My Valentine's Baby

I'm going to tell you a sad tale that culminated on February 14. Yes Valentine's Day. What I won't be telling you are any names because I will be confessing my truths and not any others involved. Only what you would have witnessed through my eyes.

There are no underaged (under 18) persons depicted having erotic interludes. That's only for the grownups.

So if you're brave enough and strong enough to come journey with me through one of the happiest.... and the saddest times of my existence then "follow me".

My Sweet baby Valentine!

********************************************

It was almost Valentine's Day and I was going to have my baby soon. Sometime in the 2nd trimester of the pregnancy, one of the tests they gave me came back negatively in a very bad way. I was 37 years old. During the pregnancy I got so sick that I could barely get out of bed, but I had four other young children depending on me. My two and his two.

The migraines were skull splinters and I had them every day for weeks. Things were bad in the marriage and to top it all off my husband kept an electric hog prod (that he used for work) behind our bedroom door. He was a truck driver for a local hog farm.

He also had multiple firearms, but I also had mine so I was almost certain he wouldn't go to that extreme.

One particular day I secretly recorded three straight hours of his yelling and cussing at me and issuing veiled threats. I had the idea I might could get some help, oh how silly of me, I went to our church and let the pastor hear the tape and asked for his help. This was no simple feat.

The migraines, nausea and sharp pains followed me everywhere. They were with me 24/7 and nothing helped. Getting out and around was nearly impossible. It was like climbing uphill on my pregnant belly while big rocks rained down hitting me on the head. But I continued to attend church. Certainly I would find relief there, right?

Later after considering what I'd said the pastor ask me to return to see him in his office. He reminded me that my husband's mother was a long time member of the church so suggested that wouldn't I be happier attending a different church.

I was astounded by his gall. How could he stand in front of a battered pregnant mother and for all accounts and purposes, turned her away from the church, out on her own, with no compassion or support. All so he wouldn't embarrass one of his flock and I believed it was a way he had found to wash his hands of my situation. Clear his conscience? I don't think God works that way but I left it in His hands.

I stayed in our home a few more days while I made some calls. My days were dragging out of bed, making the kids' breakfast and lunch in the near dark because my eyes couldn't take the light.

I made sure they finished eating breakfast and had their lunches for school ready and then got them to watch for the bus. As always the kids kissed me goodbye for the day. Then they ran out as the bus pulled up.

I endured this pain for them while still wanting to escape so badly. I pulled the blackout curtains across the windows and climbed slowly onto the bed. I was laying all over it and couldn't have cared less. In so much pain I couldn't cry, crying only made it worse. The swollen eyes and cheeks. The exploded sinuses under intense pain from swelling. I certainly didn't need that on top of everything else.

My husband treated me worse and worse. He stayed away from home as much as possible coming home later and later. He would wake his oldest child and sit with her talking like as if she were an adult like her mother. He never gave a rat's ass that the child needed her sleep for school. Any other time he ignored all the children unless he could get them to do a chore that was too hard for their ages. I never understood what was going on in his brain.

They were so miserable they would run and jump in bed pretending to be asleep when they heard him come home.

After weeks, I can't recall how many, the sickness was gone. Before when it was debilitating, I couldn't get anything done about the situation, since my migraines were killing me even if you only lit a match in the same room. My body was drained and lethargic. I couldn't keep food or water down. And then 'boom' just like that I woke up one morning free of the constant pain and sick feeling.

I took it as a blessing and a sign to do something about my situation before my husband decided he could kill me: make it look like an accident or suicide and get away with it. (had he done it before?)

Now finally all of that pain and sickness had passed. I knew I might have to work quickly not knowing if it might start back up. I called Social Services and they put me in touch with a battered women's shelter. I guess they must have thought I would change my mind because they seemed concerned and wanted me to get out immediately. I couldn't because my husband had left a skinny spare on my car and kept it empty of gas.

