Space for a Family
by Kelley Gusich
It’s the late 1990’s and I am a young, divorced English teacher with Multiple Sclerosis. Those factors do not define me, but they’re pertinent to the upcoming story, the one where I’m 30 years old and ready to have a baby. At this point in my life I’d done the things in the order I thought you were supposed to: I went to college, got a teaching degree, and got married. Then I immediately got sick and got divorced — in that order and (it felt like) at that speed.
The story wasn’t proceeding like I’d planned. Having kids, though — I’d always wanted that to be a part of my story. Now that 30 years old had reared its alligator head and I hadn’t met anyone interesting in years, I didn’t see it happening. My biological clock…I was starting to think it was a cuckoo clock. I am woman, hear me roar — right? I didn’t need a man to make a baby, at least not since they started growing them in petri dishes. I was filled with self-righteous feminism, or maybe it was just this dream I’d had since the age of seven, looking like it would come to a crashing end if I didn’t get on the stick. Or…er…no pun intended…if I didn’t get off the stick and on to plan B.
Attempt Number one: SPERM DONATION
I started researching sperm donation. Now you might be asking: What about the MS? Don’t you know you have MS? You’re going to purposely become a…
