Pregnant And Paralyzed: A Worthwhile Sacrifice
When we were dating, I remember telling my now-husband: “I don’t think I want to be pregnant because I don’t want to put my body through that.” It was a fleeting thought that I threw out shortly after, but that’s just to say that I had (and still kind of have) a concern over what state the whole birthing process will leave my body in. I’ve worked so hard for many years since my accident to keep my body in optimal shape, and don’t want to take 10 steps backward – even if it means I get to have a baby at the end. A small, beautiful baby boy.
Now, as I’ve come to the end of my pregnancy, I’m reflecting on the changes my body has been through and how valid (or not!) my concerns were. Before I get into it, I’ll remind you that just like no one’s body is the same, no one’s pregnancy journey is the same; where I didn’t experience fatigue, mood swings, nausea, food aversions, or cravings, your pregnancy could be defined by them.
The one universal thing is, in my opinion, also the most difficult: getting big, and the inaccessibility that comes with it. My pregnant belly has been the source of nearly all my difficulties since it started expanding. I’ve resisted that struggle as much as I could, but my body/baby won in the end.
As much as I tried to fight it, pregnancy put me back to square 1 of my disability in a few areas:
When I transfer into my husband’s high car, he must give me a little boost from behind or I won’t make it to the seat. It’s annoying that I can’t transfer high on my own anymore, but my resistance of his help means I’ll be splat on the ground.
I’ve accepted my lack of grace while transferring in or out of my wheelchair – especially at 4 AM when I’m getting up for the bathroom. I didn’t used to wake everyone but with my heavy breathing and sure fumble into my seat, we’re all roused.
Bending over my legs has been the hardest ability to cede because that’s so much of my every day. I [used to] bend over to dry my hair, pull up my pants, and pick things from the floor. Now, I’ve learned to dry my hair sitting up (takes longer), pull up my pants by transferring to my bed (not public-restroom-friendly), and shimmy my body sideways to reach the ground (obnoxious). When I say I’m excited to have this baby “so I can have my body back,” I mostly mean “so I can fold over my legs again.”
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This last consequence hits me both mentally and physically: for the first time, I feel wholly disabled. I haven’t been able to walk upstairs or fit through very narrow doorways since I’ve been paralyzed (17 years), but that hasn’t limited me too much; if there’s a willing person or loved one nearby, I have no shame in asking for a lift up some steps, a “pop” of my wheelchair up a ledge, or for my husband to full-on carry me into a bathroom, put me on the toilet, then carry me back out when I’m done. Now that I’m a big gal, I’m confined to my home or wheelchair-accessible public spaces.
We can all laugh at how I went from saying “Pregnancy isn’t for me” to now, where I’m rolling around with a balloon-shaped body. I don’t have insight into childbirth or postpartum yet, but I’m confident in saying that I made the right choice so far. Even if I did have a difficult pregnancy with all those negative symptoms, the baby at the end makes it worth it.
As an extra, I’m happy for how strong my arms will be after 9 months of moving my large body around. There’s that silver lining.