Monday, March 22, 2010

Sunday, March 21, 2010


I'm not in the right place to continue my last series of posts just yet. It is a genuine place of existence that deserves to be portrayed in my coherent reality of that time. Although I have healed, and my broken heart has been repaired, the feelings of visiting that broken heart cannot be endured on a continuous basis. Amazingly so, sharing the birth and death of two chapters in my life has opened me up to the possibility of adding another blog. One that is more for my raw and explicit feelings, often stirred from writing. I didn't think I could manage one blog.

I guess much like the mother who gives her all to her first child, pregnant with her second, and finds it incomprehensible that she can equally devote to another, I realize that I have more to say, and just like I grew a whole 'nother heart for each of my children, so shall come the inspiration for my other blog.

Look forward to a new addition (funny I mistyped that addiction the first time, ha!) as well as a continuation of my last post.


Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Part III- The Beginning of just Me

I stayed a week in the hospital. It was a full blown kidney infection. We decided to do the amniocentesis. I mostly wanted to know she  was really a she. Selfish 13 year old that I was. The ultrasound techs could not find my kidney. Still. The contractions stopped. I was sent home and expected back in school the next day. I showed up, but I did not feel good. I went to the asst. principle's office and he thought I was faking. He sent me to detention. It was in the basement of the school. There were NO windows. Detention was referred to as "prison" and we all knew that our underfunded school was a fire hazard.

I sat through detention, wondering why being sick from pregnancy was worthy of detention. It felt like she was shamed no matter what I did. I went home that night. My boyfriend was his usual stoned, literally overworked self. I started having regular "cramps." I looked to my book first. I now trusted it more. It said what I was experiencing was an emergency. I called my teen parenting teacher. She immediately began yelling at me, telling me I was going to fail out of school and be nothing for my baby. She told me I was melodramatic. I didn't know what that meant. She said to go to bed and come see her in the morning. I listened to her.

I wish I listened to my book. The pain woke me at 2am. I got up and went to go pee, thinking that was the problem. Immediately I felt the thick and slow decent of the warmth spreading down my thighs. Not pee. I said a short prayer as I walked for the light. I had been having periods for over a year before I got pregnant. I knew the hesitant downfall of blood down my leg by now. I also knew it was not compatible with pregnancy. My book told me that.

I woke my boyfriend because I was screaming. My grandparents came rushing down the stairs. I was already dialing the nurse line. They would give me permission to go to the hospital and take care of myself and her.

On the way the contractions were intolerable. I got there and emergency quickly took me to L&D. I was put on a chair resembling a dentist's chair. I remember thinking, a dentist's chair means minor business, an office visit, she  is going to be ok.

Within seconds there was an official looking person telling me that I needed a room, but it was in fact a state hospital, and there were no rooms. I was checked and was dilated to 4. no turning back, too late. A portable NICU bassinet was brought in and I was told to brace myself. Any minute.  I wish that was true. 16 long and agonizing hours of minute apart contractions and I was not even a 7. An epidural wasn't an option, so they physically and mentally numbed me with stadol. She was breech, but even though they gave me false hope, they didn't acknowledge the fact that a 22 weeker, with next to no chance, could not endure a breech delivery. I was given false hope that every minute inside meant she had a better chance.

Nature didn't help me keep her inside. They broke my water, saying there was no going back and they walked out. She was being born, bottom first, the next contraction. Thankfully there was an awesome orderly there to come catch her. 
Bet she thought she was only going to empty trash that day, not empty a 13 year old girl...

Here she was.

Here she was, yet no one came. Maybe if there were a Dr. in the room they would be working miracles, with this little angel fighting, beyond my sight. Yet she was in my arms and I was helpless. I watched her tiny chest raise and fall, with what seemed like the work of a million miracles each time. I could actually see her heart beneath her fragile and thin skin. It was working hard. Still no one came. I saw tears in the lying cheater's eyes. Even he loved her.

Someone finally came, but they knew, and the let us know. THERE WAS NO MORE HOPE. They didn't take her away. There was no oxygen, there was no NICU, there was no airlifting her to Children's Hospital. After all, her mother was only 13. No hope. A lost soul... two lost souls.

I held her from the moment she took that painful first breath to that moment I saw that last fragile beat, and then, nothing. No one was there to tell me she was gone. They were off tending to live births. I spent a magical, painful, intense, love filled, 84 minutes with her, while her strong little heart beat, but they didn't come. Even when she became still, even then I couldn't let her go. I held her 'til she turned blue and unrecognizable.

