduated from college. It was such an important transitional time in my life and her death really made the world close in on me. I don’t think that I ever recovered from that lost but I did the best I could; and tried to make my mom proud with my life choices after her death. Somehow Claudia Joy’s pain seemed to mirror my own, and there was something cathartic about the experience for me.

Betty, the gruff and eccentric bar owner on the show is dealing with breast cancer and I think that it is crucial that we continue to think about women who survive it and those that don’t. I can’t tell you how many people have expressed surprise that my mom died from breast cancer because we have made so many medical advancements and there are so many options for women. Well, there have always been disparities between how women of color and white women approach medical treatment and the medical establishment. Women of color, particularly African American women die at higher rates then white women and that that fact has remained consistent throughout the years. One of the reasons for this is that women of color don’t go to doctors as regularly as their white counterparts and they are often diagnosed later, during the advanced stages of their disease, which makes treatment methods more challenging. Additionally, when they are prescribed medication, they often don’t follow their treatment plans. It was a combination of these factors that lead to my mom’s demise and I think that breast cancer awareness is crucial despite the enormous medical strides we’ve made in the last 15 years, so it makes my heart swell to see it being dealt with over time on the show.

Last but not least, Joan, the one strong African American character is dealing with an unplanned pregnancy. At one point, she considered terminating it and it was heart-wrenching for me. I enjoy watching her deal with the changes in her body and seeing how it effects her performance at work. Despite my determination and desire to get pregnant, one of my fears is that I won’t be able to perform at work, and I imagine myself getting as frustrated as she does.

For the most part, I’ve become addicted to these characters and the drama in their lives, but there have been a few short story lines about lesbianism, that I have fallen a bit short in my book. Just last week, one Army wife made a pass at the other and it came off as a plot device merely to titilate the audience. I really didn’t appreciate that. I despise when lesbians are viewed merely as entertainment or a plot twist and that story-line wreeked of that; it had no depth. Additionally, a few weeks back there was a storyline about high school student who was accepted to West Point and how her lesbianism might affect her career. Even though I think they were attempting to show the failings of the Army’s Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell policy, I think that story was weak.

All in all, on a hard-boiled egg scale of 5 eggs, I would give them 2 eggs on the queer stuff, but overall 4 eggs on plot, chacter development and content. Not bad!

Okay, how many times has this happened to you?

I was minding my own business last night when I overheard a message from Nadia’s sister, who is a few months older than me. She said something like ‘please call me back, I have some good news.’ When I told Nadia about the message , we guessed that she was either getting married or pregnant.

Well, it turns out that she is pregnant. And, guess what? She met the baby daddy five months ago. Did you hear me? She met him five months ago.

I am happy for her, she is a decent person and thank God she doesn’t know about this blog. My reaction has nothing to do with her as a person. I just feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. It just hurts sometimes when someone comes along and annouces their success with relative ease, especially since I  feel like a complete failure right about now as I wait for my IVF cycle.

Don’t get me wrong, 99.9% of the time, I feel nothing but pure joy for women who are able to achieve their goals, especially those that over 35 and are of (ahem) advanced maternal age. Unfortunately, right now, I am feeling that less than .01%.

This is an important study because it is one of the few LGBT research publications to highlight families of color. Similar studies that come to mind were published several years ago. Both were co-authored by the National Gay and Lesbian Task Force.

The first is Black same-sex couple households in the United States: A Report from the 2000 Census, published (October 2004) with the help of the National Black Justice Coalition. The second is Hispanic and Latino same-sex couple households in the United States: A Report from the 2000 Census (November 2005) co-authored by the National Latino/a Coalition for Justice. As you can see, both of the studies use data from the 2000 Census because it was the first year the government asked people to report whether they were living with a same-sex partner. Both of these reports also site similiar economic disparities between households with children run by women, specifically women of color and their straight counterparts.

As an African American married to a Latina, my hope is that Baby Godot, will be bi-racial. And with that in mind, I want our family to be recognized as an important part of the LGBT community, the African American community and the Latino community, not to mention the world at large.

Even though this new study represents a drop in the bucket compared to the research and attention needed by queer families and, particularly, queer families of color on a national level, the fact that it was conducted, published, and highlighted recently in the SF Chronicle warms my heart.

When I was seven years old, my mother and I spent the entire summer with my grandparents, back home, in the Caribbean. The summer was filled with countless aunts, uncles, cousins, sun, palm trees, and glorious food. Every activity and everyone revolved around my grandmother, the matriarch. What I remember most about my grandmother was her hands: ripened, sun-kissed, gentle, adept and warm. Her touch was soothing, confident, maternal.

