Motherhood During Childhood
New Year's Eve 2011 was a party that I would never forget. I was surrounded by my very best friends and of course, my high school love. We all hung out together, bringing in the new year with good music, great people, and even better drinks. And, woah, I can definitely say I can't drink now like I did in those days. Sixteen-years-old and feeling like I was on top of the world that night but it was hard to pull myself together over the next few days.
Why did I feel so nauseas? Why did I feel tired constantly? Why did I feel like my body didn't belong to me? I knew something was wrong when my usual "hangover cures" didn't help. My immediate family all moved back to Virginia over the years and I had no established doctor, so I scheduled an appointment with a random pediatrician from the clinic. When she walked in she asked all the usual questions and examined me on the table, once she was done she decided to run some tests. Of course the tests seemed pretty ordinary, but who really wants to squat over a cup for someone to give your a diagnosis?
I had worried myself a million and ten ways, but not one worry that crossed my mind had been what the doctor came in to tell me. The pediatrician greeted me with, "congratulations Ms. Thompson, you are expecting."
As inappropriate as it was, I said the first thing that came to mind, which was, "you're fucking kidding me, right?" I. Am. Pregnant.
She asked if I had any questions, she asked me what I planned to do next, but I allowed silence to fill the room after each time she spoke. I had questions, but I couldn't speak.
Eventually she stood up, placed my paperwork on the desk and left the room.
I'm not sure how much longer I sat there after she left, but once I realized I was alone, I gathered my things, stuffed my papers away, and hurried out of the room. Down the hall. Out the doors. I hurried all the way until I reach the vehicle I had drove there and then I sat down. I stared out the window. Something broke my concentration of nothing and I began driving back to school.
Sixteen years old. Senior year of high school. No family. No support system. And pregnant.
That's when things started to flood my mind. All the questions, all the comments, all the concerns, and not one clue where to start.
I was alone. Not just in the moment, but in my life. I had no support system. How could I raise a child? I'm still a child, how do I raise a child when I'm raising myself? How am I suppose to finish school or work a job, who will watch my baby? What if he doesn't want to stay? What if he's not ready? What if he asks me to have an abortion? What if he wants to give the baby up for adoption? So many questions, but not one answer.
By the time I had gotten back to the high school, I had achieved a new level of anxiety. As I walked to class a younger friend, who I still view as a very close friend even after her passing, she commented on my presence at that time. The shakiness in my body, the dryness in my voice, even how easily I was startled. Her comment made me feel safe to tell her my secret, the one thing only I knew. So I told her.
She was happy, of course. I think that's often most people's immediate reaction to such news. But I was sixteen-years-old, no income, no family, living on friends couches, I knew I wasn't ready, but I had to be. And just like I suspected, her first question was, "have you told him?"
When I told her that I hadn't, she asked why not.
"Because I'm scared. What if he doesn't want to be apart of this? What do I do? I wasn't even properly raised, how am I suppose to raise a child? And on my own? I'm scared. I don't even know how to tell him."
Forever in my heart, Vanessa said to me, "I'll be right by your side, no matter what happens." Eleven years ago I told a thirteen-year-old girl my deepest secret. It's been seven years since I had to say goodbye to her, laid to rest with her forever baby, I always wished she would've came to me like I came to her.
As we walked up to my son's father, anxiety blaring, he knew something was up. With shakiness in my voice, I shared our news and he reacted.
We spent days talking about our decisions, but we knew from the beginning what our decision was. As we began to tell family and friends, we felt the secrecy our of gift begin to fade as the time passed with the blink of an eye.
I took all the guidance my doctors gave me considering I had no guidance at home. Take this prenatal or nausea medication, don't eat this or that, careful how hot your shower is, I listened to the only person who gave me any guidance. Ultrasounds, blood draws, urine tests, it was never ending.
"Hello, is this Ms. Thompson?"
"Yes, this is she."
"Ms. Thompson, the doctor would like a follow up ultrasound done at our main hospital, located about an hour and forty-five minutes from you, what is your earliest availability?"
In the middle of my pregnancy, we were asked to come to a hospital outside of my hometown, because of an irregular finding in my recent ultrasound. The phone call alarmed us and left us filled with anxiety until the date of our appointment finally came.
We learned a lot about clubbed feet, why some children experience this, and what our processes would be once he was born. However, all the information we learned at that appointment, was nearly useless once a diagnosis was finally rendered.
This was only the beginning of the obstacles our child would start to experience after entering the world five weeks prematurely. As we later learned the name of his life-long diagnosis, Deletion 22Q1.1., we have hurdled over every obstacle that has came before him.
When I thought I was given my son because he needed me, all along I was given my son, because I needed him. Through life with my now-ten year old son, I have experience, pain, heartache, and what felt like torture sometimes, but I've also experienced love in its truest form, I've experienced life in the slow lane, never taking for granted the simplest of things. To hear your child say, "mommy! Did you hear that?! I HEARD THAT!" Because he finally got a second hearing aid, to hear with both ears, those moments can't be bought, they can't be taught, the memories, obstacles, and lessons I have learned in life the last ten years with my son by my side, those are what have made me who I am today.
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