nixtress's Diaryland Diary
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There's a reason, they told me.
Did you know that by rights I should have a 12 year old child as well now? When I was 16 years old, I became pregnant. The father was the man I'd dated since I was 13, and would eventually become my husband, and then my ex-husband. I knew..and was shattered. All I'd ever wanted was to graduate high school and get the hell away from the weekendly beatings my parents gave to each other, and the alcohol that drenched them. And I was pregnant. I told my then-bf, on a weekend he had Army Reserves. And that weekend I lost our baby. Smart girl that I was, I was aware something horrendous was wrong, but the only person I approached with questions didn't seem to hear what I was saying, and reassured me that I was probably just having "really bad cramps". THAT much was obvious. Asking my mother for help would have been right along the lines of asking a dead person for their opinion--just wasn't going to happen. So at the lovely age of 16, I crawled into my bed, and ground my teeth to nothing while having gut-wrenching (literally) contractions and cramps. The blood..there was so much blood. Not only fresh, free-flowing, running like a stream blood but huge clots..and I hurt. Stubborn girl that I am, I still refused to tell anyone.This was when I discovered exactly how high my pain tolerance was. My parents assumed I was ill and left me alone...nice of them. Finally, it got to the point every time I sat up I'd feel beyond light-headed. I made it to the bathroom, changed my pad for the umpteenth time, and passed out on the bathroom floor. My step-father heard me fall and found me.
I remember him carrying me out to our rickety rusted older-than-dirt car and I remember smelling exhaust fumes. I remember someone taking my clothes off at the ER and I remember being humiliated because they were prying my thighs apart. I remember sobbing like a child while the doctor examined me..and I remember the prick of the needle when they gave me my I.V. and blood transfusion. I remember my step-father being there, holding my hand and I remember tears on his face.Strangely, I don't remember my mother at all.
And then I remember waking up in a pink curtained area and being told that I'd had a miscarriage and they'd had to do something called a D&C.
As explained to me by this doctor, somewhere along the lines something had gone wrong with me. Either the baby wasn't formed properly or my body had just rejected it, or something...and that caused me to miscarry. However, since nothing in my life can be simple, I hemorrhaged, to the point I had two blood transfusions, and was damn lucky I hadn't died.
And afterwards, when they finally let me go home, there were the explanations to my future husband, and the fights and screaming matches with my parents and his..about us, and sex and babies, and statuatory rape charges (he was 22 at the time) and then there was the disappointment that rolled off my mother and the sadness that seeped from my dad(aka my stepdad) and the guilty relief and sorrow combined that I felt.
I still had my life ahead of me. I could still be more than where God had put me. And I was (almost) a mom.
All of this is on the forefront of my thoughts today because today we are celebrating a birthday. And in the quietest parts of me, I celebrate for that baby as well.
I wonder what kind of child that baby would have grown to, and what kind of life they'd have had. And I mourn.
I hope everyone is having a wonderful day and weekend. I'll be around.
N.
8:57 a.m. - 2003-03-15
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