Motherhood was never part of my original plan—until one moment changed everything. Join me as I share the doubts, hope, and resilience behind my decision to freeze my eggs as a disabled woman. This is where my journey begins, and the barriers start to show.
Let's Make IVF Ableism A Thing Of The Past:
Please reach out to me directly through my email icantstandpodcast@gmail.com or via social media. My handle is @Petahooke https://www.instagram.com/petahooke/
You can share your story anonymously if needed.
Transcript:
Peta [00:00:00] This limited series, Eggs contains discussions of fertility, IVF and ableism. What would you tell your younger self? In truth, I think my younger self would be appalled by 34 year old me and a little sad. Probably she had life figured out and I haven't stuck to the plan. My youngest self wanted the world. Now I just want what everybody else wants. I want to tell my youngest self. I think I might have changed my mind. I have never been that maternal. I have really never adored children. It's not something you hear that often. The thing that women are not supposed to say. But there had been many yardsticks or moments in my life that had confirmed to me that children were not for me.
[00:01:23] Over summer holidays in my teens when the sun made things hazy and it was burning your skin to a crisp. I was with my childhood friend Melissa. In a time before the internet when our mobiles went out of range and tickets were $0.50 each. We would walk to a neighbour's house to help with their four boys. Even back then, Melissa was a born mother, effortlessly placing one baby on a hip and guiding another down the hallway. I, on the other hand, was completely out of my depth. I had just been educated to why we must not ring the doorbell. The kids were asleep. I was assured we were not being rude. We could just open the door and walk in. This family was busy and happy and had their hands full with four boys who had arrived in quick succession. As a wheelchair user to this day. And then I wasn't often able to access people's houses. I am hyper vigilant, moving through someone's home, trying to not scuff walls or hit furniture. This house was the first house where I started to compute how children a tricky match for somebody in a wheelchair. While Melissa was cooing on the floor with a baby doing tummy time, I felt like I had a hundred landmines to manoeuvre through. The toys felt endless. Brightly coloured plastic strewn across the floor. I would always try and spot a space on the wooden floor and trade it like my bunker, turning off my wheelchair, sighing with relief that I had not broken anything by running them over with my chair. The seats of pod cast. Peter began to be planted as I tried to be a valuable presence in the house by making thoughtful conversation. But deep down, I knew Melissa's help was what the family needed. How could I help anyway? I was terrified to hold a baby, worrying I would drop them, never letting myself practice, knowing full well how precious that little life is. This was the first time I remember feeling uncomfortable and inadequate around children. I couldn't even manage to make my face look like I was excited by a piece of Lego being held up by a toddler. They blew eyes wide with wonder. I was too distracted by the little toes so near my wheels and the little fingers attempting to find the on button for this big toy that I was sitting in.
[00:04:40] Later in my 20s, whenever I was in a cafe with friends, everyone else would seemingly point out how cute that baby was sitting in a high chair on the next table. I instead would see a child that was overtired due for sleep, snot pouring down their face, mingling with the mess that the baby's mother was spooning into their mouth. I clearly was missing that mothering gene. At this stage of my life, I was deluded. I'm arrogant. I remember thinking how very boring that mother's life would be. As I paid for my share of the bill, pulling my car keys out of my designer handbag. I believed that because I was not born normal. Not the standard. I was not going to have a regular life. I was going to have an amazing life. In fact. I was going to be a success. Maybe a CEO, a hotel inspector. Five stars only, of course. Or the head of Tourism Australia. My life was going to be filled with work and I couldn't wait. On reflection, I think this was my way of protecting myself from heartbreak. I was unable to confront the fact that I had no examples of how someone like me could be a mum. Knowing that if I raised the topic, questions would be asked and I had no answers.