The hospital was nice enough to give me a grieving room where I could go see her until I could let go. Even though they didn't try to save her, they didn't disgrace her or downplay my loss like our families were doing. "It is better off this way," is not something you say to someone who just lost a baby. She had a preemie diaper and a little hand-made dress, and she was wrapped snuggly in a receiving blanket that my dear sweet friend had brought for her. They made her a tiny hat. They didn't take her to the morgue 'til I could say okay. They took her hand and footprints for me.... they let us name her. be continued...


Friday, March 12, 2010

Part II- The end of You

Summer school came to an end. The long hot summer days were growing shorter and my belly was growing. I was feeling her move now. Despite all of the commotion in the world around us, I was doing everything to keep her safe. I was not going to be selfish right now.

I had been politely told that I could not continue my education at my Lutheran high school, now that I was showing. I would need to go to a school for pregnant or parenting girls, or a public school with a parenting program. I thought the one that was all girls, that were either pregnant or parenting, would be better.

My first day there, I listened to the stories of all the other girls as we got to know each other. Rape; a one night stand; got pregnant from having a train pulled on her while getting jumped into a gang; still addicted to crack, but trying to change; boyfriend only hits her when she does something really bad, but he loves her. Parents wouldn't pay for an abortion.

Was there anyone here that wanted their baby? I was sure I would find someone. Right?

I managed to stay at the school for two weeks. I saw a mad boyfriend try to run over the mother of his child following an argument after school. I saw pregnant girls smoking weed during lunch hour. When I saw two pregnant mom's exchange crack while I was waiting for my Grandpa to pick me up, I knew this wasn't the place for me.

I switched to the nearby public school with a parenting program. My best friend went there already, but she was a year ahead of me. I would have 6 normal classes. Then I would have one period of "Parenting for Teens" and one period where I would go help at the school daycare, to help watch the other teen moms' babies that were in daycare while their moms were in school. This was definitely more like it.

As I settled in and started making aquaintences, I was thankful to be in a more supportive environment and cautiously optimistic of my future. Even though the drug use and betrayal continued, I chose to embrace motherhood and focus on becoming a mother. I didn't know what having a present mother was like, so I had a lot to learn.

I stopped listening to "You" and started thinking about me. Then I started feeling sick all of the time. I would talk to my parenting counselor or look in my book, "What to Expect When You Are Expecting". She would tell me I was being sensitive, the book would say to call my Dr. She would tell me pregnancy isn't supposed to be fun and I did this to myself, the book would tell me pregnancy doesn't have to be painful and to get support.

I finally called the clinic, (I didn't have a regular Dr. because I was on state insurance) and told them my symptoms. They told me to come in ASAP. I loved the clinic. The social worker would listen to me intently and always smile and tell me, "You are going to do fine!" My clinician explained every procedure and every test, and always acted like my baby mattered as much to her as she did to me. Today they tested my urine and the test came back that I, at least, had a severe UTI (something that was common in this pregnancy and I was used to the symptoms, check-ups, and antibiotics for), but more likely something more severe, such as bladder or kidney infection. I was sent to the hospital immediately.

The hospital was another 20 minutes away, in the heart of downtown. As always, my grandpa was taking me, but we did call my boyfriend to tell him so he could come to the hospital after work instead of going home. We drove around looking for parking for over 20 minutes. He insisted he should drop me off at the door and go park so that I wouldn't have to walk. I knew he couldn't read and I was terrified he might get lost and not be able to find me. We parked 3 blocks away and walked in together.

I was directed to go to Labor and Delivery and that scared me. I was only 20 weeks and my baby could not survive without me yet. I read it in my book. An ultrasound was ordered and that excited me. Maybe her sex would be confirmed. The U.S. tech was not nice and would not tell me anything. She told me I needed to talk to the Doctor. I knew from past ER visits, that something was usually wrong when they won't talk to you. My boyfriend was there now, and the Dr. asked to speak to both of us.

I had a severe kidney infection and it appeared as if my kidney that been operated on as a child might have stopped working and been reabsorbed by my body. One of our baby's kidneys was enlarged. This could be because of my poor kidney function or it can be a common occurrence in babies with down's syndrome. I was already having mild contractions from the infection so first step was to get me on antibiotics and fluids, and some medications to stop the contractions.

The next thing we needed to consider was an amniocentesis. This test would tell them if anything was wrong with her genetically, including down syndrome. According to the Dr., I was early enough in my pregnancy that if I wanted to abort because of a genetic defect, a partial birth abortion would still be considered because of my age, my health, and the baby's condition. The risk is that an amniosentesis sometimes causes preterm labor and since I was already contracting, the risk was greater.

