My Painful Stories [part three]

 

 

If you've been following along with my blog for a little while, you've likely already met depressed, cutter Christine in My Painful Stories [part one]. And if you continued to read after that, it's possible that you've also met depressed, cutter, anorexic Christine in My Painful Stories [part two].

 

Now it's time to meet the next me.

teen mom Christine

 

Notice how "depressed, cutter, anorexic" does not appear before those words up there. I somehow managed to put all of that behind me during the summer between sophomore and junior year of high school. Maybe it had something to do with my boyfriends mother kicking him out and him moving in to my house? Maybe it had something to do with the fact that my parents moved to Arizona and left me living with my Gramma and my boyfriend for the rest of the summer? Maybe it had something to do with how close I was to making Open Champion in Irish dance? I honestly don't know...

 

But what caused the change doesn't matter. Just the fact that it happened does.

 

And just in time for a completely new chapter in my life.

 

Like I mentioned a moment ago, my boyfriend (the Ex Husband) moved into my house that summer. My parents also moved away with my brother and sister early on in the summer. I was set to join them in the middle of August after one last competition, dance camp and seeing the Ex Husband off to boot camp for the Marine Corps.

 

We still lived with my Gramma, but she was working full-time and was often busy. So the Ex Husband and I basically had the entire summer, and house, to ourselves. And, little did my family know, we had actually started having sex before school let out for the year..... Oops??

 

Anyways... Since we had nothing better to do most of the time, we spent a lot of time watching movies, going to the pool where he worked, cuddling on the air mattress and having fun.

 

Well, having fun when you're not on birth control isn't the greatest idea.

 

And then there's that one time where you decide not to use any protection....

 

Yes, you read that correctly.

One time.

 

We were the typical teenagers thinking "Oh, nothing will happen. It couldn't possibly happen to us. We'll be fine. No worries."

 

Boy were we wrong.

 

So that was at the end of July. July 31st to be exact. (I have a really long memory when it comes to dates. Weird, I know.)

 

The Ex Husband was set to leave for boot camp a week later, we had lots of plans for the week, he was going to try and see his family whom he hadn't spoken to in nearly two months, etc. All of that going off to the military, say goodbye to everyone you know stuff. I was all excited because I had a surprise going away party all planned out for him that Friday. We were having it at the pool, even if I did have a broken foot!

 

And then came the call from the recruiter. The guy who had been slotted to go that week had come down terribly sick and couldn't go. They had to send someone. And the Ex Husband was next in line. How could he say no? He was ready to go. He wanted to go. What difference would a few days make?

 

He took the slot.

*cue major panic on my part*

 

I cried a little bit, I hugged him a lot. I didn't worry at all. I talked to my Gramma and sent out a mass email and a message on MySpace (yup, those were the days...) alerting everyone that he was leaving early and the party had been moved up. To the next day. In the evening. At my house. It was a lot to wrap my head around.

 

The Ex Husband and I spent the following day at an amusement park, riding roller coasters, baking in the sun and enjoying each others company. I had to keep him out of the house until that evening, which was actually pretty easy.

 

We made it home. SURPRISE PARTY! Recruiter picked him up from my house that night.

 

Little did I know that I would soon be talking to his recruiter again....

 

I spent a few more days with my Gramma before I flew down to my new home with my parents. Joy. I was not at all thrilled to have moved, especially out of state. But it was what it was and I had to deal with it. My Gramma flew down, too, and stayed for a few days.

 

Her last night in town she, my parents and I sat down at the table to have a discussion.

 

*cue massive anxiety on my part*

 

My parents asked me if I wanted to move back home and live with my Gramma instead of staying with them. I would be able to go to my school, spend time with my friends, continue dancing, be confirmed in my church. Heck yes! Of course I wanted to move back! But I wanted to spend more time with my siblings and parents before school started, so I stayed with them for two weeks before Gramma and I drove my things back home. Woohoo!

 

Well, that was where things started feeling off. I had already started feeling nauseous and changed my eating patterns by the time those two weeks had passed and it was three weeks since the Ex Husband had gone to boot camp.

 

And I was late.

I was never late.

