I think the most common fear for most women after they become sexually active is getting pregnant. Most people lose their virginity in the high school years and God forbid your already irregular period is a day late. Automatically, your first thought is that you’re pregnant even though you’d just tried anal for the first time, wore a condom, and took your birth control that day. Thankfully, that did not happen to me. The last thing that I was worried about was getting pregnant in high school because I figured that it just wouldn’t happen to me. It didn’t, but I should’ve worried about that after graduation.
I was a perfect little college drop out living at my moms house. I’d only spent a year in Penn State before I realized how much money we didn’t have to pay for it and my roommate became a nightmare. I decided to take up online schooling with the University of Phoenix and work full time at the same job that I possess today. I was still with my boyfriend at the time, though was strongly contemplating on leaving him for one of the many rich gorgeous men that I came across on a daily basis. My checks were hefty and I didn’t have many responsibilities.
That all changed when one day I was sick. I believed that I had the flu since I had flu-like symptoms. I had the flu the year prior, so I knew what the flu felt like and that’s what I had. I didn’t need a doctor. Also, when I had the flu before, I did not get my period since my body was under so much stress. Since I’m clearly a doctor and didn’t need any second opinions, the flu was the reason for my late period. I explained this to my best friend and she did not believe me at all. She strongly believed that I needed to take a test. I laughed at her because clearly his pull out game was strong.
The next day, after calling out of work again, my lovely best friend came by with soup, medicine…and a pregnancy test. God I love her, but I think the moment she brought that test into my home, that’s when I became pregnant…just saying. She owes me child support. I ate the soup, took the meds, and peed on a stick. She paced back and forth outside the bathroom while I waited the hour-long two minutes inside the bathroom. Then there it was, the pink plus sign that just would not go away. I immediately felt nauseous (because that’s how you’re supposed to feel right?) and scared. My main concern was how the hell am I going to tell my mom and how long can I hide this. My best friend had already gone through this a year prior so she knew exactly what to say (which was everything I told her when she was going through this). She told me to just tell her right away. The longer you wait the worse it will be.
It was easier said than done because I had to wait until it was just the two of us in the house. My brothers and her then boyfriend all lived in the house. I knew telling them wasn’t going to be easy, so I had already given up the idea. They were going to have to figure it out on their own. My mom and I were watching TV. She was sitting on the opposite side of the room which was perfect because if she wanted to throw something at me or hit me, I could dodge it and/or run. I said randomly, “so I took a test today…”. She automatically assumed that I was talking about school and replied, “For school? How did you do?”.
“Not that kind of test,” I replied with sweat quickly building up in areas that it never did before. I automatically blamed the kid for that.
“Well then what kind?” she asked.
I didn’t say anything after that, mostly because I didn’t know how to respond. I guess because my approach was stupid. I forgot I was in school and we take tests there so this conversation required more beating around the bush than I wanted.
Then she asked if it was a pregnancy test and I shook my head yes. “You’re pregnant?!” she yelled. Now at this point it was so hard to read her. Her voice cracked a few times so I began to position myself to make a run for it. She clapped loudly and lept in my direction with open arms. I jumped not knowing what her motives were and didn’t fully trust the whole “give me a hug thing”. Nonetheless she hugged me and my overly emotional ass just cried.
Fast forward through the days of not throwing up, not being tired, just not having the normal symptoms of a pregnant woman. Honestly I thought that all the tests I’d done were all wrong and it was just a food baby growing as I ate countless amounts of food during the day. Yeah, I did not care what I ate. I ate it all. No weird cravings or anything, I just ate everything in sight. At one point, it got to the point where I told myself and the child that enough was enough, I had to eat healthy. Then the unthinkable happened…I threw up. So junk food it is. And milk. If you know me, I despise milk and cried every time I drank it because “that was what the baby wanted”. Kid took over my life immediately.
