Pregnancy... No Glow, Just a Long 9 Months

I called one of DP’s friend’s to come over and help me sort things out while I actually went to the hospital to have the baby checked.  My worry was that I had been through so much and my stress level was so high, I had done something to the little one inside me. 

His friend CM came over and tried to have a chat with DP, but DP wasn’t talking. I had low electrolytes at the hospital and stayed on some IVs for a couple hours.  I figured it was a nice place to be at the time.

When I got home, things were cleaned up and I had a speech practiced in my head about what I was going to say to DP.  I was ready.  There he lay in my bed. 

“So, I heard about your job. I saw the bullets. Are you thinking about killing yourself?”

“Yes”

“Why?”

“What use am I to you or to the baby?”

At this point, I wished that I had stayed at the hospital, my knees were weak, I could feel all the blood rushing out of my body and I needed to sit. I had no desire to sit on the bed though, I was so furious with this man, I didn’t want to be close to him.  I still loved him, but how on Earth could he do this to me? To us?

“Look,” I said, “it’s a job. You will find another one. But, drinking yourself to death or shooting yourself isn’t the answer. And it certainly isn’t going to happen here.”

“Then, I’ll do it somewhere else” he said.

But he didn’t move. 

I could tell he was not messing around.  He was suicidal. I was worried and my mind quickly was reminded of the night I told DP about being pregnant.  That night, the officer had committed suicide.  I kept thinking about his wife and how she must feel.  What about their 3 year old son? And all I could think about was how would I feel if DP killed himself and how would I explain it to our baby someday. 

I found a suicidal hotline and I called it. They didn’t want to talk to me, but instead wanted to talk to DP.  I held the phone to his ear.  He listened and occasionally grunted.  I took the phone back and they suggested I get him to a hospital ASAP.  Of course, he didn’t want to go. We called another hotline. Same deal.  He wasn’t budging.  I finally got him to promise that if the next day was no better, he would go to the hospital. 

The following day we headed to St Vincent’s and he was admitted to the psychiatric ward.  The relief that I felt was immeasurable.  I wanted him to stay forever.  I just wanted him to get better and come back being the old DP that I knew.  I went home and slept. 

Sadly, 3 short days later, they let him out and then I felt like he was “under my care.”

And yet, I had a full time job (our only income), a baby in my belly and me to talk care of. This is not how I pictured the lovely 9 months of pregnancy.  I was certainly not glowing.

This is about when I learned that the saying “it can’t get any worse” is one of the most asinine sayings in the world… at least in my life.

Shit just fell apart.

I was about 23 weeks pregnant at this point and my routine became the following:

DP stayed at my house and drank – generally crown royal (still can’t stand the smell of that stuff) - from the time he got up until the time he passed out. Because I was super sensitive to the smell and his mood, I packed a bag and stayed nearby at my aunt’s.  In the morning, I’d come home, he’d be passed out, I would check to see if he was breathing. I would shower, change clothes and head to work. 

It was a lovely “nesting” time for me.  And I so looked forward to our life ahead together … oy!

At about week 28 I had had it.  I was done.  I had a very strong desire to nest.  To sleep in MY bed.  To get the nursery ready.  To be in my house.  And my time of letting him do what he was doing was over. I staged an intervention.  I gathered a couple of his friends and I asked for their help and I told them this was either him deciding to get help, or I was ready to do it all on my own (it wasn’t like we had a life together) and get him out of the house. 

It was probably one of the more intense days I can remember.  I actually sat in back of his car so he couldn’t leave (I’m somewhat surprised he didn’t run me over).  After I would say a good 4 hours, he broke down and finally agreed to go back to the hospital.  At this point, I left him in the hospital room (we were back at St V’s) by himself and begged the doctors to take him to the psychiatric ward.  I cried and said, I don’t want him to come home with me. The state took custody of him that night and kept him for a week.  He had no say in the matter, but was mighty pissed at me. 

Home at last, able to nest, I felt good and was wrapping my head around the fact that this was not going to be a fairy tale-esque story (I’m pretty quick on the up-take). 

The fear of doing it all on my own was very real. What would people say (funny thing is now, I don’t give that a thought.  Have the times changed? Or have I?), how would I manage everything I needed to, and how the heck would I know what to do with her hair?! (J)

DP came out claiming to be a new man.  I bought it hook, line and sinker.  He had changed, he wanted to be part of this family and he was going to stop drinking and find a job.  My hormones believed every word he said in the shiny glow of happiness.  It was the pregnancy miracle I had been looking for. 

Too bad he never went to look for jobs… maybe that part was coming soon…

At week 32, I came down with double pneumonia and was put into the hospital.  (I know, at this point you would be changing the channels on your remote, because you just can’t buy it all right?!)… DP decided not to stay with me in the hospital so he could get some sleep. 

“Hey,” I asked, “can you at least call my mom so she knows where I am? Maybe she will come and stay.”

“Of course” he said.

That night, no sleep, due to hacking up golf-sized pieces of phlegm with a big baby on my belly, I kept hoping to see my mom walk in.  She would know what to do to make me feel better.  IF SHE KNEW I WAS THERE…

The following day, I called her collect.  He hadn’t called her. But, an hour later, she was in my hospital room.  I was in for 3 days and then let go.

So happy to be home, as I sat slowly onto the bed, I had a coughing attack. CRACK. I cracked my rib while coughing.  Luckily DP was right there, unable to speak, I just cried and wrote “hospital” on a piece of paper. 

He took me immediately back and they admitted me and put me on an IV drip of morphine.  It was literally the best I had felt all of my pregnancy. THEN, I remembered to ask, “this doesn’t hurt the baby, does it?”

Ellie was due the week of one of the worst snow/ice storms in Portland history. The city was shut down, the airport was shut down for several days.  My dad was stuck in California unable to fly back.  My mom never would have made it up from McMinnville had Ellie been on time.  Luckily she held out until the roads were a little clearer.  She showed up 2 days late.  Labor was a grueling 36 hours and then we had a c-section.  Stubborn right from the get-go. 

I think this catches us up to going into the court systems.  Don’t turn the channel just yet…