My origin story I guess you could say.
It was a normal day, can't remember what day of the week it was, but I was heading to my friend's house to pick her up on our way to school. She got in the car and I told her we needed to stop at the store quick to get something.
"What do you need?" she asked.
"A pregnancy test. My period is late one day." I replied.
Now understand, my periods were insanely regular, like to the hour. So, when it didn't come as expected, I knew why.
I was so scared and embarrassed to buy a test. This was before self-checkout (dating myself lol), so I could feel the cashier's judging gaze. My friend and I hurried out to the car and drove across the street to school.
We ran into the bathroom as soon as we got there. I quickly read the instructions, peed on the stick and planned on waiting the two agonizing minutes to find out the results, except it was instantly positive. I felt like I was suddenly floating, like having an out of body experience.
What was I gonna do with a baby at 17 years old? I thought.
I wanted to throw up, cry, run, wake up, something! I came out of the bathroom stall staring at the test, then showed it to my friend.
"I'm sorry?" she sheepishly said.
Then we both went to our first class. That day was a blur. I was racking my brain about what I was going to do. How would I tell my parents?
One thing I did know is that this baby would have a life. I always believed life began at conception and abortion was never something I considered. I knew there was a life within me and it scared the crap out of me. Like the responsibility hit me like a ton of bricks.
I waited a few days before telling anyone else. My mom figured it out on her own. She knew how regular my periods were and noticed there were no signs of me having it when I should've. My mom was also a teenage mother when she had me. This was, I'm sure, her worst nightmare. It was hard confessing to my parents, but we talked about it and decided that adoption would be the best route. The father of the baby didn't want to be involved and I wanted this baby to have a loving home with two parents, so it just made sense.
When I was about 5 or 6 months pregnant, we found a family for my baby. A lovely young couple who were unable to have their own child. Over the next few months I got to know them, their families and see where this child, a boy, would grow up. I knew he would be so well loved!
The Big Day!
My pregnancy was pretty easy. I had morning sickness until about 12-13 weeks (always algebra class), then felt great the rest of the time. It was weird feeling the movements inside me. Like an alien had taken over my insides. I tried to disconnect myself from this baby. I didn't want it to hurt anymore than I knew it would. I was 39 weeks and 3 days when I had a routine appointment with my doctor. He checked my cervix and I was the same lowsy 2cm I had been for over a week now.
When was this going to be over? I started crying. I was anxious about birth. I knew it wouldn't feel all that great and wanted to get it over with. I went to a birthing class at the hospital with my mom (which was so embarrassing) and thought the breathing exercises were weird. It was summer and I wanted to hang out with my friends, be a kid again. I just wanted to be done.
My doctor was the sweetest man and he sympathized with my situation. He called labor and delivery and got me in for an induction the next morning. I was relieved, yet apprehensive.
The next day, my parents and I arrived at the hospital. They hooked me up to the monitors, got an IV in me and start pitocin. It started working pretty quickly. Before I knew it, I was doing those weird breathing exercises! But I was managing pretty well. About 5 hours in, my doctor came and checked my cervix. I was 6cm! Woohoo! He then told me he was going to break my water.
Okay, cool. I got this.
Then he said to me, "Now this is kinda like putting gasoline on a fire sometimes."
I nodded and smiled, not really thinking anything of it, He broke my water with ease. The nurses cleaned me up and I got back out of bed into my favorite position, the rocking chair. As soon as I did though, my contractions really picked up. The intensity was insane and there was hardly a break in between them. I started loosing my focus and didn't want to do this anymore.
"I want the epidural!" I said to my mom. She told the nurses and very shortly after that, I had my epidural placed.
Sweet relief!
The nurses had told me that when I felt like I needed to poop was when I should call them, but that probably wouldn't be for a while, so I should get some rest. It was only about 30 minutes after I got comfortable that I started feeling a strong urge to go to the bathroom. So, I called the nurse and told her.
"It's too soon. Here sit on this bedpan. Maybe you do have to have a bowel movement." she said to me.
Really? A bedpan?
I was not thrilled to sit on this uncomfortable plastic thing, but I complied. I had such strong urges to push it was getting uncomfortable. I was bearing down with each contraction, partially involuntarily. After several minutes the nurse took me off the bedpan and I told her I still had a very strong urge. She sighed and rolled her eyes and reluctantly decided to check my cervix again.
"Oh!" she said surprised. "The baby is right there. Don't push. I have to call the doctor."
How do I not push? I can't help it.
Then I panicked. Oh my gosh I'm about to have this baby. I frantically grabbed my PCA button for my epidural and pushed it multiple times. I did NOT want to feel when he came out.
I waited about 30 minutes or so before my doctor came in.
"Well that was fast." he said as he entered the room. "Now let's do a trial push and see how you do."
The nurses put my legs up in stirrups and coached me on how to push. The next contraction came, I started pushing, then everyone yelled, "Stop pushing!"