I was one week away from being 7 months when my mom told me that I looked green and purple. So to make it clear, I was getting fatter and changing colors. Just call me Barney. I told her that I was fine and was a little tired from the appointment that I had earlier that day. An ultrasound and stress test was done because the little boy inside me was smaller than normal. Unfortunately, I was stuck with a new ultrasound technician and she didn’t have much information for me. After she couldn’t figure out what was going on with him she told us that we were over our time for the appointment and had to leave. All appointments have a time limit of one hour. After that hour was up, we’d have to make an appointment to come back in a few days. Of course this made me upset because every appointment had become negative once I turned 6 months pregnant. I was put on light duty, which my job did not honor and the baby’ growth began to slow down. So by the end of this appointment, I’m walking out of the hospital with my head hung low and tears flowing down my face. My son’s dad was a man of not so many words. He just said, “it’ll be okay” and “why are you crying”. The Godzilla in me wanted to punch him in the face and walk home, but I was on light duty. My stress levels had to be put to a minimum. While it was easy to do that on the outside, on the inside, my mind was screaming, my heart was crying, and the depression sunk in.
Later that day, when my mom practically called me Barney, I ended up going back to the doctors so they could check on everything. They called me back in no time asking why did I need to come in. “My mom,” I answered. The nurse laughed and began to take my vitals. When it came time to check my blood pressure, the nurse was sure that her stethoscope was broken and she had a long day and couldn’t take it correctly. She called in another nurse who took it and was just as shocked at the numbers she got. Next thing I know there were nurses running around and doctors coming to check what had been checked a dozen times. They couldn’t believe that a 20 year old like myself could have a stroke at any moment.
I was taken to the hospital across the street accompanied by my brother who only signed up for taking me to the doctors. Instead of my brother, he was named my friend, baby daddy, and father all within an hour. Their main concern was not being able to get an IV in me. My main concern was that I hadn’t eaten since that morning. I begged them to eat, but they told me that I couldn’t because of the medication I was on. On top of not being able to eat, they told me that I had to be in the hospital for two weeks to ensure that I would be on legit bed rest. That means I couldn’t do ANYTHING for two weeks. Nothing. Just sit on my Barney ass.
After all the phone calls were made with updates, my brother swapped shifts with my son’s father and the night came and went. The next day was more poking and prodding in areas it shouldn’t happen. If I remember correctly, an Asian woman who I’d just met went elbow deep in my vag. Partially traumatizing. The night came around again and the nurse’s shift changed. My new nurse was much younger and a bit more understanding. I explained to her how hungry I was. She told me that it was the thought of eating that I missed. It didn’t matter to me, I wanted food! After whining and crying, she walked in with green jello topped with whipped cream. I squirmed with joy and so did my boy. I thanked her and devoured that jello as if it were my last meal before execution.
I fell asleep a couple minutes later, only to be awakened by bright green vomit. I guess I had to learn the hard way. My blood pressure spiked again and I had every nurse, doctor, receptionist, and resident in my room. They stabilized me and explained that I could’ve had a seizure, shouldn’t have eaten the jello, and I will be giving birth tomorrow. I felt like they were punishing the pregnant girl for being hungry.
I told my mom what happened and everything after that was pretty much a blur. I had been diagnosed with preeclampsia and would deliver a premature baby. I never knew how to care for a premature baby. I didn’t know what was coming next. I just knew that was terrified. Having a baby this early meant that he wasn’t going to make it in my eyes. I immediately lost all faith. I wanted to cancel the baby shower, delete all Facebook posts pertaining to the baby, and just act like it never happened. Not many people knew I was pregnant and I hid it the entire time. To me, it would be easier to just pretend that it never happened rather than explain myself countless times about my deceased child.
When they came in to give me the play by play on what was going to happen next I just nodded my head in agreement. My mom was worried that I had officially gone crazy. She was hysterical and here I am as calm as can be. Stress is what got me in this situation, so my main focus was to not make it worse. Before I knew it, I was in the delivery room preparing for a c-section. My son’s dad was to my right and the extremely funny/attractive anesthesiologist to my left. Needless to say, you know who I was talking to the whole time. We talked about baseball and a game that was on at that moment (mind you I hate baseball). He even helped me when I threw up during the delivery. So sexy…
Anyway, they told me right before delivering that my son’s lungs were very premature. This means that when he is taken out, he will be removed from the room immediately to be intubated. He may not cry or move, but they were going to try their hardest to ensure that he lived.
At 9:06pm, 1 pound and 9 ounces, Baby T was born. With the weight of a loaf of bread and the size of my hand, he entered the world the with one big squeal and a few softer ones. Everyone was surprised at the amount of noise those “weak lungs” produced. After four months of ups and downs, surgeries, and transfers, Baby T came home to me.
Now here we are 6 years later. He is happy, healthy, and never shuts up.