There are alot of people in my life right now that are having babies. It seems strange for me that I no longer have that option. I had Kristin at 27 and it was a very hard pregnancy and delivery was a nightmare ending in a c-section, and she was born with a heart defect. All in all it was a very traumatic experience. The first year didn't get much better. We were still trying to get to know eachother. Donny was in school and then working 12 hour shifts at night. Kristin had colic and then grew one tooth at a time. It took forever. I think she cried the entire first year of life. I did too. I went from self-sufficient and career oriented to broke, on welfare and cooped up in my house alone with a crying baby. It was the worst year of my life, hands down. We did make it through but was no surprise when I decided that I was done and didn't want to roll the dice again. The final straw was when at 2 1/2 years old, Kristin had a fever seizure.
Kristin had been sick with her upteenth ear infection. We had been treating it with over the counter medication and lots of holding and consoling. She wasn't getting any better and of course it was the weekend, so Donny decided to give her some adult antibiotics. He dissolved it in water and pored it down her throat. Within the hour she was in my arms shaking. I screamed and Donny picked her up and ran out the door in his underwear. He turned around and I told him to put her down and call 911. The cop was there in a second and started CPR. I couldn't watch. I was so scared I kept turning away. My heart was in my stomach. All is could see was my little girl on the floor with a huge man pounding on her chest. With in a minute the Ambulance was there. It took forever to get to the hospital that is really only 10-15 blocks away. They checked her out her fever was 104. Most kids don't seize until 106. We were on notice that this could be the beginning of a life long seizure problem. Luckily it wasn't and it wasn't caused by adult antibiotics. It was just one of those things. Treatment was lots of antibiotics and nights sleeping right next to her to make sure she is breathing but, we made it through.
My husband was with me and helped mementally through it and made me feel like it wasn't my fault and we can make it through together. That solidified it. If she had died or been damaged I would be in a padded room. That day also solidified that if I couldn't have her, I didn't want any others. It also made me realize, just in time, that I needed my husband, that he was necessary and important to me and that I loved him and liked him. Very insightful experience and luckily, it didn't end in a tragedy.
So a few weeks later Donny had a vasectomy. It was no big deal. We laughed and joked with the doctor. We still laugh at the fact that he taped it 'in'. Not up or to the side, just 'in'. Hilarious. I will never forget the doctor making small talk with us strangers and saying; ya know, I am a really avid bowler. It was a couple weeks later on our first bowling trip we saw him bowling and he is a really average bowler.
So now that Kristin is 6 1/2 she knows she doesn't have any brothers or sisters and we live in a community where family size is 3-6 kids, and she feels left out. She tells me that she would be a good big sister and she needs a playmate. GUILT. Every decision I make ends in guilt. Maybe when she was about 4 I thought about having another one, but man, we were out of baby and sleeping at night and I had my house decorated. Kristin was in preschool 4 days a week and we were looking forward to kindergarten and going back to work. The vasectomy was still recent enough that we would get viable sperm....I didn't know if we could force the pregnancy. I am fat and have never had good female health. I wasn't looking forward to the weekly blood tests and all the ultrasounds and bed rest for 3 months and the crying It could be different with the next one but I will never know. We ended up doing nothing and now I live with guilt for a decision that I thought I made correctly.
Anyway, no baby for me.
Miriam
Saturday, May 18, 2013
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Crazy Runs in the Family
I know some people act crazy sometimes, or think they are crazy because they get obsessed about stupid things, but really, padded room crazy runs in my family. There is no bones about it, my mother was crazy, her mother was crazy, I am crazy and my daughter, at 6 years old, is on her way to crazy. Unfortunately, crazy doesn't have a cure.
When I was young, the year I got my period, in fact, my mother went crazy. That summer she spent locked in her room. We three kids had very little supervision and certainly no direction. When she did come out it was only to give us chores. I remember one day, we did chores but it wasn't right for some reason and we were told we couldn't play with our friends that day. My brothers left and I was alone, again, so I went over to my friends house and she wanted to play at my house, so we came back. My mother was furious. She seemed so shocked that I had the nerve to bring a friend over. She failed to see that I came back. We didn't see my older brother until dinner, but I got in trouble and he didn't.
Looking back, I know these events don't make any sense, because she is crazy.