*cue stress, anxiety and fear*

 

Gramma and I drove back home over the course of two days and I could not have been happier to be back. Mainly because there was a grocery store right across the street with self check-out lines so I could buy a pregnancy test and no one would know. Trust me, I'd lived across the street from that store my entire life and both of my parents had worked there at one point. If anyone knew what I was doing, they'd be across the street and telling my Gramma before I could finish paying.

 

So I took a test. And it came back positive.

 

I was pregnant.

 

First thing I did was write a letter to the Ex Husband. I wrote it as fast as I could, I put it in an envelope, addressed it, sealed it, stamped it and had it out on the mailbox in a matter of ten minutes. It didn't even occur to me that it was Saturday. Evening. "No post on Sundays" -Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, hardcover, page 41 (yes, I am aware of just how much of a nerd I am!).

 

Well, the letter would make it to him eventually.

 

The following day I gathered up the courage to tell my Gramma. After all, she had just agreed to be my guardian for the next two years, she ought to know what she was getting herself into. And I felt like she ought to have a say, and she ought to have a choice in whether or not she wanted me to continue living with her.

 

I prayed she would let me stay.

I prayed she would still love me as much as before.

 

She took it in stride. Disappointed, yes, but willing to be there for me. She bought me another test so we could be certain and reassured me that everything would be ok. She told me that we would work it all out and find a way to keep moving forward with life. She reminded me that my mom was a teenage mother and her life didn't end when she had me. She gave me hope for a future, even if my future was now changed forever.

 

Over the next couple of weeks life got back into a routine. I started school again, went to all of my classes, including a 7AM A Period class. My 7AM A Period teacher was the first staff member to learn about my pregnancy because I didn't want her to think I was being rude or crazy if I bolted from my seat in the middle of class and ran out the door. She understood and promised me she wouldn't tell anyone until I was ready. And she kept that promise.

 

I told a couple of close friends about my pregnancy, as well. I really don't think they knew what to say or do when I told them. It was a huge shock to everyone. I was the good girl. The Catholic girl. The girl who never did anything wrong.

 

Until then, of course.

 

The school year got off to a fairly good start. I was excited for my classes, had great teachers and was starting to get excited about this little life growing inside of me. But one of my friends had a close relationship with my mom and decided to take it upon herself to notify my mother of my growing child.

 

And everything kind of went to hell for a while. My mom called and yelled at me. I got the "I raised you better than this" speech mixed with the "didn't you learn anything from my mistakes" speech. And then I got the "just wait until you tell your father about this" speech. She went on for about half an hour, Gramma and I sat there with the phone on speaker just looking at each other, I had a constant stream of tears rolling down my face. And then it was over.

 

The conversation with Poppa went much easier. He didn't yell. He didn't carry on at me. He just said "I told you so" and asked me what I was planning to do and if I had seen a doctor yet. I hadn't seen a doctor at that point so he told me to call him as soon as I had since my appointment was scheduled for the following week. And that was it.

 

A week later I had my appointment and confirmed that there was, indeed, a baby. I was a little over 8 weeks along with a due date of April 25th. They printed me a picture, and if I knew where it was in all of the many pictures I have stored on my Hard Drive, I would insert it here. But I don't.

 

By this point the Ex Husband and I had exchanged letters. He had been given a phone call to call home but I didn't hear my cell phone ring and I missed it. I cried for days and listened to that voicemail on repeat. He told me everything was going to be okay and that he would take care of us. He told me that he missed me and loved me and couldn't wait to be a daddy. It was so encouraging and such a huge relief to know that he was in this with me.

 

It made all the difference in the world.

"Wowza! This is so exciting!"

Those were the words he wrote in the letter in response to learning about my pregnancy.

 

That September I flew down to spend my birthday with my parents. That was an interesting weekend, let me tell you. They spent a great deal of time trying to convince me I should drop out of school, get a job and take the GED. When they didn't succeed in that, they talked about giving my baby up for adoption. I told them it wasn't happening even though at that point I was still tossing the idea around in my head.

 

I was only 16 after all...