Of course he controlled the money. Also his parents lived right across the road. His mom was the typical nosey mother-in-law watching the house every day. My husband came to her house for lunch every day instead of sharing that time with me.

All he would say is that he just liked her cooking. Strange because he never had any complaints when he was scarfing down my cooking. I did feel neglected being left alone, feeling sick and pregnant every day at lunch.

Yet I shouldn't be surprised since I was neglected a lot more than that. What is it about men who say "I do" but they really "don't"?

The day we got married he made every excuse not to head home early. "Do you need anything? Did you forget anything?"

"Well I did forget to pack my toothbrush but it's ok. I can get it tomorrow. "

"No, no. Let's go get it while we're still in town."

"Ok but it's at my grandmother's house. At least she's a night person."

"Good. Great. won't take but a few minutes".

We ended up playing Spades and drinking coffee with Grandma till the sun came up. She loved the company, wedding night or not.

I don't even know how I got pregnant (the usual way I would guess) because he was definitely not the affectionate type. Without an audience he wouldn't perform. And believe me when I say there was Never an audience in the bedroom. He always had to be the center of attention so that he could pretend to be such a good person around others.

Well the road to hell is paved with good intentions. And "good" people.

Things I started noticing started making me concerned that my husband was a psychopath.

[A mentally unbalanced person who is inclined toward antisocial and criminal behavior.]

Number One. His first wife was found shot to death with a shotgun that she couldn't reasonably be able to shoot herself with. This was after she remarried. Up until then she was running a local whore house and still meeting my husband behind the local grocery store for sex. [I was told this later by a friend who had witnessed them parking there and fogging up the windows]

Number Two. He had custody of his two children. After finally speaking to his ex-second-wife, mother of the girls, I found out she was terrified of him. He would wake her up with a knife to her throat when they were married. His jealousy had no bounds. He accused her of sneaking around with every Tom, Dick and Harry within a 10 mile radius.

Even though she was trapped at home and didn't have a driver's license. And of course she was spied on by his parents. While they were married. Starting to sound familiar?

I told her when I moved out I would be taking the girls to her and I would gladly testify in court about his neglect and emotional abuse.

The shelter even offered her legal representation. He must have had something serious held over her head or she was just that terrified of him and returned the kids to him. There was nothing more I could do for them so I was done.

Number Three. After he and his second wife, the one he had his daughters with, he had dated another girl. She had been in an accident with her mom in the car. It turned out fatal for her mother and left her in critical condition. She had to have surgery on a portion of her skull and brain. Too large to put the broken pieces back together, she was left with a soft spot which any trauma to it would kill her.

She always had to be very vigilant and cautious.

Insurance awarded her $250,000 and her mother's insurance of $250,000. This happened before he and I got together. And I was unaware till after we married.

He was eager to help her spend her money. Two acres of land with a double wide on one half and a two car stand alone garage on the other.

They got two brand new Thunderbirds, his and hers. And even another vehicle, a 150 Ford extended cab pickup. The truck was on a payment plan.

They filled the house with nice furniture and went shopping every week. They never considered where they would continue to get money for the utilities and expenses. He worked but wasn't making nearly enough.

.

With all this they still purchased an above ground pool.

They took the last two thousand dollars and went to Disney with all the kids. She had a boy and girl. He had his two girls.

When they got back, she took a lean against her car to buy Christmas presents that year. [insert Shock and Dismay] She was never able to recover the car. When the money ran dry I'm pretty certain there was a lot more fighting and arguing. At some point he walked out on her and her kids.

He took everything he could get his hands on. She ended up losing everything. After he and I married, that's when I found out about her. He would brag about how stupid she was, not realizing how disgusted I was by it.

So when I moved out I contacted her and I did appear in court as a witness. She got back things that she had receipts for. She got the truck because it was in her name (but of course she couldn't make the payments so she didn't have it long).