I ran away one day. I had a bad day at school and I guess my mom had a bad day at home, and whatever I said to her about the window blinds really set her off. I was done. She didn't want me, so I didn't want her either. I packed a backpack with a change of clothes, an apple, a book to read, and my wallet, threw it out the window and walked out the back door. I set off to walk the 5 miles into town. I ended up getting a ride with a neighbor and she took me to a school where she was taking a class. I didn't want to go home, but I didn't know where else to go.That was alone. That was unwanted, that was a low point of my 10 years here on earth. I finally called my dad. I cried all the way home. My mom was cooking dinner and fuming. I didn't want to see her, I was so mad at her. She didn't care about my day or my feelings or me. She didn't even know I was gone until I got back.
Later that same summer, my mom didn't come home. She left. She was gone until school started again. We were told that if anyone asked she was in the hospital. I knew that wasn't the truth, but didn't know what the truth was until later. We went to see her one day. We missed school and drove to the city 3 hours away. She was in the mental facility. She had a break down. Now that I am a mother, I feel like I should feel guilty for pushing her to crazy, but I was only a kid. I know now...I don't know now how it happened. I know that some days I could end up in the same mental facility and abandon my daughter...Crazy kills. I kills hopes and dreams and self worth. I wasn't even my crazy. I don't want my daughter to see crazy, but the odds are against me.
You wouldn't guess it, but things got worse from there. The next year my dad lost his job and we lost our house, my mom started working more jobs and my dad worked worse jobs and we were left to figure the rest out on our own. Not that we were abandoned or abused, there were just extenuating circumstances. I know I was loved, I didn't always know where I might go in life. I didn't know if I could overcome poverty and crazy. I did, sort of, the poverty anyway. Now I am upgraded to working-class poor, two paychecks away from destitute instead of one.
Miriam
When I was young, the year I got my period, in fact, my mother went crazy. That summer she spent locked in her room. We three kids had very little supervision and certainly no direction. When she did come out it was only to give us chores. I remember one day, we did chores but it wasn't right for some reason and we were told we couldn't play with our friends that day. My brothers left and I was alone, again, so I went over to my friends house and she wanted to play at my house, so we came back. My mother was furious. She seemed so shocked that I had the nerve to bring a friend over. She failed to see that I came back. We didn't see my older brother until dinner, but I got in trouble and he didn't.
Looking back, I know these events don't make any sense, because she is crazy.
I ran away one day. I had a bad day at school and I guess my mom had a bad day at home, and whatever I said to her about the window blinds really set her off. I was done. She didn't want me, so I didn't want her either. I packed a backpack with a change of clothes, an apple, a book to read, and my wallet, threw it out the window and walked out the back door. I set off to walk the 5 miles into town. I ended up getting a ride with a neighbor and she took me to a school where she was taking a class. I didn't want to go home, but I didn't know where else to go.That was alone. That was unwanted, that was a low point of my 10 years here on earth. I finally called my dad. I cried all the way home. My mom was cooking dinner and fuming. I didn't want to see her, I was so mad at her. She didn't care about my day or my feelings or me. She didn't even know I was gone until I got back.
Later that same summer, my mom didn't come home. She left. She was gone until school started again. We were told that if anyone asked she was in the hospital. I knew that wasn't the truth, but didn't know what the truth was until later. We went to see her one day. We missed school and drove to the city 3 hours away. She was in the mental facility. She had a break down. Now that I am a mother, I feel like I should feel guilty for pushing her to crazy, but I was only a kid. I know now...I don't know now how it happened. I know that some days I could end up in the same mental facility and abandon my daughter...Crazy kills. I kills hopes and dreams and self worth. I wasn't even my crazy. I don't want my daughter to see crazy, but the odds are against me.
You wouldn't guess it, but things got worse from there. The next year my dad lost his job and we lost our house, my mom started working more jobs and my dad worked worse jobs and we were left to figure the rest out on our own. Not that we were abandoned or abused, there were just extenuating circumstances. I know I was loved, I didn't always know where I might go in life. I didn't know if I could overcome poverty and crazy. I did, sort of, the poverty anyway. Now I am upgraded to working-class poor, two paychecks away from destitute instead of one.
Miriam
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)