Dear John,
Well, this is the story you were waiting for, really. It's your story.
Chris and I were young, very young. I was 16 when we started dating, he was 19. I didn't see him often, since he was most of the way across the country from me when we were in school, and 200 miles away when we weren't. I'll spare you the gory details, but basically, I can guarantee you that I got pregnant during the week before my college graduation.
When you're young, you're going to think that unprotected sex sounds like the greatest thing since sliced bread. I never lied to Chris about my lack of preparation, but we'd decided earlier in our relationship to stop using protection anyway, for that exact reason. And for that exact reason, I will tell you, never EVER take a girl's word that she is on the pill or otherwise protected, and use protection anyway. You're protecting yourself as much as her, and there are a lot of things out there that you just plain damn don't want to experience firsthand.
But I digress. We were both clean, and we made a bad decision.
So … I'd been home for a few weeks, and I expected my period, and it just … didn't happen. And I knew. I just knew I was pregnant.
I don't remember how far along I was when I told Chris. It can't have been long. I told him I was fine. I told him I would “take care of it”.
I told him that every week, when we talked, or when I saw him.
Truth? I was scared shitless. I didn't know who to talk to about it. I didn't know how to talk about it. I didn't have anyone I felt I could tell. I knew Mom and Dad would be pissed, and I was afraid they'd throw me out or something.
So I didn't say anything. To anyone.
Over the summer, I got what I think was a UTI. I called the doctor's office, and the nurse asked if I was pregnant. I was terrified, but I asked why, and she said she might need to test if I was, because it might be something else. I lied and said I wasn't. (This is probably part of why your teeth are so bad, by the way.)
I didn't even really gain weight, as far as I could tell. My body changed so that all my weight was in the front. I got to the point where I only had two pairs of pants that I could put on anymore. Good thing overalls were “in” at that point, because they're a lot more flexible than other pants!
I was about 6 weeks behind Aunt Amy, by my estimation. So, through the month of October and part of November, I lived with Aunt Amy and Uncle Skip, helped them get settled in their new house, chased after Sean, and absorbed as many of Aunt Amy's pregnancy practices as I could. I watched how she ate, what she did, what she took, and I tried to emulate, to the best of my ability, at least.
By Christmas, I was getting too big to do much. I think you were doing most of the moving for me, honestly. I'd put a pillow over my stomach every time you decided to stretch out, because you would make one side of my stomach stick out by a few inches. You'd get the hiccups and I'd hide in the bathroom. You'd step on my bladder – or worse! – and, well, that was fun.
I spent most of the winter hiding at home. I didn't go out, I didn't help Mom, I didn't really do much of anything. On top of being pregnant and constantly telling Chris I would “do something about it”, I didn't have a job, or a car, or school prospects, so except for the time I spent with Uncle Skip and Aunt Amy, I was just stuck at home. I didn't even have much of the money I earned from that, since I used some for Christmas, and my sister stole some of it for her Christmas.
Truth be told, I spent most of that time denying you were there, denying you were happening, denying anything like this could ever happen to me. I was smart – brilliant, even; how could I have been so stupid as to get pregnant? I kept thinking if I just willed it, it wouldn't be anymore.
But at the same time, my body kind of took over. I guess it was instinct - I knew what I was supposed to do to make sure you were healthy, and I just did it. Whether or not I wanted to be, I was probably healthier then than I was up until that point. I don't know why that happened, but I'm glad it did.
So when the last day of February rolled around, I was uncomfortably huge, and I started having back problems. Like, shooting back pains. I don't know what I thought – maybe I thought you'd started stepping on the nerves coming out of my spine or something. All I knew was it hurt. It didn't seem to have a pattern to it, it just felt kind of like I was being kicked in the kidneys. I sat in a warm bath for a while, but that didn't help. For some reason, I got myself convinced it was gas pain, but that wasn't it either. Eventually all my moaning and groaning kept Mom awake for too long, and they didn't know what to do, so they took me to the emergency room.
Even there, I lied to the nurses at first. They struggled, trying to figure out what could possibly be wrong. When I could barely move, I finally confessed. The nurses all said “oh, thank God, at least we know what's going on!” (Moral: don't lie to the nurse or the doctor. They're there to help, and if you lie, they don't know how to treat you.) They put me up on the bed...
