Category Archives: Countdown To Tubal
Getting sterilized isn’t easy, especially if you’re young and/or have no children. But it can be done, if you’re persistent. I got my tubal ligation at the age of 22, and with no kids.
- Be sure sterilization is what you want.If you’re anything less than 100% certain, don’t bother. For one thing, if you’re not totally convinced that sterilization is right for you, then you aren’t likely to be successful in convincing anybody else of this. Everything about you from your words to your body language needs to communicate with absolute confidence that you are done birthing kids or never want any at all.Another reason this certainty is important is because you do not want to be in that small (I stress, very small) minority who actually do regret their sterilization. Not only is that bad for you, personally, but your unrepresentative situation will be used against other men and women seeking the same procedure.
- Research your options.There are many sterilization options (for women/for men,) and it’s important to figure out which one will be best for you. It’s important too to know as much as possible about the procedure you choose, both from a medical perspective and from the perspective of the patient. You need to know what to expect, for your own comfort and peace of mind. It’s also helpful to be able to communicate clearly with your doctor, making sure your both speaking the same language, when it comes to your request for a certain procedure, and also to demonstrate to your doctor that you are knowledgeable about the procedure and understand exactly what you’re asking for.Don’t be suckered in by anti-sterilization scare-tactics. There are a number of unhelpful myths about sterilization procedures, and they’re easily debunked by honest and earnest research and understanding of the procedure. Don’t let medical myths perpetuated by the regretful minority dissuade you.
- Be prepared to stand up for what you want.You should never have to justify your actions, but a doctor will ask anyway. Be ready to give reasons, good ones, for your decision to be sterilized at that time. You should be able to go on and on all day about all the reasons you want to be sterilized, however small and ultimately inconsequential some of those reasons may actually be to you. If it helps, prepare a list.It’s also important to familiarize yourself with popular bingos, and be prepared to counter them. You do this not only to dominate the conversation, but also to demonstrate that you’ve given the matter a lot of though and are completely serious about it.
- Research doctors and hospitals/clinics.
Who even does sterilization procedures? You’ll be wasting your time if the doctor or hospital you go to doesn’t provide sterilization at all, or the particular procedure that you want.It’s also important to check reviews for doctors and hospitals/clinics, just as you would for any other medical care that you seek. You want to know that you’re in the hands of medical professionals that you can trust with your health.
- Know how you’ll be paying for the procedure.Cost varies by type, as well as other factors. How will you afford sterilization? Does your insurance cover it? Does the government? Can a non-profit organization assist you? Can you afford to pay out-of-pocket? If not, you may have to find a way to get insurance that covers the procedure, and/or set up a savings fund. You might even get creative, organizing a fund-raiser or accepting donations from charitable and supportive friends (think of the opposite of a baby-shower.)NOTE: Someone on FaceBook said that this list works well for civilians, but not necessarily military. That’s when I pointed out that I was active duty US Army at the time that I got my tubal. Yes, it’s more difficult for military, but it can be done. And, as it just so happens, TriCare pays for 100% of it.
- If you have one and he/she is supportive, bring your partner to the consultation.It will help you to have support, someone in your corner to lend encouragement and assistance. Additionally, bringing your partner will keep a hesitant doctor from bingos appealing to your partner’s hypothetical intentions (“What if you meet the right man/woman?”) Your doctor may be more convinced if you can demonstrate that you and your partner on the same page, not that you ever need anyone else’s permission to seek whatever medical care you want for yourself. Best off, now there are two people arguing for the procedure, and the doctor is out-numbered.
- Be polite.It’s easy to get angry and defensive if a doctor refuses to cooperate, this refusal often involving unintentional rudeness and condescension as well as sexism and ageism. But yelling at the doctor won’t get you anywhere, except ejected from the building. Be firm, but not hostile. You may still be able to convince this doctor yet. If not, you may be able to at least get a referral to another doctor who might be more helpful.
