And then, one night, my back started to hurt. A LOT. I felt like something was kicking me in the kidneys, OVER and OVER and OVER. I thought I was going to die. I thought my kidneys were exploding. I thought my spine was going to pop out of my body. I started bleeding ever so slightly -- it might've been because I kept trying to go to the bathroom, so I was a little raw, but I didn't know, and since I didn't think much of it, I didn't say anything.
Finally, at 1 AM, my parents took me to the hospital behind the house. They couldn't deal with me screaming in pain anymore. They thought I had a kidney stone or something -- what did they know? When we got there, I wouldn't even admit it to the nurses at first; when I finally did, they were actually relieved. They couldn't figure out what the hell else could possibly have been going on if it wasn't labor. And they asked me to do the math for them, and that was the first time it ever dawned on me that it must have been time -- I got pregnant at the end of May, and here it was the first of March and I was just now going into labor?
They got me up in there, and they had to tell my parents. My mom came in and held my hand, and we both cried while I begged for drugs. They couldn't give me any; I was too far along. I was confused as hell; my water hadn't broken, so how the hell could I be ready to have the kid? They were actually going to break it for me when it finally did break, and like 10 minutes later, the damn kid practically fucking walked out of me. He actually tore me, past the episiotomy, because he was so big.
And there he was. This little person. My heart swelled and broke in the same instant. "I can't keep him." My mom said, "If you don't, I will."
My cousin the OB/GYN sewed me back up -- I finally got my goddamn drugs -- and they sent me over to the maternity hospital. They'd taken my son earlier; they had to put him on a stretcher with a bunch of towels bundled all around him because no one had a carseat to put him in. When I got there, my uncle the gynecologist pulled a few strings and got me a private room, so that was kind of nice.
Within hours, my aunts and uncles had pulled together. As news got around, deliveries out the wazoo came by; a carseat, diapers, clothes, supplies, everything you could think of. All of it was hand-me-downs and leftovers from cousins and family friends; all of it was needed and much appreciated. My parents pulled out the crib that my brother and sister and I had all used.
What sucks most about the whole thing is that I didn't realize until all of this came together that I really could count on my family to be understanding and supportive of something even so difficult as this. I really wish I'd known that 9 months earlier.
And then, a couple years ago, my parents finally officially adopted John. He's always known, and has shown an amazing capacity to understand how it all works, family-wise. Although I think he sometimes forgets that his cousins are my cousins, too. :)
All in all, it wasn't easy. It's still not easy. I hate that I'm putting my parents through all of this again, when they were completely ready to wash their hands of kids. I hate that I've missed so much of his life. I'm just glad I can be part of it, and that I get to see what I do. But there's not a day that goes by that I don't wish I could've done it "right".
yeah, kinda. although Chris and I have talked about seeing what he wants to do later on, although we haven't talked with my PARENTS about that... we've always had this image of being the "cool parents"...
Finally, at 1 AM, my parents took me to the hospital behind the house. They couldn't deal with me screaming in pain anymore. They thought I had a kidney stone or something -- what did they know? When we got there, I wouldn't even admit it to the nurses at first; when I finally did, they were actually relieved. They couldn't figure out what the hell else could possibly have been going on if it wasn't labor. And they asked me to do the math for them, and that was the first time it ever dawned on me that it must have been time -- I got pregnant at the end of May, and here it was the first of March and I was just now going into labor?
They got me up in there, and they had to tell my parents. My mom came in and held my hand, and we both cried while I begged for drugs. They couldn't give me any; I was too far along. I was confused as hell; my water hadn't broken, so how the hell could I be ready to have the kid? They were actually going to break it for me when it finally did break, and like 10 minutes later, the damn kid practically fucking walked out of me. He actually tore me, past the episiotomy, because he was so big.
And there he was. This little person. My heart swelled and broke in the same instant. "I can't keep him." My mom said, "If you don't, I will."
My cousin the OB/GYN sewed me back up -- I finally got my goddamn drugs -- and they sent me over to the maternity hospital. They'd taken my son earlier; they had to put him on a stretcher with a bunch of towels bundled all around him because no one had a carseat to put him in. When I got there, my uncle the gynecologist pulled a few strings and got me a private room, so that was kind of nice.
Within hours, my aunts and uncles had pulled together. As news got around, deliveries out the wazoo came by; a carseat, diapers, clothes, supplies, everything you could think of. All of it was hand-me-downs and leftovers from cousins and family friends; all of it was needed and much appreciated. My parents pulled out the crib that my brother and sister and I had all used.
What sucks most about the whole thing is that I didn't realize until all of this came together that I really could count on my family to be understanding and supportive of something even so difficult as this. I really wish I'd known that 9 months earlier.
And then, a couple years ago, my parents finally officially adopted John. He's always known, and has shown an amazing capacity to understand how it all works, family-wise. Although I think he sometimes forgets that his cousins are my cousins, too. :)
All in all, it wasn't easy. It's still not easy. I hate that I'm putting my parents through all of this again, when they were completely ready to wash their hands of kids. I hate that I've missed so much of his life. I'm just glad I can be part of it, and that I get to see what I do. But there's not a day that goes by that I don't wish I could've done it "right".
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