I was a teenager in the middle of the last century. Those were the days leading up to support groups. Sensitivity to other people’s problems didn’t seem to be the most important thing on people’s minds. And personal matters were mostly kept hidden. As you read this story, you will come across many cases of callousness that, fortunately, are mostly unknown today.
With the beginning of the 1960s, the role of women in our country began to change. The discovery of the birth control pill allowed many women to postpone motherhood in order to build a career. The feeling of empowerment about their bodies prompted many of them to make their voices heard in a rapidly changing society.
In late 1963, the assassination of President John F. Kennedy first stunned and then energized men and women of my generation to dive headfirst to change the world. As the Vietnam War raged through the 1960s, men and women protested the war loud enough to overthrow President Lyndon Baines Johnson.
With the new empowerment of women, many rejected traditional marriage in favor of establishing communes where men and women could live a “free love” lifestyle. (I recently met a man who was born in a commune and had no idea who his father was!)
It was during these rapidly changing times that I, an undergraduate student at Stern College for Women, took my place in the world as a young married woman. I was 19 years old! My husband, Hershie, 22, was a graduate student at Yeshiva University. We lived in the neighborhood of Manhattan called Washington Heights.
Our world is the Orthodox Jewish world. In the 1960s, neither women’s liberation nor building a major career were on my agenda. I wanted my voice to be heard, but I wanted to do it in the context of my Orthodox Jewish life. Motherhood was at the top of my list!
At 21 I discovered that I had an infertility problem. Today it is called SOP. The regular OB / GYNs of the 60s weren’t used to dealing with the new field of “infertility” so it was suggested that you see the doctor who had delivered Jackie Kennedy’s babies … a doctor for the rich !! I timidly arrived for my appointment, during which I was amazed in the presence of the doctor who had treated the First Lady.
Jackie’s doctor suggested that I undergo a major surgical procedure called a wedge resection. They would cut a wedge of cysts from both ovaries to make a clean surface for new eggs to emerge. I was horrified! The idea of surgery terrified me.
I stopped thinking about surgery when we graduated and returned to our hometown, Pittsburgh, PA. I started teaching kindergarten classes at Hillel Academy and spent a lot of time as a “doctor.”
I underwent all the tests that were available in those days … the ones I can remember were called Hysterosalpingogram and Coldoscopy. Birth control pills began to be used for infertility patients, but the researchers had no experience regulating the levels of estrogen and progesterone in the pills, and I became seriously ill after just one pill.
Each month brought disappointment. Ovulation was measured daily by taking body temperature. Pregnancy could only be determined by blood tests. On those days no rapid pregnancy or ovulation tests were performed. Waiting for test results was excruciating and ultimately devastating.
Seeing pregnant women was a nightmare. And sometimes women would make insensitive comments that she hadn’t had a child yet. One of my doctors asked, “Why do you bother with all these tests etc? You’re never going to have a child!” After such incidents, I would run home crying. Even today, 45 years later, that comment still hurts!
Knowing that Gd has a plan for everyone, I never asked, “Why me?” But, except for the time I spent teaching, I felt very sad and empty. It took my doctors 2 more years to mention wedge resection surgery. At the time he was 24 years old and ready for surgery.
Truth be told, this surgery saved my life. One of my ovaries was so full of cysts that I had to completely remove it. The Dr. said that at any time, from the weight of the cysts, it could have twisted in any direction, which could have cut off my circulation! But for me, an infertility patient, the worst news was that the other ovary was also so polycystic that the doctor was only able to save 1/5 of that ovary. I went into surgery so I could have children and came out with 1/5 of an ovary! My mom heard the news first and was in shock, although the doctor assured her that a woman can conceive even with just a small piece of ovary.
Another year passed and nothing happened. I was starting to feel desperate. Without support groups, there was nowhere to seek the comfort of others who were experiencing the same pain. And she was surrounded by babies, babies, babies!
When 1966 dawned, something amazing happened! A well known Welsh fertility doctor took a position at Magee Hospital in Pittsburgh … the late Dr. David Charles. At that time, Magee, a university hospital, was beginning to develop a world-class Fertility Department. The moment I walked into his office, I felt his warmth and optimism. I was especially encouraged when, after examining me, he announced, “Young lady, YOU WILL HAVE a baby!”