- Don’t back down.Don’t let a doctor, or anybody else, talk you out of sterilization, or convince you to delay your pursuit until you’ve met some arbitrary requirement like age or marriage or number of children. Don’t let a doctor talk you into other forms of birth control instead (I did take a deal to use an IUD for 6 months before my doctor would agree to give me a tubal, but that was a bargain to get a tubal, not something I accepted instead of a tubal.) You decided on sterilization, and you mean to get one. It’s your body, don’t let anyone tell you want you can and can’t do with it. It’s your mind. Don’t let anyone else make it for you.If your doctor refuses to help, don’t wait for him/her to come around. Find someone else.
- Remember that you’rethe boss.You aren’t seeing doctors to ask permission to be sterilized. You’ve already decided to be sterilized, a decision which is exclusively your own decision to make. You’re simply looking for doctors to hire for the job. With that attitude, no doctor can deny you sterilization, but simply refuse to take the job. It’s the doctor’s loss then. Take your business elsewhere.Keep the trail warm. Every time you’re told “no,” by a doctor, try to at least get a referral. Don’t be discouraged. For every time you’re turned down, you build a history of pursuit. It’s hard for new doctors you see to deny your certainty when they see appointment after appointment with previous doctors in quest for sterilization. Giving up certainly won’t help, as doctors won’t just come to you.
- Whenyou do eventually find the right doctor, celebrate!Revel in your impending infertility and all the benefits it will bring you. And rejoice that all the time and effort you spent on your hunt, all the arguments and aggravation, has finally paid off for you. And don’t let anyone rain on your parade. Don’t rain on it yourself with nervous worry. Everything will be fine.Have a plan for when the day comes. If you’ve researched the procedure, you know how it will affect you. You may miss work for a few days, or you may just have to sit on some ice for a day. Make sure that you’ve made arrangements for a ride home, if you’ll need one, as well as someone to help you out for a day or two, if needed. It might also be a good idea to have easy food and entertainment prepared at home if you need to spend a few low-key days recovering.
I have a good few scars on my body, as I imagine most people do. We all collect scars throughout our lives. Some are very visible and nearly impossible to conceal. Others are so small that even I have to search to find them. Some are fresh, and still tender. Others are older and faded. Some have interesting stories. Others I stare at and find myself at a loss as to how I ever got them.
My most prominent scar runs along my left arm from my wrist to about halfway to my elbow. It’s from the first surgery I ever had, a radial shortening as part of treatment for Keinbock’s disease. I remember that the scar was very sensitive for quite some time. I had to rub and apply gel to the scar to desensitize it. It doesn’t hurt to touch anymore.
The scar with the best story is a small, round scar on my left shoulder. This scar is very pronounced, and is easily visible when I wear clothes without sleeves. Yet it is rarely mentioned by others such that I wonder if people think it’s just a weird mole or something it would be a faux pas to point out. My boyfriend actually thought it was a scar left by a smallpox vaccine, he once told me. It was actually left by a bullet. It’s the entrance wound. The exit is not so visible due to its location in my armpit. Pro tip: getting shot hurts.
I have one set of scars that are much more significant than all the others. They have meaning for who I am and the life I live. I am speaking of my tubal ligation scars. One is just below my belly button and makes it look like I ought to have a piercing. The other rests over my pubic bone and is covered by my underwear.
I have chosen to never have kids. To ensure this, and to show that I really mean it, I had a tubal ligation on July 11, 2011, which also happened to be World Population Day, by a happy coincidence. I am very serious and I put my (medical insurance company’s) money where my mouth is. My scars are my proof.
These scars are a testament to my chosen infertility. They are irrefutable symbols of how serious I am about being childfree. They are marks outward proof of my resolve. They are also evidence to me that I am protected. These scars mean a lot to me. They’re the only scars on me that reflect part of who I am. These are the only scars that I ever gotten because of something that I consciously chose.
