nodrink

Any pregnant woman who has ever ordered a glass of wine with her dinner, asked for a regular (non-decaf) coffee, or nibbled on a piece of brie from the cheese plate will know what it feels like to be watched, monitored and judged. Many women have told me stories of barmen asking if they’re sure they don’t want him to add some soda water to that pinot grigio, or a barista saying “You mean decaf, right?” with her eyebrow arched. Some women have even been refused service or kicked out of establishments for drinking a pint of beer or attempting to buy a block of cheese.

I know that one of my biggest pet peeves when I was pregnant with my first child was the assumption that I was completely helpless, vulnerable and unable to make decisions based on calculated risk by myself. While I acknowledge that heavily pregnant women are at a physical disadvantage in certain situations and do indeed have a decreased sense of balance, a harder time standing for long periods of time and shouldn’t be lifting a load of bricks or anything, it got ridiculous at some stages. I had people rushing forward to pry a door out of my hands and open it for me, or insist on carrying my one bag of shopping, which consisted mainly of a tub of ice cream and extra-soft toilet tissue. And on the occasions when I was only going to be on the Underground or bus for a stop or two and so politely declined the seat offered me, I would get annoyed, even hostile reactions. I had one lady absolutely INSIST I take her seat, even though by the time we had this conversation, she got her things out of the area and I heaved myself into it, I had arrived at my stop and had to extract myself from the tangle of bags and limbs to get back to the doors again. The patronisation from some quarters was palpable.

Don’t get me wrong; I always appreciated the offer and more often than not, took them up on it, grateful for the protection from being smashed and elbowed in the stomach during the rush hour commute. But as my bump grew and I got closer and closer to my due date, I got not only looks of sympathy but ones of distaste. I remember one man grumbling under his breath when I waddled onto the train carriage one morning: “Jesus, is she going to give birth here too?” and rolling his eyes. It was astonishing, and obvious that some people felt that I should be confined to my home, a la the Victorians.

Funnily enough, that concern seemed much less prevalent when I was pregnant with my second child and had my daughter in tow with me. There were many times when I genuinely could have used some help while trying to get my pushchair,  shopping and massive belly out of a narrow shop while holding the heavy door open and had completely able-bodied and pushchair-less people wait patiently, not offering any help, while I struggled and heaved and got flustered. It was as if the fact I was already a mother meant I didn’t need any help or consideration at all. Kind of like “Well, you knew what you were getting yourself into this time…”

I know it’s hard for people (especially those who have never been pregnant themselves) to know what to do and that each woman is different in what kind of help she’d like or need, but I think it’s safe to say that offering = good, insisting or completely ignoring = bad.

Of course, none of this compares with what Samantha Burton went through. Burton, who was 25 weeks pregnant and had two older children, was hospitalised against her will in Florida last March when she questioned her doctor’s order for complete bed rest after he suspected an impending miscarriage. Burton, who simply asked for a second opinion, was then forcibly hospitalised and forced to submit to “any and all medical treatments” the doctors felt necessary to ensure the safety of her foetus, even though a) there is no clinical evidence to support the commonly-held belief that bed rest improves outcomes for miscarriages;  b) she had two other children to care for and so bed rest wasn’t feasible; and c) IT’S HER BODY AND THEREFORE HER DECISION. For three days she was held captive until undergoing a forced cesarean section that revealed her foetus had died anyway.

Thankfully, the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) has taken up the case and will be following it and keeping us updated as it goes through the Florida Court of Appeals since it (amazingly) lost in the original trial, Burton v. Florida. So far, the state of Florida has (appallingly but not surprisingly, in a state with a nearly 40% cesarean section rate) defended its actions as simply “maintaining the status quo.” Sadly, the status quo in America (and increasingly in other places as well) seems to be about treating pregnant women as incubators and their rights secondary to that of the foetus residing in and dependent on their bodies.

Making sure that we are afforded the same rights to make decisions regarding our health, safety and care as anyone else (even if an onlooker or doctor doesn’t approve) is absolutely imperative in ensuring we have full human rights, let alone “women’s rights.” And part of exerting that autonomy is by being able to eat cheese, drink caffeine, have a beer or carry our own shopping, Pregnancy Police be damned.