 

Anyways, my sister and brother gave me birthday gifts, Poppa gave me a hug and my mom never did say happy birthday. I guess that was the price I paid for what I had done knowing what she had been through and how badly she wanted my life to turn out differently than hers.

 

The Ex Husband was set to graduate boot camp at the end of October. At some point or another he sent his parents a letter and told them I was pregnant. That opened communications between his mother and I, which was great because we were able to begin building a relationship. We all made plans to go down to southern California for family day and his graduation. We were good to go.

 

And so we went. They had a run the morning of Family Day that friends and family got to see the start and finish of. I cried so hard seeing him standing there in formation. It was the first time I had seen him in almost 13 weeks! The run began, the families moved to where we were told and listened to someone speak while they were gone. Then they finished and went to change. After a ceremony they were released to see their families. It was an amazing afternoon! We walked all around the depot and he laughed at me because even though my broken foot had healed, I was back in a boot cast for a pulled tendon.

 

Graduation day was just as exciting! They had the ceremony and were released. But this time he got to leave with us! Well, with his parents to go spend two days in Disneyland, but it was fine. He was flying back home to be with me after that and I couldn't wait!

 

 

Two days later he was home. We spent the next eight days together talking about our future. We wanted to get married. We had been saying we would get married since we had started dating and this seemed the perfect time. It would provide for me, it would provide for our baby and we could be together forever.

 

He also took me to the Homecoming dance.

 

After discussing it with his parents and my Gramma, we set out on the path to be married. He went away to MCT but we kept in touch through text and phone calls. It was much easier than during boot camp and I loved being able to hear from him regularly.

 

At the end of MCT he was sent to Florida for the first part of his schooling. But they told him that he would have to take two weeks at Christmas time because they shut down during that period. So he made arrangements to come home and work at the Recruiter's office during that time.

 

And we made arrangements with the Recruiter to take him away for a day so we could get married.

His recruiter found a way to make it work.

He was basically awesome.

 

So on December 20th, 2006 we drove to Reno, Nevada to be married. We were married that night, had a nice dinner with family and then drove back home. He had to be up and at work the following morning.

 

But we were married. And we were happy. And we had the rest of our lives ahead of us. A honeymoon could wait. As long as we had each other, everything would work out. We knew he had to go back across the country soon, but we were confident that we could survive anything. We'd made it through boot camp and MCT already.

 

He spent the next couple of months in Florida while I continued to get bigger with our baby growing inside of me. And Valentine's day was coming up soon. Lucky for us Valentine's day happened just before my cut-off date for flying so I was able to go visit him for a couple of days in Florida. We spent a wonderful weekend together and I hated to leave. But I had to and I did.

 

A week later he was sent to North Carolina for the next part of his Marine Corps education and I was still back home, going to school, dancing, attending church and carrying our child.

 

But things weren't so easy anymore. I had started gaining a lot of weight and the swelling had started. Not like normal swelling, though. If I sat in a chair without my feet propped up, I'd be swollen from my knees down. And my feet were swollen all the time to the point where it hurt to walk. I lived in slippers and sweats.

 

On Sunday April 2nd I went into labor. My Gramma and I timed my contractions and went to the hospital when they had been 7 minutes apart for two hours. They hurt, I was uncomfortable, I wanted to get that baby out of me.

 

They admitted me, hooked me up to a monitor and checked me. An hour later they checked for dilation again. No progress.

 

They sent me home.

Oh, you'll be back within 48 hours...

 

Well, my contractions didn't get any closer together, so I didn't get an opportunity to go back in. My doctor's appointment that Wednesday confirmed that there was still no progress made. But the contractions hadn't stopped, so they figured it would all happen soon enough. I was put on bed rest.

 

A week later I broke out in hives all over my body and began having terrible headaches. They suggested switching my body wash, but that didn't help. They suggested eliminating anything new from my diet, but that didn't help. The doctors didn't know what had caused the hives. They ran every test imaginable and came back with nothing.

 

26 days after I was first admitted with contractions, my water broke. 8:15 in the morning on Friday, April 28th, 2006.

 

I don't think I had ever been so happy in my life!

My four weeks of continuous contractions was finally going to come to an end...

 

 

To Be Continued...