When I Was Pregnant At 24

At age 24, I was pregnant with my second child. Before this planned pregnancy I was at a training that was talking about drinking during pregnancy and how that can result in Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorder (FASD).

Because of that training, I stopped smoking cigarettes (smaller baby size), I stopped drinking (as I had drank in my first pregnancy), and I stopped taking amphetamines and smoking marijuana.

All nine months I was in withdrawal. The cigarettes were the most difficult to quit as I smoked 2-3 packs a day when I quit.

My baby was born weighing 10 pounds, 6 ounces. I made up my mind I was done having babies as my daughter was 8 pounds, 15 ounces. I thought for sure the next one would be 13+ pounds.

He was born in July of 1978. I decided not to smoke again as it was too hard to quit. After one month I decided what could it hurt to smoke marijuana. I was still fighting with myself as I wanted a cigarette.

My son quit breathing. As my husband and I passed him back and forth, and he was turning blue, we ended up outside and the neighbor lady hollered at us to see what was happening. Today, I think we were scared, in shock, young, and perhaps, most important too stoned to know what to do.

She said, "Run him to the hospital!" I took off running then. We were less than a block from the hospital. When I got him to the hospital he was breathing again. When he went in with the doctor, he stopped breathing again and he was taken by ambulance to the major medical center.

From there he was poked and prodded all night long. Sometime during the night, the doctor came in to get permission for another test. A test that could kill him he said, but if he had spinal meningitis he could die from it so it was necessary but they had to get permission.

The next morning I was told that the diagnosis was sudden infant death syndrome. (SIDS) And that meant he could stop breathing at any time until he was about 2 1/2 years old.

Those almost two years were the scariest of my life. That first night I did foxhole prayer all night. That was what I was most familiar with. I was told that was what soldiers would do during wartime while in their foxhole.

The mantra sounded like this: Dear God, save my baby, take me, I will do anything. Save my baby. Please, I promise to do whatever you want me to do. Save my baby. I am so scared. Please save my baby I pleaded.

He came close to dying that night and in that moment I thought for sure he was dying. My baby is 46 years old now.

That night altered the course of my life, my community, and my world. My priorities changed. My life had to be different. My community changed from spending much of my time partying to spending more time with family and sober people. My focus was my children.

I found recovery one month later. I hadn't smoked cigarettes since I knew I was pregnant. I stopped smoking marijuana the night that happened with my baby.

Then a month after that, I was leaving my alcoholic, addicted husband. I said I couldn't care for him and our babies. My 2 1/2-year-old daughter was more help than he was.

He asked for marriage counseling. When we went to the therapist she said, "I can't help you! As long as there is a drug and alcohol problem, it is like pounding your head against the wall. We won't get anywhere."

She gave us some information to contact an assessor who would look at the need for treatment services. She gave us a list of Alanon meetings for the family of the alcoholic and a list of AA meetings for the alcoholic.

Now, I knew he was the one with the problem, so he got the assessor's information and the Alcoholics Anonymous meeting list.

That woman saved my life and for a few years, he was in and out of treatment, while I started and stuck with the family program. It took me two years to stop spinning around my husband and the alcoholics in my family and to focus on me.

For almost two years, it was a terrifying time. My husband would quickly pass our baby to me when he thought he was beginning to stop breathing. My husband continued to smoke cigarettes. No longer in the house, but he would smoke cigarettes.

And marijuana when he was still using or in relapse.

Before two years, our baby was with his dad's sister-in-law and her daughter for a short time, only about an hour. They both smoked and lived in a small trailer house. I didn't know they smoked in the house.

When he got home and went down for a nap, he couldn't breathe and he sounded like he was having an asthma attack. We found out then that he was allergic to smoke. His staying away from smoke made all the difference after that.

He could now tell people that he was allergic and people who smoked in the car would hold off when he was with them. (people used to smoke in the car.)

After two years in a family recovery group, and then in a family treatment program, I was asked to have an assessment. I remember the assessor saying, "You can feel free to attend AA meetings." Me and this other guy who sounded like a teetotaler.

To be in that program I was not allowed to drink or take drugs during that treatment, so I thought they were kidding. I wasn't using alcohol or drugs. I didn't have a problem. But the timing was right and I quit everything then. My first year was very difficult. I struggled and I was tired.

There wasn't much sleep for me when my baby was sleeping.

It took me almost the entire year to remember that foxhole prayer and my promise to be willing to do anything. After that, it prevented many possible relapses and I got clear about my belief in a higher power, which I call giizheymanido (kind and loving spirit) or Creator God.

That was two years after my baby quit breathing. Now, I have 46 years in recovery and 44 years of no alcohol or drugs. My life changed at that moment when my son quit breathing. I believe today that I wouldn't be alive today, at age 71, if it wasn't for recovery.

Many times I questioned whether my son would be alive today either, while I was living that lifestyle of partying, leaving him with my mother and others who shared a similar lifestyle.

As a young boy, he had exercise-induced asthma and as an adult with long Covid, he had asthma. Other than that no continuing signs of a breathing problem or complications. My children's father died at age 46 from his addiction.