And then Mom came in. That was enough to do me in – I started crying. (Another moral: there's no worse feeling in the world than knowing you've disappointed your parents.) And then, of course, the hard work came...
You were born at 1:55 in the morning. I'd only gone into labor around 9PM, so I'm guessing you were kind of in a hurry to get out. Then again, by my math, you were also about two weeks late; maybe you're just a champion procrastinator! More than likely, though, you just didn't want to come out until you were good and ready.
And ready you were! Over 10 pounds, over 20 inches long, cried right away but then calmed down right away. Kind of stomped on out of me, too – I lost so much blood that I was gray for two weeks. You ate like a champ, and you were the most alert newborn they'd ever seen at the hospital. You were trying to hold your own head up at three days old – you always had to sit up, too, so you could see everything that was going on. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
As I mentioned, you were born a little before 2. Mom held you before I even got to. I took one look at you, and I knew as much as I wanted to, I couldn't keep you. Mom said if I wasn't keeping you, she was... and that was that. I had to go in for some surgery, and I got out around 6 to be transferred to the regular children's hospital. You'd been moved already, since you were just fine. And by that point, they had a crib, a mattress, and three buckets of clothes. A car seat and a stroller were also on their way.
Like I said, our family sticks together.
In other news, your first snowstorm was later that afternoon. Thundersnow, even. You liked it.
I'll spare you all the minute details of the hospital stay and all that. One important part, though – I didn't tell Chris about you until I got home. Not that there was much he could have done – though he did come out for his spring break a few weeks later – but it certainly wasn't what he was expecting, given all I'd been telling him.
From the moment I knew I was pregnant, I held everything inside. Even afterward, I was terrified of how I felt. I loved you, and that was scary. At the same time, I knew that I would never be in your life the way I wanted to be, and that hurt more than anything I've ever experienced. I wanted so much to be the one raising you, the one being the most important person in the world to you, the one you needed more than anyone else. At the same time, I knew I could never give you the life you deserved, and that by being with my parents, you were getting the best life you could possibly have. I knew you would grow up well and happy and loved, because you were getting exactly what I got. It was so much more important to me that you have a good life than it was that I got to be your mom, so I suffered silently. (Well, for the most part, I did; when I moved to North Jersey for graduate school, I called Mom and cried a couple of times, including once on a pay phone down the street.)
For a long time, I never knew how to talk about it. You were such a great kid, and you were the best thing that happened to me, and I couldn't even accept it, because giving you a good life was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. It was killing me that I regretted having you, because you were so sweet and so special and so perfect. I didn't want you to ever think that I wasn't thrilled to be a part of your life, because you are more important to me than anything, and you are the most amazing person I have ever met. At the same time, I regretted every bit of the circumstances surrounding your conception and birth, all of the things I did (or didn't do) that led me to have you.
Two years ago, a few of my college friends and I did an alumnae event at my college where we basically just sat and talked to the current students – the first attempt at creating an alumnae support program for students, since the program is so specialized. One of the things that came up was about sex, protection, and having someone to turn to when the things we don't want to happen... happen. I told the girls about how I went through my entire pregnancy alone, because I was afraid that no one would understand and I was afraid to even say anything at all. I told them that they needed to know that there was someone out there who would understand, no matter what happened to them, because no one should ever have to feel that alone and that scared.
I think that was a big turning point for me. I'd never really spoken about my experiences that openly – even though it was only a 30-second point about the project we were trying to initiate. It took me more than a year after that to come to terms with the fact that I could regret the circumstances but not regret you in the slightest. I realize now that I can't change the past. What's done is done, and I have to work with what I've got.
The good part about that is, what I've got (being you, of course) is pretty damn amazing. I realize now that by accepting my past, and learning from it, I can actually enjoy the present. Which means, I get to enjoy you all the more!
The point of all this, in case you missed it, is that you need to know that you will always, always, always have someone to come to if you need anything. I never want you to feel as alone or scared as I did while pregnant with you. You know you can always come to me for anything you might need, and if you don't want to come to me, there are other people in our family and among your friends on whom you can rely. It's easy to forget that when you're in a sticky situation; it is my hope that by knowing the story of how you came to be, that maybe you'll remember that you always have me to listen and help with the compassion and love that I wish I'd known I had.
Love,
JRM
No comments:
Post a Comment