Macon Magazine

40 maconmagazine.com | April/May 2025 I took off my pants and lifted the lid. I had made the mistake of not removing my pants before, and of having thrown up so violently that pee soaked my leggings. My "morning sickness," had robbed me of bodily control—top to bottom. Once over, I cleaned the bathroom and drove to the store for meds. Single and pregnant, I was patient and caretaker. Two years before the vomit and pee, I began a grueling process of hormone treatments, shots, bad timing, heartbreaking negative tests, ultrasounds, and doctor's visits. I was buying sperm (on credit) at the price of $999 per vial and subsequent attempt. I was filling out electronic forms where you could not move on to the next page unless you put in the second parent's email address. I created the fake email account notapplicable@gmail.com. When a friend offered to donate sperm, I was told by my clinic that they would only accept sperm from my husband. Still, I had the privileges needed to get pregnant. Still, there were moments of profound joy. In January, my baby showers in New York and Georgia reminded me that while I may have been single, we were not alone. But then. In late February of 2020 my child arrived three weeks early after an emergency c-section. In the operating room, I kept saying I was going to throw up. The nurse countered, "You're just anxious." I can't breathe, I said. You are talking, you can breathe. I can't feel my arms and hands, I cried. They jumped into action; the anesthesiologist put a mask on me to help me breathe. He started shouting, "Get the baby out!" When my child was out, my doctor tried to put him into view, but the anesthesiologist had already instructed someone to "put her under." I woke up hours later, intubated, and far from the maternity ward. The epidural had been placed incorrectly; I had been numbed from the neck down. Finally, I could no longer heave. Still, my baby was perfectly fine, and when I first held him I was happy. But then. But then, ten days later, the world shut down. But then, there was single motherhood in a pandemic. But then, there was getting coronavirus from teaching. But then, there was isolating alone with a baby. But then, there were months of post-covid fatigue and shortness of breath. But then, there were no mask mandates. But then, there was little shared sacrifice outside of one's household. But then, there was "collegial" tsk-tsking in the face of interrupted productivity. But then, there was still no vaccine for the under fives. But then there were two years of recurrent croup, of monthly middle of the night rushes to the ER, of no one to trade-off with. But then there was no sleep, only listening for breath. But then, even with all the moments of support and sympathy, I thought, maybe we are alone. Six months after Oscar Jack Bray was born I received a letter from the Georgia Department of Health. This letter read (in part): Dear Ms. Bray, Congratulations on the birth of your child. Typically new parents are given the opportunity to complete a Paternity Acknowledgement Form immediately after a child is born. If you and your child's father were unable to sign this form during your hospital stay, we would like to assist you with the important document and provide reasons why it should be completed. Paternity Helps Families By: • Giving a child a surname that reflects the child's identity and heritage • Allowing both parents to share the responsibility and BY KAREN BRAY E m b r a c i n g illegitimate m o t h e r i n g Moments of joy, trauma, isolation, comaraderie, and oversharing in the lens of a pandemic-era single mother

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