Oh The Morning Sickness...

It always amazes me every time I stop to think about it, but I never had a moment of morning sickness until after my pregnancy was confirmed. I am not sure if denial is that powerful or if the morning sickness truly just hadn't begun yet. But I can tell you that about 3 days after my pregnancy was confirmed the morning sickness began. I never threw up too much with it, but Lord I prayed many times I would. I would hover over the toilet for what seemed like hours in the morning before school, wondering how on earth I was going to make it through the school day. Somehow though I would always manage to pull myself together enough to get on the bus and go to school.

Once I was at school my stomach would settle down until my 2 period class. (Let me tell you just thinking back on this part makes my stomach start rolling) My second period class was World History and it was right outside the school cafeteria. Yep, you guessed it being that we had an 8 block schedule second period was the class just before lunch. I would sit in class and could smell the food cooking in the cafeteria and wonder how I was going to keep from throwing up all over my desk. The ironic thing is that even if i did throw up there was nothing that would come up because I couldn't even stand the thought of breakfast in the mornings. So needless to say I would dread my second period class every other day. Once the bell rang I would bolt to my locker which was in the basement of the building just to get away from the smells of the cafeteria. I am not sure how I did it or how good it was for either me or the baby but I am not sure I ate much of anything for the next 2-3 weeeks.

Here is my worse morning sickness story:

It was November 4, 1989 it happened to be Doug's birthday and our 2 year anniversary. He decided that we are going to go out to dinner to celebrate. He chose his favorite place to eat which was Bare Bones in Gaithersburg. At this point the morning sickness had let up a little and I could eat and keep things down, but was not gone by any stretch of the imagination. So we go out to dinner and I ordered a rib eye steak (do not ask me why), baked potato, and a veggie (i don't remember what veggie). I ate the meal and we are sitting talking waiting for the check and suddenly out of no where my stomach just starts rolling. I mean ROLLING, the kind of rolling that happens when you know that what you just ate isn't going to stay down. I told Doug to hurry up that I thought I was going to be sick. I attempted to stay at the table and convince myself that it would be okay. Well, after about I don't a few minutes I knew it wasn't going to stay down. I jumped up knocked over every glass on the table and went running for the bathroom. Your right in about 3 minutes I was flushing what was left of my $17.99 steak down the toilet. I was so horribly embarrassed to have thrown up in a public bathroom. I came out of the bathroom and Doug took one look at me and told me to get in the car and he would take me home.

Once we were in the car he proceeded to berate me for wasting $18.00, that we couldn't afford to do that with a baby on the way. I told him I was sorry that I had no way of knowing that I wouldn't be able to keep my dinner down. I also reminded him that he chose the restaurant not me, that I probably would have chosen someplace else. Especially since I knew I had been having such horrible morning sickness. He had a fit, and yelled the whole way back to my mom's, and walked me into the house still yelling. I told him I thought that since I was feeling so miserable that maybe he should just go home, that I was going to go to bed. He told me not to tell him what to do ever again, a big fight ensued...and that was the first time he hit me.

To Help You Understand...

I just want to explain to everyone that I am doing this blog for me. I am willing to share my story with the people who love and support me, but I will not tailor my emotions or words to suit the needs of people reading it.

For the first time in 18 years I have unlocked the door to my Pandora's box and am willing to talk about this. I can not be afraid to offend anyone, hurt anyone, or worry about other peoples memories being different from mine. Because trust me I know exactly how my story goes. I have lived it, ate it, slept it, drank it, and have been breathing it for the last 18 almost 19 years. The memories on my story have never faded, changed or been forgotten. Locked away from everyone...yes...forgotten, faded, or changed...NEVER!!!

So with all that being said please either read it for what it is, which is my desire to tell my story or simply just don't read it at all. I am coming across a bit strong I know, but I have had a few e-mails already telling that some details I have told are not being remembered correctly. That is simply them not knowing or not wanting to remember (which truly is the latter). I knew when I chose to tell my story that it might cause some havoc over the details (since it has been 18 years some people think that I may have forgotten what really happened), but the reality is I have never forgotten a single detail of this. As I have already said I can close my eyes and easily transport myself right back to these moments that are over 18 years old.