[00:06:25] As my mother would say, there's no book telling you the absolute right way to parent a child. But if there was, there was definitely no chapter of how to parent a child when you have cerebral palsy. Then one single day changed my mind about motherhood. My father, Clive, was in ICU after having his second stroke in six months. This was not my first rodeo with hospitals and health, but had never been dead before. The shock was so pronounced it made it hard to breathe. Nothing was guaranteed. My dad was not bullet-proof. Life might not end like a movie. Like my younger self had presumed. My thinly veiled bravado that I liked being single evaporated after my dad strokes. A strong pull that I never experienced before was now ever present. It forced me to be brave. I decided life was not a dress rehearsal. It was time to take life more seriously.
[00:08:01] Can you have sex? This was one of the most common questions I got asked by straight single males whenever I went out to party with my friends. Most of the time the tone of this question was not gentle but abrasive. It was not done in a whisper, but loud enough for his mates to snigger behind him. It was designed to humiliate. This was not a pick up line, but if it was, I would have said, would you like to find out? I have also been asked by a man if I own a bed. Equally perplexing. I have been asked if I have a vagina. I am not Barbie. I am a woman. I did not come in a box, but I have a box. I was so naive to beauty standards. I thought once someone got to know me, the fact I have cerebral palsy would be a non-issue. But as I attended more and more engagements, weddings and then baby showers, I realised people didn't see me how I saw myself. I had done the Carrie Bradshaw single years. I lived in a beautiful little place near the city. I was independent. I was happy. Surrounded by friends and every outfit. I came to reflect the fact that I was the picture perfect girl most of the time, even if I couldn't stand up. And yet my puzzle piece was not making himself known. I was realising the men I was attracted to were not necessarily attracted to me. Could men somehow smell desperation? I didn't feel desperate. But equally, with each year, I was surprised to have not found him yet.
[00:10:17] Covid for everyone was like a big full stop on all their lives. It felt like overnight my friends who were in settled relationships decided to move this schedule forward and start a family. The party was over. Now what felt like every conversation with my girlfriends was no longer light hearted, but instead made me want to bite my nails with anxiety. Epic stories of late night escapades were replaced with talk of the prospects of getting pregnant and how statistically unlikely that can be. I was now seen as a negative. Time was a rare resource that we had seemingly squandered. The pressure felt immense. After high school, sex ed had drilled into us not to get pregnant. It felt like whiplash to be now considering the opposite. Doing the unsettling math in my head that I was single and then I had to factor in the time to find the person, date them for a while, and then get pregnant. The math wasn't mathing.
[00:11:42] My mother's story then came into sharp focus for me. I knew my mother, Lorraine had struggled with infertility. After all, I was the result of years of trying. Failing. Losing. I was her miracle. The person she'd been trying to meet for over ten years. Now. I saw her story differently. I realised it might be my story too. I had always been the baby in the story, the happy ending. But now I had to face the fact that I might be the mother struggling to get pregnant. This handful of years in my 30s was lacking or not going to define a big part of my life. Would I have children? Would I become a mother? Then, like clockwork, a nagging reminder to those unanswered questions by Mother Nature arrived every 28 days. The month's opportunity was not taken. That egg was now gone. Sitting in my IVF doctor's clinic on the first day of consultation. I had no idea. The hidden challenges on the road ahead. I knew I was about to confront my fertility, but I had no idea I would have to confront the issues of access, dignity and equality. There are many more eggs I was yet destined to lose.
[00:13:35] Thank you for listening to Eggs, a limited series from the creator of the I Can't Stand Podcast. This series was voiced, written and produced by me, Peta Hooke. If you faced similar barriers with IVF or you work in the healthcare system and want to share your story about ableism, I'd love to hear from you. Links Read the episode description and all stories can be shared anonymously. Just let me know if that's your preference. Your support truly means so much. Thank you for listening. Take care.
[00:14:32] I would like to respectfully acknowledge the Wurundjeri people and Bunurong people of the Kulin Nation of which I record the podcast today. And I pay my respects to both elders past and present, along with and especially to those in the First Nations communities who are disabled themselves.
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