What? Why?
The room went crazy with movement. My doctor hurriedly threw on his delivery garb, the nurses started opening things, turning on the warmer and calling for help.
Man I must be doing good!
Then my doctor had me push again. The pressure was definitely stronger now. Then my doctor did something. Something my mom had told me he would do, but I didn't know how much that thing would affect me for years. He cut a large episiotomy, straight down. I remember hearing the three cuts like he was cutting through construction paper.
"Okay, no push." he instructed.
I pushed and my baby came out all at once. He started crying and the nurses took him straight to the warmer. I started crying and so did my parents. It was such a mix of emotions. Relief because it was over, but sadness because I knew what was coming next...the good bye.
As I started to collect myself, I heard my doctor say, "It's a 4th degree laceration."
At the time I had no idea what that meant, but my doctor had a student with him and he explained to her what a 4th degree laceration entailed. "She tore through her anal sphincter."
Oh great!
I was quickly redirected after the nurse asked if I wanted to hold my baby. I said yes and reached out for him. I was amazed that this little baby was inside me, well not really that little actually. All 8lb 1oz of him was inside of me. It was really surreal.
Did that really happen? Did I really grow this human? This is crazy!
The Aftermath
I stayed in the hospital three days after giving birth. I was able to spend those three days non-stop with my baby. I had friends from school come and visit and meet him. Family came, too. The adoptive parents were in town, but decided not to meet him until it was time to take him home. They had been burned before and I didn't blame them for protecting themselves from being hurt again. I knew I wasn't going to change my mind. This was going to be the best option for him.
The final day came when I had to sign away my parental rights and hand him over to his anxious new parents. It was a very hard day. I remember being in a very small room just big enough for my little hospital bed and a chair. It was dark, I don't even think I had a window. A woman sat across from me who explained everything to me and what it meant to be giving up my parental rights. I sat on the side of my bed next to my dad who was holding the baby.
"Do you understand what I am telling you?" she asked.
I looked over at him, hesitating for a split second. I started to cry, then replied, "Yes, I do."
I signed the papers. It was done.
I was also being discharged from the hospital. I had a lot of pain and discomfort from my tear. But things seemed to be stable, for now.
When it was time to leave, the adoptive parents brought his car seat. I placed him in his car seat and got him all buckled up. He looked so small in this huge seat. I sat in a wheelchair and they placed his car seat on my lap as we went to the front entrance of the hospital. The adoptive parents had their car pulled up to the front. They let me place him in the car and say good bye. I could hardly breathe. I kissed him, told him I loved him and shut the door. The parents gave me the biggest hug and we cried together. I was so happy for them, to give them this gift. It was overwhelming the emotions flowing through me.
We finally said our goodbyes and went our separate ways. I honestly don't even remember the drive home or what I did when I got there. I was drained.
Unfortunately, the heart ache didn't end there. My tear ended up getting infected and falling apart. I then developed a hole between my rectum and vagina, also called a fistula. It was insanely painful! I had to go see my doctor and then a specialist to see how we could fix everything. Antibiotics, wound care, diet changes, activity limitations and pain management. That is what the next month or so was for me. I lost most bowel control since everything didn't heal right and had to start going to pelvic floor therapy. As a teenager, that was such a strange thing to me.
Therapy to strengthen my butthole and vagina? What?
It took many months to heal, but it never healed back to normal. I would deal with years of bowel incontinence issues that just became my new norm.
BUT that's not where my story ends...it gets better!
How It's Going
I learned so much from that experience. I fell in love with the process of pregnancy and birth. It blew my mind that we (women) do this. That we can grow life within us and then bring that life into the world. Wow, it's truly a miracle! I knew I wanted to be a part of this world every day.
I was also lucky enough to have an open adoption. I had multiple visits a year seeing my son. His parents would send me emails and pictures. I heard about milestones he reached and was sent videos of him being goofy or reciting Bible verses. He was a miracle! Being able to see him the first few months after he was born helped me recover. It reminded me that what I was going through was worth it, worth this new life that was here. It wasn't all for nothing.
I graduated high school the next year and I knew exactly what I wanted to do. I wanted to be a labor and delivery nurse. I wanted to be a part of birth all the time and maybe help other girls/women who are going through the same things I did. I felt a strong calling and purpose for my life.
I would eventually graduate from nursing school, get married, have four more children (1 c/s, 3 VBACs) and work in labor and delivery. I was able to find a surgeon who fixed up my whole pelvic floor (Yay for no more incontinence!) I also did get to help other teens going through situations similar to mine. Also women who had tears and complications. My life experiences made me a better nurse to my patients. I thought I had reached my dream and the height of my purpose. But God had other plans, better plans that I would have never even dreamed of.
My story is still being written and there is so much more to tell. There is much more work to be done. God's not done with me yet! I hope you join me on this crazy ride of life.
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