The life that I live now is the result of a series of life choices that I’ve made over the years. Some of those choices were good, others were poor, others still I sorely regret, others still I don’t recall ever making. I have looked back with doubt many of my decisions at some time or another. But never this one. I am certain that I never want kids, and choosing not to have kids has as much impact on the path of someone’s life as the choice to have kids. This is a huge deal.
I could never regret my tubal ligation. It was hands down the single best decision I have ever made in my life. And every time I hear stories from the lives of parents, good or bad, I am comforted by my scar that, for wherever else life takes me, my life will never be that of a parent. These scars bring me security. They bring me happiness. And they bring me pride.
I’m proud of my tubal ligation. I don’t want it hidden. I practically want to shout from the rooftops how happy I am to be sterile (I’m betting that’s not a statement you read often.) And how glad that I am that my right to make this choice is protected, unlike how it was for generations before me. And hell, it’s not even easy to have that right protected in this generation.
The tubal ligation scars, however, are not easily visible. Both are very small and thin and are always covered by my clothing. For this, as petty as it might seem to you, I admit to feeling just a little dissatisfied. With all that my tubal ligation scars mean to me, I only wish that they were bigger and more obvious. More dramatic.
Instead, my scars are as discrete as the choice to be childfree itself seems to be, and with the same huge importance and impact on my life.
Edit 14APR12: Wow, it looks like I’m not the only one interested in telling their tubal ligation story. Scotia shared hers on this very blog. Additionally, Alicia Domina recently posted her own story on her own blog. Hopefully, anyone who finds themselves in the position of perusing a tubal ligation, but wants information on the procedures from the first-hand perspective of patients, as I looked for prior to my own tubal, can find these posts as well as whatever answers they may seek. If you have had a tubal, or a similar procedure, I encourage you to share your experience somewhere, as doing so might help others in ways you couldn’t predict.
I finally got fixed! Warning, some TMI.
Yesterday, July 11, was Word Population Day, a day to raise awareness of worlds growing population problems, and approximately the 24th anniversary of the world population rising to 5 billion (just for reference, the world population is expect to exceed 7 billion this year.) July 11 was also – and I swear I didn’t plan this – the day that I had my tubal ligation. If I’d known it was WPD, I would have made all kinds of jokes about celebrating way too seriously, but I didn’t actually find out about WPD until just this morning. No matter, I wouldn’t have been able to write about it yesterday anyway.
So, yes, yesterday, I finally had that long awaited tubal. I was told at my pre-op that I should shower before the operation and use some special sponge they gave me. I was also told that my appointment wouldn’t be until 10 am. At about 6:30 am, my phone rang, telling me my appointment had moved and I needed to be at the hospital in one hour. Here, I might complain about how that’s an impossibly short amount of time to get ready, but I wouldn’t be allowed to wear make-up or even lotion that day, there was no reason for me to do anything more with my hair than to tie it back, and I dressed, well, comfortably.
When my boyfriend and I arrived at the clinic, the nurse took my ID, handed it to my BF, and whisked me away to the back. I wasn’t sure why she’d given my BF my ID, or why he wasn’t coming back with us. She told me my ID was given to him so he could pick up my medications later, and that she had some things she needed to do to prep me before my BF could come back. I put my personal belongings and my clothes into a plastic bag they provided, put on a hospital gown, and hopped into bed.
She asked me a few questions, and then came what I’d been dreading – the IV. I am absolutely terrified of needles. I don’t like the feeling of metal objects poking through and moving under my skin. It freaks me out horribly. Not to worry though, she gave me some lidocane so I didn’t feel the IV. Unfortunately, she gave me the lidocane with a needle. It’s not really pain that bothers me, understand. It’s needles. At my pre-admission yesterday, a nurse had to take a blood sample. She told me this while taking my blood pressure. My BP got so high, she had to wait for me to calm down to do it again. I was glad my BF wasn’t there to see me get the IV. He knows I’m afraid of needles, but I’d rather he didn’t see me freak out.
