Giving Birth Day

I woke up early in the morning with a daggering pain like I had never felt in my 16 years of life.  I spent many hours going back and forth from the toilet to the bed. The pressure that I was feeling was so intense. Nothing like I had read labor would be, from the only educational source I had available to me, my grandmas Encyclopedia Brittanicas.

Walking past my mom and step dad on my tenth trip from to the bathroom, I shared with them what I had been experiencing all morning. My mom, quickly disputed, there was no possible way I was in labor. She said she had cleaned the entire day before she gave birth to all of her children.  I hadn't, so there was no way I could be in labor! Even though  I was currently two days past my due date!! As the hours went on, the pain intensified. To the point I went out and begged my mom to take me to the hospital. Once again, her response was "No". "If you were in labor, WE would know it. I am not driving you an hour to the hospital, only for them to tell us to turn around and come home." 

Not once did she try and comfort me or console me. Not once did she try to ask what or how I was feeling. She just wanted to be right, that I wasn't in labor. That's all that mattered to her in that moment.... was just being right. 

A few hours later, my brother and his girlfriend came home. At this point, in tears, I asked if they could please take me to the hospital. Which angered my mom even more. She finally came around saying she would take me, but she would laugh when we got there and they confirmed I wasn't actually in labor.  

The hour from Clarksville to Cincinnati felt like ten that day.  I barely had enough energy to form tears between the pain I felt in my body, and puking my guts out with every contraction.  

They dropped me off at the ER entrance and I walked into the hospital by myself. Granted I had never seen the inside of a hospital before, and had no idea what to do. I can't imagine what the receptionist must have thought seeing this tiny pregnant girl, whose face was filled with agony and fear, who reeked of vomit, standing before her all alone crying. All I could make out was "I think, I may be in labor". 

They wheeled me into a room and hooked me up to so many wires. I really had no idea what they were for. They obstetrician on duty came in to check me, and I was dilated eight. EIGHT!!! They were not sure if they could even give me an epidural at this point, because I was so far along. The OB must have realized how scared I was and told me she would try. 

Next thing I knew I was headed to the labor and delivery room. My mom and stepdad soon followed. When I told my mom I didn't feel comfortable with my stepdad in the delivery room it enraged her. My entire, or what was left of it anyway, labor (which the epidural didn't work by the way) she just stood there and watched with the most hateful face you could imagine. Once again, she was not available to comfort or mother me, during the most traumatic experience of my life.  

When I held my baby girl in my arms for the very first time, was the first time I can actually remember feeling true unspeakable joy. Looking at her perfect little face reminded me of the promises of God. All my troubles seemed to come to a halt for a moment in time. It was pure bliss.

Like all good things, that momen't didn't last long. My mom, still angry assumed I needed her to stay with me in the hospital. I had already had such a tragic yet amazing day, and wasn't really in the mood for anymore aggression. Which I knew would come if she stayed with me alone. So I asked her to leave. When I did, there she stood, screaming at me. Degrading me in every possible way she could. She told me that she would leave, but I couldn't stay in the hospital the three days the doctor recommended. She told me she would be back at a specific time the next day to get me.

Apparently, looking back, having me, have a baby on August 30th, 1998 just wasn't on her agenda that day. And nothing could stop things from being exactly as she wanted them. Not even the fact, that my sixteen year old body just went through the most traumatic experience of my life, and needed to be in the care of a physician.

The next day, I remember the nurses being so helpful, educating me how to care for myself and my newborn. It was routine to them, but to me they were angels. I honestly hadn't had anyone really care enough to do so. 

Just like she had promised, she arrived the next day at a specific time, with her wrath still intact. She was my source of housing, so I had to be submissive.  I packed up my baby, with the little knowledge I had of how to care for her, and back to Clarksville we went.

My memories of this day have always been more of trauma than wonder. That was until I met a sweet soccer mom, now friend, a few years back. While posting an annual birthday message to my girl on social media, she replied with a "Happy Giving Birth Day to you". I had never looked at that day from that perspective.  And that perspective changed EVERYTHING. Although, one of the greatest days of my young life, turned horrific. That day, I not only gave birth to one of my life's greatest blessings, I also  gave birth to change. I gave birth to a new found freedom. I gave birth to choice. I gave birth to a different heritage for my family. I gave birth to breaking chains. 

I gave birth to a MOTHER❤