A Love I've Never Known Before

All of my friends had a gang of children by the time they were in their mid 30's. I, on the other hand, had zero. For some reason I never felt that calling to be a mother. As a child I don't remember every playing with dolls where I took care of them like real babies. I mostly had stuffed animals and I loved cats and kittens. I guess I just did not have that maternal instinct like others did.

When I first became sexually active, around age 17, I made sure that I never got pregnant, via birth control or other by means. I always told myself that if I ever got pregnant I would surely have an abortion. In my mind I was just too young and far too immature. Quite a few of my friends had kids when they were teenagers, and even though they struggled, they still loved their kids and took care of them as best as they could. Ultimately they loved babies and they loved being a mother. It seemed to come so naturally to them. But for me, not so much. I wouldn't even hold babies for fear that I would drop them. I just wasn't that interested in babies like other women were.

Fast forward some years, around 2015, my hormones were all out of whack, I had just been diagnosed with PCOS (Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome), and I had a dermoid cyst. I was actually going to my gynecologist for an ultra sound to keep an eye on the cyst. I was expecting to receive a call the following week with results from my pap smear and any other findings during the ultrasound. I was trying to get all my health issues sorted out so I could start getting the PCOS and my hormones under control. But the universe had a different plan altogether.

Just as a preface to this time in my life, I was a mess, physically and mentally. The problem was that I had not identified the way I was feeling at that time as anxiety or depression. I just thought that life was always going to be an uphill battle and that I was just over reacting. I was constantly feeling my heart flutter, my immune system was shit because I was always internalizing my stress. I would get a staff infection on my face a couple of times a year, a lymphatic cyst in my eye, I would stay up all night and sleep all day, and I was constantly getting sinus infections and colds. I had also gained a considerable amount of weight over the years so I was miserable and I hated myself. I was like a powder keg, and given the right conditions, I was going to explode.

So in January of 2015, I had seen my gynecologist, it was a Friday, and I got a call around 5:30PM from the gynecologist's office. The nurse told me that they had found area's of my uterus that they were concerned about, and that they wanted to see me back in the office on Monday. I was completely panicked and asked them what they had found, but the nurse was not allowed to tell me and that I needed to stop taking the medication my endocrinologist had prescribed me for the PCOS. After that phone call I was completely freaking out. I immediately decided that I had cancer and that I was going to die. I just knew it was going to be bad news, some kind of terminal illness, and I almost started to plan my funeral. I was terrified to say the least.

During that weekend I was racking my brain. What could have been so bad that they needed to tell me in person and not over the phone? On Saturday night, for some weird reason I told myself I needed to get a pregnancy test. I don't know what triggered me to consider that, but I stopped at the dollar store and bought one. Don't judge me, at this time I was very broke, so yes, I bought a dollar store pregnancy test. I got home and went straight to my bathroom. I didn't tell my fiancé what I was up to, I just went in and took the test. As I sat there on the toilet, not thinking that I was actually pregnant, 2 lines slowly darkened in the little window of the test. I couldn't believe my eyes. I was pregnant.

I was in complete shock. I knew I had to tell my fiancé. But I did not want to make a big deal about. I walked out of the bathroom with the look of puzzlement on my face and I told my fiancé that I might be pregnant. He was shocked, and excited. At that time I did not share his enthusiasm. I was terrified.

I knew nothing about pregnancy and it's whole process. I had gotten pregnant years before and didn't even know until I was having a miscarriage. I had no experience taking care of other peoples' kids, I never babysat. I was literally was last resort for anyone who needed a babysitter. I used to have this dream where I would have a baby, and I would just lose the baby; I had no idea where I had left it. I would then go through the dream looking for the baby. It seemed like I would be looking for hours, but I wouldn't tell anyone in my dream or ask for help because I was afraid that someone would call child protective services. By the end of the dream I would find the baby with a full diaper, looking all filthy and dirty. And then the dream would end. Looking back, maybe it wasn't that I didn't want kids, I was just afraid that I would be a bad mother. That I could not be a good parent to a small human that was solely reliant on me. People have babies all of the time, but in reality being a parent comes with a lot of responsibility. Especially when they are newborns.

So, my fiancé and I wanted to get confirmation on the pregnancy so we went to Walmart and got a slightly more expensive pregnancy test, and yet again, it turned out that I was pregnant. I called my parents to tell them what I thought was going on, and that I was possibly pregnant, which may explain what the gynecologist found in my ultrasound and why they wanted me to come in to the office.

At that time I was working 2 jobs, one as a case worker processing cases for food stamps and Medicaid recipients, and the other was a part time gig as a receptionist at a salon. I had worked at this salon for a good number of years, and my coworkers were like my family. And they were such a great support to me through all of my life's trials and tribulations. Just as my parents were, they were equally excited that they were all going to have a new baby. My other job though, didn't give a shit. In fact the stress from that job I believe had a lot to do with some of the complications I had during pregnancy.