I have only told 2 people in the entire 19 (almost) years since it has happened this story. Those 2 people are the baby that made this story possible and my counselor. That is it...I had family and friends with me while it was going on, but outside of the people that were there, this baby, and my counselor the rest of you are hearing it all for the very first time. It is really hard to do this, but I want to tell my story. The emotions that have welled up inside me have been overwhelming, but very very theraputic. I never really allowed myself to mourn the loss of this baby, and I will go into that in later posts. So for the first time ever not only am I telling people what transpired, why I made the chioce I did, but I am finally going to put names on the emotions that I have felt and locked away for the last 19 years. For some of you this may be morbid curiosity, to be able to enter the mind of a child that gave her baby up for adoption, for others it may be helpful because you deal with me on a regular basis. For whatever the reason would be that you choose to read my story, know that this is a huge part of how I became the person I am today.

This baby and this story has been woven into the very fiber of my being. I couldn't change the details or the story if I wanted to. This is a huge part of who I am as a person, and how I have defined my life. So once again please either read it with an open heart or don't read it at all. This is the one area of my life that I will not pull punches on or fight about how it really went. The absolute honesty is...no one else has lived this dream/nightmare but me.

Let Me Start With The (+) Pregnancy Test...

It has been 18 almost 19 long years and I can still remember the day I realized I might be pregnant like it was yesterday. (I can still to this very day close my eyes and be able to see the doctor's office, smell the way it smelled, and hear the nurse calling my name to be seen.) I knew my period was late but I chose to ignore it, thinking that there was no way I was pregnant. It was late August 1989 and 3 days before I was to begin my senior year of high school. I thought my period was late because I was stressed out about school. About 4 weeks later I realized that I still hadn't gotten my period. I still wasn't scared though, I have never had regular cycles anyway. Another 2 weeks went by still no period, uh oh I realized maybe there was a chance I could be pregnant. Finally after being about 7 weeks late I told my mom.

My boyfriends name was, Doug. Let me say this first...by the time I even began to suspect I was pregnant Doug & I had been dating for almost 2 years. In my mind this was a serious relationship, and of course I did expect that it would last. So because I was young I thought we were in this together forever.

Enough on him and what was once our relationship. I just wanted to give everyone a glimpse into the fact that we had not had a one night stand or even a short term relationship. That he was someone that I thought I was deeply in love with and had committed my life to (ahhh...the wonders of first love)...

So I told my mom that I was like 6 weeks late getting my period, maybe even more. Of course the first thing she asked was if I was pregnant. I told her I didn't know, but that I could be. She had a fit, and looking back justifiably so. She ranted and rave about protection, what was I thinking, and why did I let this happen. I remember thinking...Geesh, you are a fine one to talk...You had me at 17...like mother like daughter...what is the big deal you did it and I turned out okay (which I knew wasn't true)...stop lecturing me on protection don't you think it is a little late for that..and a lot of other very horribly defensive things. But instead all that froze on my tongue because what actually came out was...Mom I'm scared and I am so sorry.

The very next day my mom stayed home from work and began a quest for a doctor that could at least give me a pregnancy test...and soon. Finally she found Dr Mark Siegel and he had a cancellation and could see me as soon as she could get me there. Mom came rushing into my room and told me to get dressed she was taking me to the doctors.

I remember sitting in the doctors office while she filled out the medical papers, praying that I was wrong. Hoping that the minute I went in to pee in that cup my period would be there. Well, my name was called to go back into the exam room and my time to pray was over. Once I was put in the exam room I was handed a urine cup and told to go pee in it. A million things ran through my head in the alone moments I had in the bathroom. Once I was done peeing I handed the cup off to the nurse and was put back into the exam room. Dr Siegel came into the room and gave me the news. I was in fact pregnant. My heart stopped beating, and I stupidly said did you just tell me that I am pregnant? He chuckled a bit and said yes that is what I just said.

Now this whole time my mom was still sitting in the waiting room. She was told to sit there until they called her back. It was after Dr Siegel told me that I was pregnant then they called my mom back into the room. At this point Dr Siegel began asking me a series of questions...what was the first date of my last period? ? (how do I know really what 17 year old keeps track of that)...have I been exposed to any STDs? (not that I know of)... and on on the questions went. I was terribly embarrassed by a lot of them, even though I found myself pregnant at 17 i was still very modest about my body and sex (especially with a strange man asking me personal questions).

I looked at my mom to rescue me from his very personal questions and all she could say was this has only just begun Casandra Jo. I had not idea what she meant by that at all, but I was to soon find out. I was then handed a gown by Dr Siegel and told to remove all my clothing. I looked at my mom horrified, her reply was well this is what happens when you are going to have a baby. So Dr Siegel left the room and my mom helped me to undress. I need help undressing because once that door shut I began to sob. I am not talking cry...I am talking SOB!!! Deep gut wrenching sobs, mom told me to stop crying we would figure it all out.

