REGULATED MORE THAN A GUN
printed on plexiglass (24 x 16 inch)
Edition of 100
$650 plus .0825 tax = $703
Cressandra Thibodeaux was born in New York City and raised in Houston, Texas. She received her BFA at University of Texas, in Austin, and her MFA at Columbia University, in New York City. Her work focuses on social issues, women and people of color. Thibodeaux has had solo exhibitions at Art Basel, in Basel, Switzerland and at G-Spot Contemporary Art Gallery in Houston, Texas. She has participated in group exhibitions at the Art Car Museum and now in the Magnificent Seven at the Texas Contemporary Art Fair. She has directed several award-winning short films, documentaries and three commercials which have all won Addy awards.
Getting pregnant was harder than I had ever envisioned. And in 2009, I tried "In Vitro Fertilization," an assisted reproductive technology commonly referred to as IVF. On my 5th round of IVF, I finally got pregnant. However, my doctor explained it was an ectopic pregnancy, meaning the fertilized egg was in my fallopian tubes. She said that she'd have to administer a shot that would kill the cells.
I quietly responded, "Let me pray on this."
She said, "What?"
I said, "What?"
"You said you'd pray on this?"
"I know. That was weird," I admitted.
"Cressandra, do you NOT believe in science?"
"Of course I do," I said, "I'm here aren't I?"
Frustrated, she raised her voice, "If you allow these cells to grow in your fallopian tube, it will rupture and you could die. You need a shot of methotrexate-
"I said I want to pray on this!" And I left the office.
And so began my journey - I would pray in the morning that my ectopic pregnancy would move to my uterus (which is impossible) and at night I would pray for the strength to get the methotrexate injection. I wished I could have shared this with my husband, an atheist, however, I was ashamed of my religious views because they were putting my life at risk.
Around Dec. 21st, my doctor called me to her office to inform me they would be closing for the holidays and would not reopen until January. "I am now giving you this package of injections that you must administer yourself. You have placed your life at risk and honestly you've disappointed me as my patient."
"Sorry," I said and took the methotrexate injections home in a to-go bag.
Finally, on Christmas Eve, I went to the bathroom and prepared the injection. I looked in the mirror and as I pressed the needle into my belly I felt I was going through an internal battle to take back my body. It was the lowest point in my life and one of the greatest gifts I've given myself. Whatever the decision a woman makes on cells multiplying or not multiplying in her box should be her decision, not our government's.