What he got to keep was the car because she had given it to him as a birthday present and the tools (because backward thinking courts believed tools had to be a man's). Bullshit!

Number whatever, I noticed he would lock himself in the kids bathroom instead of using the private one in our bedroom. He'd stay in there sometimes for hours. Once after he was in there and then left for work, I checked it out. The most I could figure was the white powder in the cracks of the vanity were probably coke or crack or whatever he was doing. It made since now because we don't have a vanity in our bathroom.

I digress, sorry. So I find myself finally escaping to a battered women's shelter, pregnant and with my two children which my ex was not the father of.

The very first time I enter the house I'm told I have a call. My children sit and wait while I take the call in a small office alone. I wondered who could know where I was so quickly? And have their phone number?

"Yes, this is she. How can I help you?"

"It's the health department and we're calling about your test results. Do you have a few minutes?"

"I just arrived at the shelter but I'm sure I do."

"Ok. Thank you. We received your test results from fluid we extracted from the womb. It shows that your child definitely is afflicted with a rare 1 in 10,000 chance of Trisomy 18."

"What is it and what do we do?" I asked. My chest was starting to have a slight tremor at her words. But I remained calm as I always do, waiting for the nuclear fallout before freaking out.

"It's a condition that causes severe developmental delays due to an extra chromosome 18. Symptoms can include low birth weight and birth defects in organs that are often life threatening."

[Edwards syndrome has no treatment and is usually fatal before birth or within the first year of life. As stated by the Mayo Clinic and others]

"Yes.... but what can we do?"

"I'm so sorry, but there is no treatment. You're late in your pregnancy for legal abortions but your condition allows a waiver where you would be able to get an abortion should you want to."

"What happens if I decide to have my baby?" I asked, with my heart pounding loudly in my ears and chest. Still calm on the outside.

"Well... more than 90% of the babies don't live to their due dates. When they do it's usually an early delivery. They are regularly premature with organ issues and deformities. The odd chromosome 18 causes the cells to split unevenly.

This causes the abnormalities. They rarely live long after birth. I'm so sorry."

"Please give me your number, I really can't deal with this right now. I'll call you back tomorrow." I took down her information and hung up. Crushing the note in my hand and balling up my fists I wanted to slam them down on the desk in front of me.

But I didn't. I brought them down slowly and deliberately. I certainly didn't want to cause a commotion on my first day at the 'house'. My body started to shake. My heart broke and shattered. The tears wanted to fall but I didn't want my children to see and worry.

When I said I can't do this. I can't deal with this. I had meant I couldn't bring my sick child into the world just to die some wasting away illness while at the same time I could never kill my baby either."

I pulled myself together and went to get the children. We were shown to our communal room on the second floor with everyone being assigned bunk beds. Since my youngest was still around age 5 I decided I would sleep with him and my daughter would have the other bed.

I put our things under the bed to have them out of the way. Just some toiletries and clothing. I left the majority of our belongings locked up in the car. It was parked around back so it was close by. I didn't have to worry about something walking off.

For food it was primarily all donated. Those who could cook signed up on a sign up sheet voluntarily (but also somewhat mandatorily) to fill up all the available positions for each week. Taking turns so that everyone contributes fairly. Including household chores.

That night after putting the children to bed I stepped out on the porch. It was nice sitting in the cool darkness with light only from the glow of the windows. The property had a very tall backyard privacy fence but they didn't want to take any chances that people were watching. I saw a girl about my age and she sat down beside me and lit up a cigarette.

At that moment I decided to make a friend and pick back up a nasty habit that I'd been free of for 10 years. Sudden traumatic situations are so stressful that other things don't seem so important anymore. But Many other things become very important.

I come to regret that decision many years later. But God bless I didn't develop any cancer and I've been free of those nasty little coffin nails for 5 years now.