The Dr. left us to talk amongst ourselves and decide. Suddenly my 13 years and his 16 years didn't seem like enough years, even combined, to be discussing the fate of this little girl's life. Tears that had been absent for a long time returned. I bunched up my hospital gown and used it to wipe my face. This exposed my belly and all we could do was stare at it for a moment. I felt like she could feel us staring and might feel our pain and uncertainty. Somehow it felt like my weakness was exposed to her because of my now exposed belly. I quickly covered my belly and began rubbing it, hoping she felt comfortable and safe again, even though I wasn't sure if she was. be continued...


Thursday, March 11, 2010


(If you are in a place where you can listen to my playlist,
 you will here the song that corresponds with the following lyrics)


It's for you
Only you
It's for you

I'll never know
I'll never care
I'll never believe my people
I'll tell you what I say
I'll never lie
I'll never try
I'll never cry for you people
I'll push you
Push you away
As you lonely people
Keep on running around my door
Yes, you lonely people
Keep on begging
Beg for more
And I'll cry for you
Yes I'll die for you
Pain in my heart it is real
And I'll tell you now how I feel inside
Feel in my heart it's for you

It's for you
Only you
It's for you

I'll never try
I'll never die
I'll never push for you people
I'll tell you how I feel
I'll never lie
I'll never cry
I'll never try for you people
I'll tell you, yes it's real
And you lonely people
Keep on passing time away
Yes you lonely people keep on passing,
Pass away

And I'll cry for you
Yes, I'll die for you
Pain in my heart it is real
And I'll tell you now how I feel inside
Feel in my heart it's for you
And I'll take everything
As it comes my way
Pushin' your pain 'round my door
And I'll cry for you yes I'll die for you
Is this blood on my hands all for you?

You shiver
And shudder
Recovers your mother
You feel it take control
All alone
Feel alive
In your soul

Come around town
Steal another dime
Take another line
Won't you feel it
Blanket your soul
Out of mind

Come around town
Steal another dime
Do another crime
Won't you get it higher & higher
All through time

Come around town
Steal another dime
Don't you push your drugs in my face
Yes, I'm feeling
Feeling fine
Don't you push your drugs in my face
Or I'm gonna put you in your place
Fuck you
I don't want it no more
And it's mine
Said this pain in my heart is all mine
Yes, it's mine all alone

I don't want it no more
I don't want it no more
I don't want it no more
I don't want it no more

And it's mine on my own
Yes, it's mine all alone
As I cry for you
Yes, I'll die for you
Pain in my heart, it is real
And I'll take
Everything as it comes my way
Feel in my heart it's for you
And I'll lie for you as I die for you
Pain in my heart it is real
And I'll tell you now
How I feel inside
Fuck you
It's for you 


What irony I feel when I listen to this song now. I used to sit in front of my full length mirror that was propped against my daybed, putting on my makeup in the dreadful early morning hours, getting ready for summer school, and listening to this song on repeat.  It brought me continuous tears, and I would stare at myself crying, my freshly applied foundation streaking down my face, and tell myself to just shut off the song and quit feeling so upset. I would smudge the foundation and tears together into an acceptable mess. The tears would stop long enough for me to to apply my eyeliner, and then the words would again sink in, and the eyeliner would make a streamlined decent through the botched foundation job.

It was the summer between freshman and sophomore year in high school. I was pregnant. I had miserably failed the last year because of my complicated relationship and pregnancy. It was hot and miserable in August.  I was almost halfway through my pregnancy. The ultrasound tech said she was likely a she. Even though the pregnancy was intentional and desired by both of our lonely hearts, the guy also had other lonely intentions. 

The blissful delusions of my new happy family to be, were disappearing into his incessant clouds of marijuana smoke and lies, which I had no tolerance of after my past, and  at my tender motherly age of 13. This song confirmed both my love, his sickness, his selfishness, and my shattered dreams. It also reflected the lost path of my addicted mother. Melodious pain shared, pure and concise. 

The tears overwhelmed the smeared, tormented surfaces of my young face, poorly disguised by unneeded make up, that I truly believed concealed my insecurities, and dripped down onto my white maternity shirt.

I only had two. A white one and a blue one. The same shirt, different color. My pregnancy was not accepted. My cheating, 16 year old boyfriend made $6.10 an hour, and was slowly buying the bare necessities for our soon to be facade apartment, and life. Garage sales fulfilled a young soon-to-be mother's dream nursery. Car payments, insurance, and feeding us both, consumed the rest of the money quickly. Oh, as did the weed and cocaine. So, there was no money for maternity clothes. 