So during my pregnancy I had a rough time. During the first trimester I had a subchorionic hemorrhage, where I thought I was having a miscarriage. Then I went and got a ultrasound and found out that I was still pregnant and was actually a month further along. So I was actually in my second trimester. My hormones were going crazy, I developed severe cystic acne on the bottom half of my face. It was like I had a beard of puss filled zits; super gross! My hips started to spread and my sciatica got real bad. Then my feet would swell, but my left foot was way larger than the right. I actually had to buy two pairs of shoes, so I could have a larger size for my left foot and a smaller for the right. At the ladder part of my pregnancy I ended up with gestational diabetes and then preeclampsia. Good times...

The day I was told I had preeclampsia, and that the fluid around the baby was low, so I was admitted into the hospital where I was told I might have to give birth that day. Just as a reminder I was terrified about being pregnant, like a dear in headlights, perpetually, but now I had to give birth today? What?! I always knew that I would eventually have to give birth to the child I'd been carrying around for months, but I still had about eight weeks before my due date. I found comfort in that time, but now that comfort was gone. I needed to go immediately and give birth this baby. I was 32 weeks pregnant, and I was admitted into the high risk unit. I cried when I first walked into my room. I was so scared. My anxiety was through the roof and I was sure my blood pressure had sky rocketed too.

I was in a state of fright at all times, It was a constant issue to get an IV in my arm, I probably had every nurse in the hospital try to either get an IV in my arm or try to get some blood from me. All of which had failed. They had met their match. My arms were covered in bruises. I constantly had to have my finger pricked to check my glucose levels, and every so often I would need a shot of insulin. I had monitors allover me, there were beeps and bells going off at all times. They were able to get everything under control and push the birth out for about a week and a half. But that was all they were willing to wait before they rushed me into surgery because the baby's heart rate dropped.

So I had my son at approximately 10:00 a.m. that morning. He was about 4 1/2 pounds, a tiny little guy. But in my eyes he was like the sweet baby Jesus. So cute and little like a little tree frog. While I was in recovery, he was in the NICU. I had to stay in the hospital for about a week longer because my blood pressure was still high, but then I was released. My son however had to stay in the NICU. The day I was discharged, I had not been outside for a couple of weeks so it felt weird to me. I remember right before I left, a caseworker had given me a psychological assessment, a paper questionnaire asking me a series of questions about how I felt mentally after having the baby. I guess it was to gauge my level of anxiety and depression, in case I was experiencing post partum depression. The caseworker told me I was testing a little high on the scale of post partum but I reassured her I would go to counseling and see a doctor to manage it.

I remember being in the passenger side of my fiancé car. I remember feeling weird and detached, like I was just released from jail. It was a bizarre feeling. I think at this point I was running on adrenaline, just going through the motions, living and breathing. It was strange leaving my little baby behind. But he was still having some issues with eating and needed a feeding tube to eat. My fiancé and I went everyday to the NICU to spend some time with him, sometimes even twice a day. But mentally I was still in this weird state shock, kind of like a limbo of sorts.

Once we were able to take our baby home, I had to try to get my shit together. I couldn't breast feed so I was having to make bottles all of the time. We were worried about SIDS, and all the other possibilities of danger, and then at night we would both get up with the baby to give him a bottle. With all of the focus on what needed to be done to make sure the baby had all of his needs met, I did not realize my mental health was starting to falter.

Here and there I started to cry a little, and I would feel kind of bummed. I should have addressed it then but I didn't. Only until about a month later I had bottomed out. I was having horrible depression with bouts of anxiety. I felt so detached from everyone including this beautiful new baby boy, my son. Then the paranoia and delusions started to set in. I wasn't seeing things or hearing voices, I just felt like I wasn't connected to myself, or my life. It felt like I could just disappear. I would sit in the shower for about an hour literally doing nothing but crying while the water would fall on my head. If I had make up on, Id let it just run down my face and then I would have to wipe it off right before I got out. I had let my hair grow out so it was really long. I sometimes wouldn't even wash it while I was in the shower. I would just sit there and cry.

Eventually it became clear to my fiancé that I needed some type of intervention when my crying wasn't any longer exclusive to the shower. In between crying and being bitchy, I was stoic. I could not see past my own self to take care of this sweet little baby I had just given birth to. Something had to happen. I remember the day very clearly when my mother came over to sit with me on the couch, and help me sort out my thoughts. She had a bout of severe depression, almost to the point that she was physically ill. Her doctor decided that she needed to take medication. I never thought about taking medication for myself, but I was at the end of my rope. I needed relief and I was willing to do whatever it took. So on my last post partum visit I told the doctor what I had been experiencing. And he decided to prescribed me some medication. It took some time to kick in, but while I waited, I had hope and I looked forward to a time where I could function again. Everything eventually fell into place.

For the last 5 years I have continued to take medication. When I started to compare how I dealt with things while on medication versus how I used to pre-medication and pre-baby, I realized that even if the post partum depression never happened, I probably should have taken medication years ago. I was always wound tight, moody at times, and perpetually anxious. I felt like I was having a heart attack some times, and I just couldn't control myself when things got too stressful. Now all of that is no longer. My thoughts are better sorted out. I can handle some pretty tough situations with out completely falling apart. I don't cry as much either, which is nice because I don't feel like such a cry baby. But the greatest benefit of all, a blessing really, is that I can focus all of my love and attention on my son. The love of my life and a love I'd never known before.