I sat there that night going over and over what I'd been told.... until our curfew when we had to go back inside. It was hard falling asleep in a room full of people who all had different nightly rituals. The worst being my new friend couldn't sleep without music (regardless if you liked the music or not).

I personally prefer to have it quiet because my brain picks up on the noise, words, conversations and tries to make sense of it all. Which means it (my brain) just won't 'shut the fuck up'. Little quotation marks. Ss.s.h.. cause I don't cuss out loud.

And there are children everywhere. You know.

"I'm thirsty."

"I'm hungry."

"Please....a minute.....one more minute."

"I'm not sleepy!"

From the moment I hung up that phone until after breakfast the next morning I was awake going over my choices while rubbing and patting my swollen belly. Feeling the baby squirm and kick.

I had made my decision before I had even hung up the phone the day before. I just had to make sure I wasn't going to change my mind.

After breakfast clean up chores I had one more horrible thing on top of everything else to take care of. I went to the house manager's office and knocked on the frame of the open door.

She looked up from some work she was doing. "Yes, can I help you with something?"

"Yes please," I answered. "Can I come in?"

"Sure, come on in and have a seat. What can I help you with?"

I leaned forward in the chair, not easy over the baby and with a voice barely above a whisper said, "I found out this morning that the donated mattresses from that hotel, some of them are infested with bed bugs."

"Are you sure?" she asked with what looked like horror in her eyes. Yes it probably wouldn't sit well with management.

"Come with me and I'll show you." I stood and when I saw her moving in my direction, I turned and headed out of the office and up to the second floor.

"I need to go make some calls. Thank you for bringing it to my attention. I'll get someone working on it immediately."

As soon as she left to go back down stairs I stood by the door listening to her footsteps fading. Then grabbed my bag checking everything in it and on it. I made sure I had everything packed up and moved my things back out to my car locking it back up.

That afternoon all the occupants of our room and the other rooms went through their belongings and carried them down to the livingroom.

All the mattresses were dragged out back and I don't know if they treated them or replaced them.

I took the kids and drove off to find something to do until curfew. Lunch at mom and dad's. A nap in a big clean bed with no music. Felt like heaven for a day.

By the time I called back the social worker I knew exactly what I was going to do.

I made the only decision I possibly could. The most honest and for us,

the very best one for me and my son.

Yes the social worker told me I was pregnant with a son. She said a "boy", but it's the same thing right?

You might believe otherwise and I'm not here to change your opinion. I'm just here to share with you my son's story and our journey. I hope you'll stay and listen. Someday you might find you or someone you know has to experience this thing. And just maybe something I write down here will help you. Then I've reached my potential.

It gives extra meaning to his life. That's special. Come and finish taking this journey with us.

I know I said at the beginning I wouldn't name names because this is my truth to share. But I think my son deserves to share his name as it is mostly his story.

Come with me now and meet my son:

"James Andrew"

After a few weeks I realized that I wasn't much help in the 'house'. The best I could do was cook. But I couldn't do the chores and climbing up and down the stairs was getting more difficult by the day.

I finally gave in to my smarter side and gave up on my ego. I called my parents. Mom answered and I asked if I could come stay in my old room until the baby was born? Her first response was "No". Yeah I know but don't throw a fit. She'll come around. She always needs time to look at the problem and to discuss it with dad.

I can respect that. I was a pain-in-the-ass-kid.

As predicted she called back later and told us to come home. Being at home is a struggle in itself. But I was determined to make it a lot easier on them.

They loved all the extra time with the grand kids. Thank God I must have done something right. My children were very well behaved.

Couple of issues I had to address was with Dad. He said I shouldn't lay back in bed after the kids were down for a nap. I was explaining that with a sick baby and problem pregnancy I need more rest.

I took my nap in the mornings, but he took his in the afternoons. His job had him home a day, work a day. When he was home he would lay on the couch and read the paper. He'd watch some sports program and sometime later you would find him with the paper over his face and sound asleep. Every day he was home it was his ritual.