He had to be up even earlier than I did for his job. His job started at 6 am. Even though he was up at 4 am and gone by 4:30 (he worked 30 mins away and took several of his older coworkers that had lost their licences to work), his marijuana smell lingered when my 6:00 am alarm went off.

It didn't matter how sure I was, his lying, comforting words always convinced me to pretend to believe. Marijuana was a companion to cocaine. Unexplained dirty baggies of green or white residue happened along, as did unrecognized panties. There was always a great story, followed by a proclamation of his undying faith to me, his unequivocal love for our unborn daughter, and inappropriate sexual acts that I called "love."

The stain that began as a drop, spread into the interwoven material of my K-mart maternity shirt. I looked down and it felt like I watched my pain spread before my eyes, staining the canvas of my daughter's pre-existence. I chose to wear my stained maternity shirt anyway. What other person was really going to care what a 13 year old pregnant girl was wearing? So why was I doing my make-up again? 

I remember that we were reading, Follow the River, and how much I loved the escape into the travels of Mary Ingles, and specifically the birthing of a child by an Indian woman, along the side of the river, without pain relief, squatting over dirt, delaying the travels of the Indian tribe that had kidnapped Mary.

 I wasn't sure which reality was better.

Who knew that the pain of my lonely pregnancy, in the heat of summer, sired by a drug addict, immature (acting as an adult), unfaithful companion, was about to take a bittersweet turn for destiny.

to be continued....


Tuesday, March 9, 2010

... The Storm

I am much calmer today. I am finally recovering from a serious hang over. I am not perfect. A whole lot of anger, induced by sleep deprivation, mixed with a whole lot of wine and an emotional conversation with a girlfriend, can sure stir up some deep seated insecurities.

I was caught up in purely my own suffering and oblivious to Bryson's own need to sleep to go to work. I felt like what I needed was most important and that he should care about it as much as me and put himself on the back burner. For an amount of time that I am uncertain of because it was in "wine time," all I wanted was for him to make me feel better, to help me fall asleep, to say kind words and understand that I understand he can't help his snoring, but it adds to my stress with insomnia. It all made sense in my head, but I have no idea what my tone was or what specifically I said. sigh.

All I know is that when someone I love and trust and look to for comfort, calls me crazy when I am suffering, I become one ranting pissed off chic. This morning when I read my last two posts I almost wanted to delete them. Then I thought to myself, no f*ck it, it is a part of my reality and even in a moment of weakness it shows strength. Even though I had drank too much and was emotional, I had no desire to use drugs. (ok I DID wish I wasn't drunk and could at least take my advil PM) I had no desire to use illegal drugs or abuse another substance.

I still had the hate and resentment of meth even though I had drank too much and I chose to write and express my anger rather than continue to fight with Bryson. There were the ugly words exchanged and then we left it alone. There was no crazy yelling. There was no ugly scene for the kids to wake to. That is such a different place then arguments of past relationships. I am so thankful for this relationship.

This morning we talked about it. We  both expressed our feelings in a non-blaming way and we both listened. We both apologized for the part where our actions turned irresponsible, unthoughtful, disrespectful, or hurtful.

We also brainstormed solutions and took action. He has breathe right strips to try. I have an Rx for trazadone to help me get to sleep. He is going to take extra care to listen for Victorya in case the meds work too well and I can't hear her.

We have agreed that if these steps don't work, we are going to get a twin bed to put in the office so that no one needs to sleep on the couch and there will be no hurt feelings that we sleep in separate rooms until I can start sleeping again.

I am so thankful for the capability to do the next right thing and to know that our lives are not perfect, but that makes me appreciate living it that much more.


Reality: the hardest blow

Keep your friends close, but keep your enemies closer. -Sun Tzu

Just when I thought my best friend would show up. Just when I thought I was not alone in the universe... and I thought HE would be here... I was met with the hardest words I could hear from someone, especially Him. "What do you want ME to do? It is not MY fault YOU can't sleep, YOU are crazy!"

He who sleeps peacefully, snoring,  and NEVER worries about the wellbeing of his daughter (or all of her previous 29 months of existence) because the "crazy" betrayed, isolated, bi-polar, orphaned chic, that you happen to sleep with once in a while, has it covered. You trust the "crazy" chic with your baby, sober or not.  (OH AND she has TWO orphaned children that mar your existence and pay your way with their SSI.) Your  baby's momma, can't sleep, does all the emotional work and your laundry and sugar coats your existence. Fuck your paycheck, YOU are crazy. What do you want ME to do?


