I’m a lesbian birthmother out of rape — now there’s something you don’t hear every day!
I’ve lived a life many cannot fathom. First, I was born with a serious genetic condition called “congenital adrenal hyperplasia,” which untreated could have killed me, as it did my sister Rachel. By grace, I survived untreated. Left untreated, I was unlikely to ever become pregnant. Untreated, any baby I conceived was unlikely to survive the entire pregnancy. Some of the symptoms of CAH include ambiguous genitalia, and consequently — in my case, confused parents and doctors who weren’t sure what to do, making decisions which have affected me my entire life. So I started life with many challenges, but I’m a good and loving person — a responsible adult who loves life.
When I was younger, I dated heterosexually, but I found that I was not attracted to the opposite sex. I’ve had one person for whom I really cared deeply — Barbara, who died nearly 20 years ago from pancreatic cancer. Not having healed from that loss, I lived my life single and celibate. I believe it is truly better to be alone, than to live with someone unsuitable. But I’ve identified as a lesbian and I’ve made no secret of it. Most fellows interested in dating or sex quickly realize they are barking up the wrong tree.
The man who raped me — a neighbor — knew I was gay. I had been invited to his house to celebrate New Year’s Eve. I did not know him or the others well, but I was unconcerned because I neither drink, nor go to parties (other than family gatherings) where booze is served, and there was none. I was not led astray on that point.
I arrived early to be helpful, putting myself in charge of coffee-making for the evening. After watching the ball drop, folks slowly took their leave. I stayed to help clean-up. It was 2 a.m. when his house finally began to look habitable again.
He asked if I would spend the night, but I simply replied, “I don’t live THAT far away.” I just needed to use the restroom and I’d be off.
Upon exiting the bathroom, I saw my coffee mug, and without looking — thinking nothing of it — I gulped down the last of it. I woke a few hours later with my naked host standing over me. I was horrified! He said nothing — just had a “cat-got-the-canary” grin.
I’m glad there was no knife nearby, or I would have surely killed him. As it was, I realized I was naked too, so the first thing I did was grab my clothes and hastily dressed, though I was in a red-eyed rage. When I got to the door, I realized he had made no effort to stop me, so I turned and said, “If I find out I’m pregnant, YOU WILL DIE.” After sleeping on it when I got home, I realized that killing him would not be the wisest thing I could do at that time, and he definitely got the message that contacting me ever again would be dangerous at best. After that, I just wanted to forget about it.
Then I found out I was pregnant. I’d had no symptoms for 3 months because my cycle had always been erratic — skipping a month was not unusual. Skipping 2 months was, but I was not the least bit nauseous, so what of it? I finally had nausea the first week of the 4th month, but there was a bug going around and I thought it was that. After a week, I made a doctor’s appointment, but before I went, my landlady said “You know you’ll feel like an idiot if you don’t do a home pregnancy test,” so I bought the kit.
Positive. My first thought was, “Oh no, I’ve got cancer!” So when I went to the doctor and he confirmed I was indeed pregnant, I thought, “Thank Godde its not cancer!” From my reaction, the doctor must have assumed that the pregnancy was welcome, and so he wisely said nothing.
My landlady — a heterosexual atheist, but my closest friend, never suggested an abortion. Others did however. But I was raised in a pro-life home, so abortion was never a consideration for me.
The first phone call I made when I got home was to my dear friend in the pro-life movement, Theresa, who was active in Operation Rescue, but I contacted her in particular because she was the adoption coordinator. “I need some parents to choose from soon. I’m four months along, and that doesn’t leave us much time.” She wanted to be my Lamaze coach, no matter what I decided about parents — we were dear friends from pro-life activism.
She did tell me about two sets of parents she found, but after pausing she asked me, “Can we have her?” (From the sonogram, we learned she was a girl.) I knew that Theresa and her husband Richard had tried to adopt before under similar circumstances. Richard got very attached, but the birthmom backed out at the last minute. He was crushed and I knew it — that’s why I hadn’t offered in the first place. I wasn’t sure if his heart was ready to take another shot at this. But he’s a brave man and was overjoyed at the prospect of adopting my baby girl.
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I was secure in letting them have my daughter, not because they were perfect, but because Richard and Theresa demonstrated to me, by just being themselves, that they were still head over heals in love with each other after 20+ years of marriage. That’s what I wanted for my child. Nothing more. Nothing less.
I had no extraordinary difficulties with either the rest of my pregnancy or the delivery. I was overwhelmed with a sense of peace and blessedness. In part, I’m certain it was hormonal, but I’m also certain that, having solidly pro-life values, I had made plans for this possibility, and those contingencies were simply being carried out. Also, when you have a relationship with God, nothing else matters!
During the adoption, I didn’t disclose to anyone the truth about the rape. I felt I needed to keep the rapist from getting her, and I needed to be sure he wouldn’t be contacted, though I wish it hadn’t been necessary. New York State was one of those states that insisted that rapists have the right to be fathers. Until that nonsense ends, I fear many victims of rape will believe that their child is better off dead than raised by a monster.
When my baby girl was born, I had mixed feelings about holding her. I wanted to, but forming a bond only to break it moments later did not seem wise. I did ask to see her. I had watched them give her some water and they were all amazed at how quickly she sucked down the whole bottle! They put her in my arms — I ached to nurse her, but did not dare. Theresa asked for a breast pump and handed it to me, so she got my colostrum. I kissed her head, and handed her back — a healthy child. I could have died right then without a single regret.
I don’t think I ever linked her life to the rapist. That’s the trap girls either fall, or get pushed into. I wanted to kill HIM, but the child is NOT HIM. It seems so simple to me, and it IS simple, but Planned Parenthood and their ilk take horrific advantage of a woman’s trauma to sell abortion. They are NOT the place to go for rape counseling or any kind of help after a rape because an abortionist is hardly an unbiased expert.
As a pro-life, lesbian Democrat, I’m tolerated in the Democratic circle I run in. Some confess to me that they are pro-life and are glad to know I exist. I tell them about Democrats For Life and the Pro-Life Alliance of Gays and Lesbians (PLAGAL), and that they don’t have to stay in the political closet they feel locked into. It’s funny to think that some of my Democrat and gay friends need to come out of the pro-life closet!
I’ve shared my story here because my hope is that others will be encouraged to be courageous in choosing life and sharing their own pro-life stories, and to be sure that rape survivors like me are never used as an excuse to justify any abortions, under any circumstances.
LifeNews Note: Maria Krasinski is active member of PLAGAL and helped craft their statement on non-violence.