The room I was is was much like a large bay, full of beds, each surrounded by curtain. There were other people there, waiting for whatever surgery they arrived for. I didn’t like being left alone there. Eventually, by BF was allowed to join me. Just talking to him, even about absolutely nothing at all, did wonders to help me relax and pass the time. We have a running joke, my BF and I, of scratching each other’s head or rubbing each other’s bellies or backs, then remarking “I need a dog,” both of us being dog-lovers. As he sat with me there, I thought he was better than any therapy dog. It’s a silly observation to anyone reading this, but it made us happy.
At one time, another nurse, one I’d never seen before, came back to ask a few questions. My name, my birth-date, what I’m here for, etc. Then she asked the most ridiculous question I’ve ever heard.
“You know you can’t ever have kids then, right?” she asked after I answered I was there for a tubal ligation. I nearly laughed in her face. Hell, maybe I did. My BF waited for her to leave before saying something snarky. How did she think that I would make it all the way to this point without even knowing what a tubal ligation was?
The doctor came back and re-introduced himself to my BF and me. He suggested using clips instead of cauterization, as it would be easier to reverse, which was in sharp contrast to what he said when we first made the appointment where he said he preferred cauterization to placing foreign objects and I agreed. I told him that if I though there was any chance at all that I would ever want reversal, I wouldn’t even be there at all. This satisfied him, and I was next visited by the anesthesiologist, who I had met Friday. We chatted for a bit, before he put sedative in my IV drip and walked away. The last thing I remember was calling to a nearby nurse, complaining that arm burned a bit. She answered that’s what sedation does. After that, my BF later told me, my head fell back into my pillow in a manner reminiscent of some dramatic movie death.
(Medical details bother some people. Highlight to read.) I had a laproscopic tubal ligation with cauterization (and IUD removal.) I had this surgery under general anesthesia, so I had a tube down my throat, and also probably had a catheter in my urethra. I don’t remember either of these being placed as I was already asleep. A light-emitting instrument called a laprocope was inserted through a small incision just under my belly-button. Through a second incision, the surgical instrument used to cut my Fallopian tubes was inserted. To make my Fallopian tubes more accessible, a uterine manipulator was inserted through my vagina and cervix and into my uterus and was used to push it up, and also my abdomen was filled with air so I probably looked six months pregnant.
Due to the residual affects of anesthesia, I don’t remember much of what happened at the hospital after I woke up. Most of what I write here is what my BF either observed himself or was told by the nurses. I remember being startled awake by a nurse who introduced herself as Regina. I think we talked for a while, but I don’t remember much about it other than her telling me that the surgery was complication-free. I was surprised it was already over. I had no sense of time. I remember hearing someone reciting some poetry that I recognized as Robert Frost, and then explaining that they were trying to regain lucidity and then asking, “Is that the right word, lucidity?” I later discovered that this person was, in fact, myself when my BF told me later that a nurse had told him that I was reciting poetry. Odd.
I asked Regina where my BF was, and she said that was the problem. He wasn’t in the waiting room, but someone had called him. I asked for my phone, but I didn’t know where my personal bag was and my phone got no service in the hospital. I probably wouldn’t have been able to operate it anyway. Every time Regina walked away from me, I fell asleep, only to startle awake every time she came near me again. To me, she may as well have been teleporting.
Eventually, she wheeled my bed into the second recovery room, where two other nurses were waiting for me. As we approached the doors to the hall, I tried to help by reaching the button on the wall to open them. I didn’t realize that it was way too far away for me to reach, and wasn’t even the correct button anyway. I must have fallen asleep again, as the next thing I remember is the sound of my BF’s voice, startling me awake. I had to tilt my head to look at him as I couldn’t seem to manage to fully open my eyes. I do remember the amused grin on his face.
I don’t remember this, but at some point the nurses were checking my vitals and my BF said to them, as a joke, that they should threaten to give me a needle, to which I answered “that’s not funny,” as my pulse rose by 2o bpm. He told me later that I kept telling him “You’re a good boyfriend,” and, “The ladies here are so nice,” over and over. I repeated myself a lot, he says. It seems that I had no short-term memory. He said he once stood and watched me fall asleep, only to startle awake few minutes later, surprised to see him and asking him when he got there. He hadn’t even moved.
