Little did she know

"Bearing the unbearable news that you’ve accidentally become two people in an instant is like grabbing a live wire with both hands." 

by Krissy D. 

At 27 years old, I would have been less surprised to grow a third arm than to have an unplanned pregnancy. Yet, a positive pregnancy test at home led to a panicked call to a new OB/GYN (How could I face my old one?!). "The first available appointment with the first available doctor," I told the lady on the phone. I needed an official doctor to tell me the pregnancy test I took was wrong. I needed an official doctor to tell me I was not pregnant. It just was not possible. 

(It would offend my Southern sensibilities to go into detail, but suffice it to say, I have the kind of "it only takes one time, young people!" pregnancy story that could scare teens into abstinence for life. Honest to God, it only takes once...)

At my OB/GYN appointment, the pregnancy test came back NEGATIVE. Praise God! I sighed a deep sigh. I could go home. I could resume my normal life. For the first time in weeks, I could eat and sleep again. The medical assistant left to double-check. 

Double-check...

While I was having the rest of my lab work done, the medical assistant popped her head back into the room  beaming, “You were right! The test IS positive! If you’re not very far along, it can sometimes take a few minutes for the line to show up.” All I could muster in response was SHIT.

The nice, graying lady who was filling tubes with my blood looked concerned. She leaned in and said, “Can I ask you a personal question? Are you going to keep the baby?” I almost laughed. I wanted to scream that of course I was keeping the baby. Why would I be rapidly coming unglued in front of strangers if there was a solution as easy as not keeping the baby? From the moment I took the pregnancy test at home, I knew that keeping my baby was the only option I’d be able to live with. It wasn’t that I wanted to have an abortion; I just didn’t want to have a baby. I was terrified. I wanted to tell her to mind her own damn business. Instead, I answered, “Yeah. I have to.”

I sobbed uncontrollably in my new doctor's office. The only words I could get out were, “Am I always going to hate my baby?” What a question. He was completely calm and assured me I would love my child. He assured me I would be OK. He brought my boyfriend into the office and assured him of the same things. Then he sent me home with prenatal vitamins.

From that moment, I just went… Blank.

Blank

I was devastated that my whole world as I knew it and expected it to be was suddenly gone. I always assumed I’d end up having kids “someday.” Some vague future me would be glad to have kids when I was more settled. Not when I’d finally hit my stride for the first time in my adult life. My vision of what lay ahead was erased, and all that was left was a void. Blank space.

It took me too long to tell my family. If I told them, it would all be real. I finally managed to get the words out one night at dinner with my parents. My mom jumped up excitedly, and yelled, “A baby! Yay!” My dad said, “I’m just going to sit right here for a minute because I’m not sure that I haven’t just shit my pants.” I called my sister to tell her the news. She didn’t believe me and asked why I had really called. I wasn’t the only one who never saw this coming.

Paralyzed

I’d just earned my Master’s Degree and gotten a job. My life was filled with an incredibly supportive family and network of friends. I was dating the man I wanted to marry. The fact that these are luxuries not afforded to many who walk the road of unplanned pregnancy is not lost on me. But those things were never the problem. I was the problem. Suddenly the needle of the internal compass by which I’d always steered my little life was spinning, always spinning, never stopping. I couldn’t trust myself. I didn’t know how to move forward into something I didn’t want at all but knew I had to do. 

I plunged into dark, icy grief. I looked up from the depths and saw my boyfriend, my family, everyone–they were all happy about “the baby.” But their happiness and certainty seemed a million miles away, and I sank further into darkness. I went through the motions and stumbled through the months. I couldn’t look at those first ultrasound pictures. For weeks, I was so desperate to stop crying that I’d force my face to smile on the entire drive to work, hoping I could trick my brain into stopping the tears (it didn’t work). I was so lost that I didn’t even realize my nonstop nausea was “morning sickness.” I just thought it was the same knots I’d had in my stomach since I first suspected I was pregnant.

Bearing the unbearable news that you’ve accidentally become two people in an instant is like grabbing a live wire with both hands. I was stuck in the current of the pain and couldn’t pry my hands loose.

Little did I know…

Once you’ve felt the pain of holding the live wire of unplanned pregnancy, you can recognize it in other women. Women who had felt it recognized it in me and came running. They invited me over for dinner. They planned my wedding. They painted my nursery. They cleaned my house. Sometimes they told me it would all be okay, but mostly they carried me through the days, so I didn’t stop living. Time after time, they came to me in confidence: “I said I would never tell anyone this, but I had an abortion. And I can never take it back.” They’d been in high school, hadn’t known who the father was, or had no money or support. Yet they never pointed out that my life situation was ideal compared to what theirs had been. They understood that when you’re terrified, there are no logical thoughts. There’s only terror.

​Halfway through my pregnancy, I started going through the motions. I even made myself buy a pink picture frame (fittingly adorned with an out-of-context Bible verse) to break the news that I was having a girl. I don’t know if I accepted the new reality that was coming for me or just resigned myself to it. Either way, on the day of my induction, I did my hair, put on the cutest clothes I could squeeze into, and headed to the hospital. Fake it till you make it. I didn’t realize until they sent us home with our baby that I had worn mismatched shoes to the hospital. 

I discovered that my dad had kept the first ultrasound pictures for me. The first photos of the person who, 12 years later, is such a part of my reality that I can’t imagine life without her. My OB/GYN was right, of course. I love my girl immeasurably. And I’m forever grateful for the people in my life who loved her until I learned how.

After thoughts …

Before I could bring myself to tell people I was pregnant, I was so lonely and so scared that I would scour the internet looking for hope. I wanted to read something written by someone who’d been in my situation and survived. Instead I mostly found well-intentioned bad advice and irritating aphorisms (I’m looking at you, “Everything happens for a reason.”). I found one blog post written by a woman who described how it felt to find out that she’d suddenly become two people. It helped me a little. 

If - by some miracle of Google - you’ve ended up here looking for hope that you can find a way through something similar, the most important thing you need to know is that the spinning will stop. You will find your way again. It will take some time, but you will. The second most important thing you need to know is that feeling terrified drives people to desperation, and desperate people do out of character, crazy things. They maybe even ask a man they’ve just met if they’ll always hate their child. Have some compassion for yourself when you think about the dumb things you do when you're terrified. 

And here are some other thoughts that might be helpful, in no particular order:

- Yes, you will love your child. 
- No, you do not have to feel guilty once you do love your child that you didn’t always. (See above re: compassion for the things you do when you’re terrified.)
-Tell someone. You’re going to need the support of the people who love you.
-Allow yourself to grieve. That was some of the best advice I got. Recognize that you’re grieving the loss of the way things are and the way you hoped they’d be. 
-You may not be able to move into a real feeling of love for your baby until after he/she is born. It may take seeing and holding your baby for your brain to sync with your heart. 
-You may not feel connected to your baby right away like they do in the movies. Your baby is a whole new person. It takes time to get to know your baby just like it takes time to get to know any other person. 
-Little do you know…you are going to be okay.