One medical honor discharge later and I was sent out into the world to forge a new path. Before I left, they had decided to stop my Depo shot because they were afraid that it was having negative side effects "Make sure to switch to the pill in February" they told me.
Here I was, in Hawaii for the first time in my entire life and I wasn't sure how I should feel about it. I was a failure after all. I had sunk so low I thought that Charlie wouldn't be able to recognize me. He would surely walk away from me too. In the end, no one stayed. I was filled with self-pity. It was incredible to know that I was in one of the most beautiful places in the country yet all I could see was my sorrow.
When February rolled around I knew that I needed to go be seen so that I could get on the pill but I was feeling so sick and terrible that I just could not bring myself to go. I checked my temperature 103.8. I was starting to panic. What was happening to me? I kept vomiting and vomiting.
Charlie insisted that I go to be seen but I refused. A nagging voice in my head told me to a pregnancy test. It wasn't possible though, I was on the shot and I still had time. I should have more time but I go up and quietly went to the store. I didn't want him to know. He would hate me if my theory was correct.
When I get back the room is spinning and my temperature was still high. With trembling hands, I took the stick took the test. Two minutes feels like a lifetime when you are waiting for test results. Test results that just so happen to say that you are pregnant so you can't help but take another one just to be sure.
As your eyes fill will an awareness of what is happening you realize that he is just on the other side of the door 'waiting' on you.
"Charlie," I say with trepidation.
"Yes?" he says trying to sound patient but failing miserably.
"I think I know why I am sick. Do you want to take a guess?"
"You're pregnant," I couldn't believe he guessed it. What the hell?
"How did you know?" I asked.
"You were throwing up, it isn't hard to guess."
I step out of the bathroom with my hands on my hips. "So?"
"So, what?" he looked at me as though he had no idea what I was talking about.
"How do you feel about this news?" I asked.
"Well...I think you need to schedule a visit with your primary care doctor to have an official test taken and if you are pregnant I think we need to think about finding a house. This studio isn't going to work" He said as he looked around the room with his hands scanning across the hotel sized studio apartment we rented.
"I meant are you happy or sad about the baby?" I admit I was picking a fight. I didn't feel well and he wasn't responding the way I thought he would or should.
"I don't have an opinion yet. I need to know if this is really happening or if you are getting a false positive because of the fever. What is most important to me right now is finding out how we can get you better. Let's worry about baby stuff until after we have a confirmed pregnancy. Agreed?" He stared into my eyes and it soothed me.
"Agreed" I laid down on the bed and quickly drifted into a deep sleep. When I woke I scheduled the appointment for the following morning. He took work off to take me because I didn't have a car yet.
Once we arrived at the clinic they confirmed that I was in fact pregnant. I was 8 weeks pregnant which meant that my depo shot had failed something miserable but what was worse was the fact that I was running a fever at the early stages of the pregnancy. The doctors weren't going to worry just yet but they wanted me to go to see them more frequently than 'normal' pregnancies.
Within weeks, I was visiting them more than one might consider ideal. Within the first trimester, it was every single week. My body was treating the fetus as a foreign invader and was not sending nutrients to it. I was gaining weight at an unprecedented pace.
By the second trimester, I was going twice a week and was hospitalized once. I had developed gestational diabetes, preeclampsia, and I had those elephant feet that made it hard to walk. I had also gained over 60 pounds by this point. The doctors looked at me with disgust as they explained that I was an extremely high-risk case and that my body was still not feeding the baby.
We knew we were having a boy by now. They contemplated forcing him out of me early and taking their chances with tubes. They didn't think he would survive inside of me. I was placed on bed rest and continued to gain weight.
By the third trimester, I had gained 90 pounds, could barely walk, was in the hospital three times a week and was leaking fluid. I wouldn't be leaving the hospital without him being born. They were going to force the delivery whether I liked it or not.
Fear. Anxiety. Sorrow. Pain. A flood of emotions so raw and powerful that once you are buried under them they consume you. They dominate you and overtake you. I called Charlie and told him that I would be staying at the hospital. "They are going to induce me," I said. I felt hollow in this fear.
"I'm on my way" was all that he said before the line went dead. I stood there, motionless. Trying to will myself to walk but I knew that I was barely hanging on. My body had failed me and it failed my unborn son. What struggles would he have to endure because of me? Will he even survive me? I am the one who is toxic. I am the one who is poison. I am the mean girl and all of this is my punishment.
At the end of the day, I have no one to blame for myself. My God, have mercy on my soul.
Just a few chapters left. I hope you have enjoyed this journey as much as I have enjoyed sharing it with you.
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When You Realize You've Become a Mean Girl...and What Comes Next (In Editing)Non-Fiction
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