A nurse brought me some juice, which my BF held for me. I sipped a bit, then he set it aside. Each time he brought it back to me to drink some more, I’d get all surprised and excited, “Oh, juice!” Apparently, I frequently forgot it was there. A nurse stood by my bed and fiddled with the computer. I asked her if I’d seen her before just then. It turns out she’d been with me for the last hour.
Anesthesia is rough, but my BF got a good laugh.
Before it was even noon, it came time to go. My BF was sent to move his car to the front of the hospital to meet me. I had a lot of trouble just sitting up. Not only from the anesthesia, but from the air that I still had trapped in my abdomen. The anesthesia made me dizzy and off balance, but the air made it feel like I was being punched in the chest and I could hardly breathe. I got myself dressed, probably taking about three times longer than it normally should have. I noticed that there was some blood on the sheet. Embarrassed, I apologized profusely and asked for some pads, which the nurse cheerfully provided. I was glad that my boyfriend was already gone.
I’ve been pushed in wheelchairs before, but this was the first time I felt like I really needed it. I could hardly stand on my own. When the elevator began to descend, the movement of the air in my abdomen and the anesthesia clouding my mind made me feel like we were in free-fall for a moment before I realized I was only imagining it and was still safe in my chair. The nurse pushing my chair told me that she was afraid of elevators, at which point I shared with her my fear of needles. We met my BF at the front of the hospital and she helped me into his car. Almost immediately, I fell asleep again.
I woke up when he parked in front of his barracks. I tried to let myself out of his car, but I couldn’t stand. I went from sitting in the car’s seat to sitting on the car’s door-frame. With my BF’s help, we walked over to his building. I tried to climb the stairs, but was stuck at the first step. I tried my best but just didn’t have the coordination for stairs. It might have helped if the stairs would hold still.
My BF picked me up and carried me up the stairs bridal style. It was easy for him. He’s a soldier and I, at 87 lbs to his 220, weigh less than the gear he had to carry every day in Iraq. If I were sober, I might have found that embarrassing. In his room, he made me a sandwich and poured me a glass of orange juice. I had intended to eat it so I’d have something in my stomach when I took my pills. I was prescribed Motrin for pain and swelling, Vicodin for pain, and ZoFran for the nausea Vicodin always causes me whenever I take it. I took the Motrin, but didn’t feel as though I really needed the Vicodin. My BF played an episode of Top-Gear, a favorite show of ours, but I fell asleep within minutes. BF cuddled up to me and we had a nice and well deserved nap together.
A few hours later, the effects of the anesthesia had worn off enough that I woke up on my own, without someone else needing to wake me, and was even able to stand and walk around a bit and could even walk up and down stairs on my own. The air in my abdomen was my biggest problem, as I could feel the air move every time I changed position. It hurt but not enough that I felt the need for Vicodin. Although I had a lot of trouble walking and breathing at the same time, I was told that walking would help my body absorb the air, so I joined my BF to drop off our application for a town-home, and then to the grocery store.
Today, I still feel the air in my abdomen move whenever I do. It hurts to roll over, or sit up, and I have to wait for the air to settle, and I’m quickly winded whenever I try to walk somewhere. For some reason, my shoulders and neck occasionally hurt very badly, which is something my doctor warned me about. I have a bit of a cough this morning, as the tube placed down my throat has irritated it and caused flem to build up in my throat which made my voice sound very funny this morning. With air in my abdomen, coughing is a bit difficult. This, however, was alleviated with orange juice. (More TMI ahead. Highlight to read.) Urinating this morning was uncomfortable, which surprised me somewhat, and was probably because of the catheter which the nurse who called to check up on me this morning told me I probably had. I have some light vaginal bleeding. My uterus, vagina, and incision points, however, don’t bother me at all. I feel no pain there. Honestly, the only pain I have felt has been tolerable, not even enough to make me feel the need for pills, and subsides if I just say still. It’s really not that bad, and I think that this is the best decision I’ve ever made. (Edit: All of this went away within a few days.)
