It was a hot day, the summer of 1983. I remember it well. I thought I was pregnant but had not had a test performed yet. I had so many chores to do. I had two toddlers who were rambunctious as all get out. We did not have running water, nor did I we have a washing machine. I washed the clothes in a large tub by scrubbing them on the wash board. I was hot, exhausted and running a fever, for no apparent reason. Yet I kept working.
A normal day for me started at 4 Am by getting up, preparing breakfast for my husband, who worked as head timber cutter for a local man. I never woke him up until his breakfast was on the table. He liked a big breakfast and he deserved it for working such hard manual labor all day. I would pack his lunch as he ate his breakfast. We had a schedule and we worked well together to get things done in a timely manner.
The girls usually awoke shortly after Roger left for work. Today was no different. For some reason, I was in a lot of pain today. The pain seemed to start in my lower stomach and then radiating to my lower back. I thought it was just the way I had slept the night before and tried to ignore it.
Somewhere around noon, I was doubling over with the pain. I sent my oldest daughter to get her Grandmother. We did not have a phone so I had no other choice than to send her across the bridge by herself. I tried to watch her cross the foot bridge but I was loosing awareness and soon passed out.
I came to as my mother in law was trying to pick me up off the floor. They rushed me to the hospital, where tests were immediately run. Then I was sent to another hospital. Since I had no insurance, I had to get someone to take me. No ambulance would take me without insurance.
At the second hospital, more tests were run. I was told that I had a tubal pregnancy. My baby did not make it to the uterus. Instead it was in the tube and was growing there. The baby had grown too big for the tube and it ruptured. I was filled with infection and it was getting more dangerous by the minute.
I was sent to another hospital. This hospital was 2 hours and and again I had to find someone to take me. My husband still was not home from work and I had no way of getting hold of him. I was scared and alone. My brother in law took me to the next hospital. They admitted me and I soon began to pour blood. They took me by ambulance to yet another hospital. I was immediately prepared for surgery. By this time, my husband had made it home. They had told him the problem and he rushed to the hospital. They were taking me to surgery already when he came running down the hall. I heard him calling my name and made them stop. I kissed him and told him I loved him, as they rushed me into surgery.
I was told later that I lost a lot of blood. I was given two units of blood and they had to take the tube and the baby. They said I was filled with infection and it was amazing I was alive. I cried for weeks over the loss of my baby. It affected me in a way that I still can't explain. I know the loss was real. The pain was real. A therapist came to my room to talk to me but I couldn't talk about it. I felt that it was my fault, my baby died. I should have had a test sooner and taken it easier. I should not have been lifting all that water.
When the bill for the hospitals started pouring in, the first thing I noticed was that the surgery said “abortion” on it. I was really upset then because I did not have an abortion. That made things worse for me. I was dealing with the loss of my baby and they were telling me I had an abortion. I felt like they were saying I had my baby killed. This just added to my pain.
The next time I went to see the OB/GYN who performed the surgery, I ask why the bill said “abortion”. He told me that it was just procedure since they had to take the baby. I think that is why the word abortion stirs such strong reactions in me.
This was just the first, of four babies my husband and I lost. Each one affected my life. I felt the loss of each of my babies. I still, to this day wonder what my babies were. In the back of my mind, I always thought they were boys.
I wonder if they would have grown up to be strong willed and make a difference in the world. They were forced to leave this earth, far too early. I wonder if it was my fault they died. I wonder if they would have looked like my husband or me. We would have had a nice size family with more love to spare if he had the 4 children we lost in addition to the two children we were able to carry to term.
I am sure we would have many grandchilren to fill our lives as well as more son or daughter in laws. We would have more love to share, more photos to view. I wonder how large our faimly would be now? I wonder. . . . .
The above post was submitted as a response to the following prompt. You can read the entire prompt by clicking HERE.
This Week’s Challenge:
I want you to write about some missed opportunity. It can be real or imagined, but make us either feel sorry for you or chuckle about your gaffe. Make sure the reader can understand the missed opportunity and how it (might have) affected your later life. Use prose or poetry and write fiction, nonfiction, or an essay.
- Put this challenge statement at the beginning or end of your submission so readers will know what you’re supposed to do.
Challenge: I want you to write about some missed opportunity. It can be real or imagined, but make us either feel sorry for you or chuckle about the gaffe. Make sure the reader can understand the missed opportunity and how it (might have) affected your later life. Use prose or poetry and write fiction, nonfiction, or an essay.
- There is a limit of three submissions from each member per day. If you’re extremely prolific, spread out your work and post only three submissions per day.
- Post to Gather Writing Essential.
- Tag your submission with SatWE.
- Include (Saturday Writing Essential) as part of your title.
- I ask that you make your submission(s) by next Friday afternoon.