Mom then open the exam room door and Dr Seigel returned. I laid down, put my feet in the stirrups and continued to cry. Dr Siegel did his exam and told me that he would guess me to be about 9 weeks along. Well what did that mean? I had no idea how many weeks you could expect to be pregnant. I was just a baby, with big hopes and dreams of being a lawyer, not of being an unwed mother. So Dr Siegel began telling me about the pregnancy and what I could expect. He gave me a book called what to expect when your expecting (which I still have to this very day), and told me to stop at the reception desk and make another appointment in 4 weeks and have her schedule a sonogram as well.

Once the next appointment was made mom and I both left the office in a daze. I could tell she was so angry and hurt...and I was so confused about what would come next. How was I going to tell Doug? What was he going to say? Would he stay with me and have this baby? Those were just a few of the million questions that were running through my mind. Mom asked me if I was hungry, I told her not really but she told me I needed to eat something. So we went across the street to MC Donald's, I ordered but couldn't eat a thing. I remember looking across the table at my mom and she suddenly just started crying. It tore my heart out to see her cry like that. She told me that she wanted better for me than this, and she cried about my now lost childhood.

I asked her if she would please call my dad and tell him. That i was just so emotionally overwhelmed that I just couldn't do it. To be honest now looking back I realize I copped out. I had already seen the disappointment on my mom face I could not handle hearing it in my dads voice. She told me that she would call him once we got home. Then we discussed what and when to tell Doug and his parents. Telling Doug scared me, but telling his parents terrified me. I never really had a good relationship with them to begin with. They didn't like that I had come from a broken and Doug had not, they just were not my biggest fans. I asked my mom is she would be with me when it came time to tell Doug's parents. At first she said no, that we made an adult choice to create a baby and we needed to handle it like adults. But in the end she did go with me.

I am not really going to go into what the conversation was between Doug and I because this is my story. But I will say that he seemed upset but was committed to staying with me and having the baby.

So once Doug as told and all the parents were told we had to begin to make a plan. Were we going to get married and keep the baby? Were we going to abort the pregnancy? Were we going to consider adoption? Well Doug and I both wanted to get married and raise our baby together. Abortion was not an option, and my god adoption who does that? Certainly not me. There was no way I was going to carry the baby for 9 months and then give her to strangers to raise. Anyone who thought I was going to do that was crazy. I am not heartless, I loved the baby already. What would my baby think if I put it up for adoption? It would think i didn't want or love it. NO NO NO I wouldn't even consider adoption. I shot down anyone who even tried to mention the word adoption to me. I was having the baby and raising it, and besides Doug wanted the baby too. There was no need to even talk about adoption. (Funny how fate works, huh?)

After we decided that we were going to keep the baby then came other questions like...would get married before the baby was born?...where would we live?...how would support ourselves? Would we finish school? (We were both seniors). It was decided that we would definitely finish school, we both already had jobs, we would check to see if we could go full time once we graduated, we would get married after the baby was born, we would try to juggle college and our jobs with help from the parents, and we would have to find a place to live. Somehow I was able to go to bed that night completely content with the plan we had made. I slept so well, and dreamt of having the baby and living happily ever after.

Where Do I Begin?

As I sit here wanting to begin telling my story I realize that I am in a dilemma. I'm not sure where to begin actually. So I am going to walk away from the computer and gather my thoughts on where to begin telling my story.

Wanting To Do This But Not Making Any Promises...

As all of you know I have now been in "reunion" with my biological daughter that was placed for adoption in May of 1990. The reunion has had some pretty high highs and some very low lows. My friends and family have spent a lot of time encouraging me to write my thoughts and feeling out, to in essence tell my story as a birthmom. After being in "reunion" for just a little over 2 months, well 9 weeks and 5 days to be exact, I am just now starting to feel not quite so overwhelmed with it all. I have run the entire gamete of emotions over the last 9 weeks, and most of the time allowing the bad ones to get the best of me. So I have now decided that since I am feeling a lot more settled in this "reunion", maybe it would be therapeutic for me to begin to journal my story. I can not make any promises that posts will be consistent because this is a very emotionally charged issue. However I do promise to tell my story even if it is at my own pace.

I want to warn everyone that may read this that there is a lot of hype about proper language to use when discussing the adoption triad. I will use terms like birthmom, adoptive mom, adoptive dad, my daughter, their daughter, and such. If you find this offensive, inconsiderate, or not appropriate terminology then please just don't read my story.