(Edit: this is pure laymen speculation, don’t take it seriously.) I have had one thought about post tubal ligation syndrome, a subject I’d written about in a previous post. I wonder if the symptoms reported by women who claim to have this syndrome are caused by the residual effects of the air in their abdomens. That would explain why their symptoms are so rare that no studies on tubal ligation has been able to show a link between their symptoms and tubal ligation, as most people’s bodies are able to deal with the air on their own, and many tubal, although I’m not sure how many, follow a Cesarean section, which may or may not require the abdomen to be inflated with air. It would also explain why women report their symptoms disappearing after a tubal reversal, as being cut open again would allow the air to escape. In such a case, cutting or reconnecting the Fallopian tubes would have nothing to do with it, so it would still make no sense to call it post tubal ligation syndrome. I’m not a doctor or a scientist, so don’t take this blind speculation too seriously. It’s just a random thought I had while coming off anesthesia. In the off-chance that I do experience any negative symptoms though (edit: I didn’t. The air bubble went away after a few days, like like it was supposed to,) the possiblity of trapped air is something I think I’d address before doing something as drastic as a tubal reversal.
I’m a bit uncomfortable and have trouble breathing, but I’ve never been happier or more optimistic about the security of my future. This was a great decision, and one I’m sure I’ll never regret. Happy World Population Day.
My tubal ligation is tomorrow!
On Twitter, a childfree person, whose name I shall not share, posted a tweet that caught my attention. “Today I’m reminded what I’m missing out on by not having kids.” I thought that phrasing her feelings that way were an invitation for bingos, but it’s up to her how she feels. Not everyone is childfree for the same reasons, I understand, because not everyone feels the same way about parenting. As she explained later, she definitely doesn’t want to have children, but thinks that certain aspects of parenthood “rock.” She explained that she was choosing one good thing over another.
Hover, in that first tweet, she included the phrase, “Amazes me so many #Childfree claim there’s *nothing* about parenthood to envy.” This was an awkward statement, and is probably what caused so many people in the childfree tag to reply with tweets which she described as defensive. I explained to her that this line is probably the reason. It’s perfectly OK for her to feel however she feels about parenthood, but in that last line, she dragged all childfree people into it like we’re all supposed to envy what she envies.
This blog post isn’t a response to the tweeter. I’m taking the idea of childfree people secretly envying parents or feeling as if we are missing out as a writing prompt, especially since I’ve seen similar ideas in bingos and in outright attacks on CF people. As is the case with the tweeter, some people may feel that way, as they weigh one option against another and decide what’s best for themselves. There’s certainly nothing wrong with that, as long as she only speaks for herself.
However, not all childfree people feel as that tweeter does at all. I’d even venture to say that she’s probably a minority. I for one don’t feel as though I’m missing out on anything that I’d ever want, and there’s absolutely noting about parenting that I find even remotely enviable. I’ve never wanted to be a parent, not even a little bit, not even for a moment.
I didn’t even feel like I had to weigh pros and cons, as I already knew what I did and didn’t want. But as a writing project, I did it anyway. I came up with 100 reasons I never want kids, 99 of which were rendered irrelevant as #100, simply having no desire to have kids, was more than enough on its own. I tried making a list of good reasons that I should have kids, pros to parenting. After staring at my screen for ages, I couldn’t think of a single one.
I’ll say it again, I could not, after genuine effort, think of even one single good reason I should have kids. Not one! The only reason I could think of to have kids, wasn’t a reason at all. In fact, it was a downright horrible pressure to have kids and, sadly, one that some people really do buy into. It was because that’s what people say we should do. It’s what’s expected of us, especially us women. That is not a good reason to do anything, let alone create a whole new person.