Who would have guessed that Dr. Charles was one of only 12 physicians in the US who were conducting clinical trials on a recently discovered drug called clomephene? (Today it is called Clomid … which, to my knowledge, has extinguished wedge resection surgeries.) Dr. Charles determined that I was a good candidate for success with Clomephene and asked if my husband and I would agree to the opportunity. multiple births. That question was obvious!
In December 1966 I got pregnant! The first seven months of my pregnancy passed happily without incident. During my 30th week, I got out of bed in the morning, looked down, and saw blood on the floor. My mind could barely understand what I saw.
When I got to the hospital, I was already in labor with a suspected placenta previa! There were no ultrasounds in those days, so I was prepped for a C-section before Dr. Charles, in front of about 25 medical students, examined me to determine, for sure, if his suspicion was correct.
Yes, it was a placenta previa, but Dr. Charles determined that there was enough room for my little baby to slide. The next step was to try to stop labor. I was immediately hooked on IV alcohol.
The wait began. Since I had my first placenta previa in clomephene clinical trials, I instantly became a statistic! But my labor would not stop. As I was bumpy into the delivery room (there were no delivery rooms in 1966!), A resident physician stopped the gurney and announced that he wanted to try to determine my baby’s size. The resident proceeded to prod and poke my abdomen. (remember, there were no ultrasounds in those days!) She stated, insensitively, that from the size she could feel, my baby only had a 50-50 chance of living!
Really? Really? Are you kidding? Am I not under enough stress already? If I had had the big mouth that I have today, what I would have told you would not be printable!
The delivery room was set up with an incubator and a pediatrician. The team was ready.
A short time later, my little boy slipped (literally) into the world. He weighed 3 pounds and 1 oz. It was June 20, 1967. When Dr. Charles pulled it out, I squeezed my eyes shut. Dr. Charles insisted that I look at my baby. I said yes, God forbid, the baby couldn’t make it, I couldn’t bear to spend my whole life with an image of him in my mind. Dr. Charles insisted that I open my eyes … and as, once again, this was many years before my large mouth developed, I looked at the baby. What I saw was terrifying. It was so tiny. How could it survive? I was traumatized.
The baby was instantly brought in the incubator to the NICU and I was taken to the recovery room.
The next thing that happened would absolutely NOT happen today: a nurse came into the recovery room, announced that she was giving me an injection to make sure I was not producing milk. He was too shocked by the events of the day to even evaluate what he was saying. Despite the fact that breastfeeding was discouraged during that time and expressing and bringing milk to the hospital was totally unheard of, it was my absolute intention to breastfeed my baby. With that injection, all hopes of breastfeeding were dashed.
In the late 1960s, no family member was allowed to touch their premature baby in the incubator. Day by day, we stood in front of the glass window of the preemie nursery watching our little baby being fed through a feeding tube and attached to what seemed like trillions of tubes and cables. Believe it or not, she was afraid to take photos of him in the incubator because she was afraid that the camera flash would affect her eyes.
After 2 long and agonizing months, our baby tipped the scales at 5 lbs, 8 oz. That was the weight of liberation. The day before his release, I was invited to the nursery to hug and feed my baby for the first time. It was surreal. My baby was 2 months old and this was my first physical contact with him. When I think about it now, I might cry.
2015 Update: Our little preemie is almost 47 years old and has a PhD in Molecular Genetics! He is the father of two teenagers and he loves to tease me by telling me that whatever emotional problems he has … it comes from the fact that he was not touched until he was 2 months old! Laughing, I appreciate the guilt trip, but I still feel bad as I wonder what the medical community might have been thinking in those days. Better not insist on that.
For the next ten years, Hershie and I were blessed with 3 more sons and one more daughter! Child # 2 was also a “Clomid” baby. The joke after that was that we had finally found the “power” button … without the help of medication!
Hershie and I thank Gd every day for the wonderful blessings He has given us!
Kids! Grandchildren! During the 1960s, could we ever have imagined such blessings?
We pray that all of you will be recipients of these same wonderful blessings!