I come from a big family. Grandma had 10 children, who each had about 2.5 children who each had 1.5 children.

That summer Grandma and I talked about many things, but what she talked about the most was the value of motherhood. “You are going to love being a mother one day,” she said over and over again.

I have been trying to figure out how my mom would feel about my adventures with bio-tech aka “freaky science” . My mother died of breast cancer 15 years ago and some might say that her death was a result of a profound distrust of “freaky science.”

When my mother first discovered a pink discoloration on her left breast, she really thought nothing of it. She did eventually go to her dr who really did not seem alarmed. But the pink spot kept growing.

Eventually, my aunt, who is a nurse, caught glimpse of it in a department store dressing room and ordered my mom to get a biopsy. When she learned that she had to consent to a mastectomy if the area proved cancerous, she refused.

After months of searching, she found a doctor who would do a hairline biopsy. After the test was done, she was told that she had cancer and that he needed a mastectomy and high doses of chemotherapy.

She refused.

She refused to have her breast removed and she refused chemo. Even though I provided her with stats, articles, and support group information, she refused. She had seen an uncle shrivel and die due to chemotherapy. And she swore to herself that she would not be another chemo casualty. Instead she chose to consult a traditional medicine woman from ‘back home’ in the Caribbean who suggested an herb regimen.

When those treatments didn’t work, Mom tried Dr. Akins’ alternative cancer therapies which were expensive and also ineffective. Eventually, as the cancer grew, she tried radiation and finally, she consented to light doses of chemotherapy. But it was too late.

About two years after spotting the breast discoloration, she succumbed to cancer. And throughout the whole ordeal I was very angry with her choices, but I understood that she had a contempt for western medicine, which is not uncommon in black or immigrant communities.

In fact, I hold that contempt whenever I go to the doctor, get a prescription filled or hear about anyone’s surgery. Let’s face it, medicine in this country is big business and we have heard stories about the casualties of the medical industrial complex. Immigrants and blacks have a history of being used as guinea pigs in this country, so I think it makes sense to be a little paranoid. Additionally, I have also heard first hand stories about the wonders of herbalists, so I get it.

But I still get angry when I think about how she died. I still get angry when I think about how she could have made different choices and lived longer. And, most importantly, I still miss her every single day.

The circumstances around my mother’s death serve as the back drop to my story. Nadia may or may not completely understand the depth of my conflict with bio-tech aka “freaky science”. I definitely feel ambivalent about all of this medication I’m on. On the one hand, I feel self-indulgent and spoiled. On the other hand, I feel like this is my only shot (no pun intented).This is my only road to conception, pregnancy and birth. And I really want to have that biological connection to my child and to my mom.

So even though I know my mom would be completely repelled by the whole egg drop drama, I am convinced that she would be psyched for me to give birth.

And I think that that’s what keeps me going.

Six months ago, some of my family members googled me and discovered I was a lesbian. They then began to have a global internet discussion about me without my knowledge. The conversation lasted for several months, spanning several countries from the Caribbean, United States, Canada and, possibily, England. One of my aunts told me about it recently Since then I have had a few brief discussions with some of them about their shame and complete and total disappointment in my “lifestyle”.

I am very disappointed in my extended family right now.

As background, my family is from the Caribbean, and we are disbursed all over the Diaspora, including, the UK, Canada and, of course, the United States. My mother died 20 years ago and her side of the family is the clan that I grew up with. I used to go to the Caribbean every other year to visit my grandparents and cousins. I stopped all of that when I came out 10 years ago because I knew what they thought of queers.

Some of my relatives know that I am queer and some do not. Some of my relatives know that I live with my partner of 7 years, Nadia, and some do not. All of them are devoutly Christian.

At any rate, one of my relatives took it upon himself to do a google search on me and made a discovery. I am a lesbian. Apparently, after that, he emailed all of my relatives to let them know. And, for the most part, they disparaged me via email. Yesterday, I called my aunt and she told me the entire story. She said that she would not listen to any of them and that she would always love me because we are all sinners. I am angry and disappointed with her and all of my relatives.

I am angry that we still live in a time where people have to risk their lives just to be who they are. And I am angry that I have to parcel out my identities. That it is still such an incredible challenge to be Caribbean and Queer.I am angry that I have to fight my family to have a family with Nadia.