There is not one thing about parenting that I would like. There is not one thing about parenting that would benefit me or anyone else. Being a parent, I’m sure, would only harm me and ruin the life that I work so hard to establish for myself. Even if parenting wouldn’t be a complete disaster for myself and anyone else involved, as I’m sure it would be, certainly nothing good could come of it.
What I’m missing out on, I’m glad I’m missing out on. Life is difficult and stressful enough without having needy dependents which I would surely resent. There’s nothing about parenthood that I envy, or think “rocks.” In fact, I can’t help but feel pity for parents, even if they do not feel that way themselves. Every time someone I know happily announces she’s pregnant, I’m made to feel obligated to congratulate her, but even as I do, I feel very sorry for her. Maybe someone reading this will think that unkind, but I really can not help but see parenting as a very sad thing.
Sufficed to say, I want absolutely no part in such a life. I have no doubt in my mind that having my tubal ligation tomorrow is the best decision I’ve ever made, and one I could never regret in the slightest.
Now, I’ve gotten a lot of hate mail from various places. Most of it has been on my YouTube channel, back when I was more actively posting, and some has been on my pro-choice blog. I guess that is to be expected. I can’t say that I really mind. I don’t care much what other people, especially anti-choice misogynists (same thing, really) think of me. Besides, it makes for some amusing blog fodder.
Feeling much the same way as a dog-owner does when she discovers a “present” in her living room with her foot, I found this pile of dog shit on the About section of this blog. It’s from yet another anti, of course. This is one that’s been pestering me for some time on Twitter, apparently believing that his mindless rants about imaginary babies and equally imaginary gods are totally unique (and not the same crap I’ve seen a million times) and will convince me that women are, as he believes, nothing more than breeding machines rather than full human beings whose lives matter.
Thank You for not having children…
It’s so amazing how I can be thanked for not having something I’ve never wanted to begin with. What’s even more amazing is that this anti apparently doesn’t see the irony of him saying this, seeing as he’s a member of the group of people who deceptively call themselves “prolife” (or, as I like to call them, misogynist scum) and makes it his business to force people to have babies against their will.
If that is your attitude towards them, then you are helping the world by not reproducing! (NOT ment in a hateful manner)
If what is my attitude towards children? I’ll point out now that this comment doesn’t seem to be a clear response to anything. It’s just a comment on my About page, where my only mentions of children have been stating that I don’t have or want them. I don’t see how stating that I don’t have and will never have children is expressing an attitude towards children. I was stating a fact about myself, not an opinion about others. If this is meant to be a response to something I’ve said elsewhere, it’s not clear what.
He is right about one thing. I am helping the world by not reproducing. Everyone who knows better than to reproduce and doesn’t do so is helping the world. If only fewer people would reproduce, this world would be a much better place. I wonder how this anti reconciles this fact with his obsessive need to control women by forcing us to carry unwanted pregnancies?
Because the God that you deny exists still loves you very much…Really!
I stress that I haven’t cut anything out of this antis comment. The statement about me helping the world by not breeding is immediately followed by the above line. I am helping the world by not reproducing because god loves me. Never-mind that god isn’t even real, how the fuck does that sentence even make any sense?! Besides that, the grammar-Nazi in me wants to scream that this isn’t even a complete sentence. Because the god that I deny exists and loves me very much… what?
Oh, and which god that I deny are you talking about, delusional misogynist? I don’t just deny your god, but every god. I deny each of them for the exact same reasons. Take your imaginary friend and shove it.
Have a blessed life!
If bigots like you would stay out of it, I would!
P.S. Who created the outdoors that you love so much? Yes, it was God, Because He Loves You!!!
No one. The outdoors aren’t created. The planet and the life that later appeared on it are results of natural processes, which involve no “who,” especially not your imaginary who. I won’t degrade the majesty of nature by wrongfully crediting its existence to your imaginary friend, rather than standing in awe of the natural geological and biological processes spanning billions of years coming together to form the breathtaking environments I so adore. As Douglas Adams once said, ”Isn’t it enough to see that a garden is beautiful without having to believe that there are fairies at the bottom of it too?”