Dear Insomnia and Sleep,

Insomnia, I am done being nice. I fucking hate you. You are unwelcome. My best friend, sleep, is your nemesis, and I refuse to take your side. Real friends have given me weapons that your sneaky ass is demolishing. Breathing, and meditation, (maybe even misinterpreted as mediation), and even my non-religious prayer; all close friends of mine; introduced by many trusted allies, and widely accepted here, are being rejected by your demoralizing presence. Wine and PM pills do not defeat you and further my frustration. Easy sleep (and DREADFUL EVIDENCE of snoring) by loved ones is mistaken as my misfortune because of your powerful grip. You bastard. Why would you steal my best friend, sleep? Sleep is so much safer than my other vices? WHY are you testing me. Sleep used to be my ONLY vice. Did I test you with my meth/awake addiction?
Are you jealous that I only needed to be awake in moderation as I became healthy? Why are YOU testing me?

Sleep, you are not like meth. I can fucking survive without you, that dirty whore showed you that. Insomnia, why are you even competing when you know sleep was always my favorite? Sleep, I didn't mean to betray you. I want you back. I LOVE YOU SLEEP.

Sleep, I love you and I miss you, please believe me.


Saturday, March 6, 2010

Inertia and Momentum

It seems to me that I am unequivocally being affected by the laws of physics.

Getting to sleep has been a nightmare. Getting out of bed equally as frightening. I have been using Tylenol PM and it slowly gets me to sleep and gives me about 3 hours. From that point on, I suffer through countless periods of semi-conscious racing thoughts mixed with brief periods of sleeping with lucid dreams. By the time morning comes and I SHOULD just get up, I have argued enough with my conscious mind to convince myself that if I stay in bed for just a half hour more I might fall asleep. I SHOULD be waking up my 2 year old to get her on a better schedule now that Bryson is working days. 

Instead, I watch her sleep and breath peacefully, feeling envious and content at the same. I do not get up until she does, usually about noon, when she is enough reason to break my inertia and gives me just enough momentum to get up.

The rest of the day is filled with the usual array of family going ons. Clean the kitchen, get dinner ready, make her lunch (breakfast), kids home from school, homework, facebooking, blog reading,  friends over, Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, diaper changing, eating, cleaning, and then comes the dreaded time that me and my 2 year old SHOULD be going to bed. I try not to think about it so that anxiety doesn't set in. I put a movie on for her, hoping she may fall asleep early, and promise myself I will wake her up early the next morning so that she will not want to stay up so late.

The rest of the house turns in and sleep comes for them almost immediately. The sound of my husband's snoring is infuriating at times because I am so jealous of his easy sleep. My 2 year old is joyful company, but even she cannot wait up with me. Sleep comes for her and I know that means morning is coming. I am afraid to stop going. My momentum tugs at me, urges me on. Ten minutes turn to twenty, my anxiety is at its peak.

 I take the Tylenol Pm. I lay down and search for the recognizable comfort and relief I am used to feeling when bedtime comes. It is not there. I kick my husband so he will change positions and relieve me of the burden of his snoring for a short while. I start my nightly dance with my racing thoughts, pleading for them to slow down. The cycle repeats and somewhere my momentum gives up, inertia sets in and its time to try to get up early again.

This cycle is making me feel crazy. I feel defeated. I have tried prescription sleeping pills in the past and I am super sensitive to them. Even half of the smallest dose puts me into a coma-like sleep. They are totally incompatible with the need to sleep and listen for my little one. Not that I have insurance or a Dr. to discuss medication options with. 

I am here and reading. My coherent thoughts don't feel worth writing lately. I can't find the words to comment very often. I am aware that I am in a depression cycle of my bipolar illness. It is a time where I use my depression tools. I go through the motions and do the things I don't feel like doing. These times are when introspect and feelings are potent, but I choose to put one foot in front of the other never the less. The emotional turmoil and anxiety are not severe enough to debilitate me. 

I know that this will not last forever. I know I can control small aspects of my happiness by making good choices. I still feel happiness and joy throughout the day. 

"An object at rest tends to stay at rest, and an object in motion tends to stay in motion." -Newton


Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Hear No Evil, See No Evil, Speak No Evil

my kids
Hear No Evil (Destin) See No Evil (Victorya) Speak No Evil (Aliviya)
tattoo on my left arm