Apr. 29, 2019

AFTER ALL THE PAIN, HURT, AND TEARS FROM LOSING BABIES, I STILL HAVE NO CHILDREN.

THIS IS A PHOTO OF MY EX-HUSBAND....JACK.  HE WAS INCAPABLE OF LOVING ANYONE BUT HIMSELF. HE TOOK PLEASURE IN DESTROYING EVERYTHING I LOVED....EVEN AFTER HIS DEATH. I LEARNED FROM EXPERIENCE THAT EVIL ATTRACTS EVIL.  BOTH JACK AND MY MOTHER WERE THE PERSONIFICATION OF EVIL. 

I yearned for someone to love-- for someone to love me back.  Unlike Jack, who was always taking, I was a giver.  More and more often, I thought about having a baby.  In order to survive my life--I needed life--in my life.   Jack was adamant.  He didn’t want children so therefore, there wouldn’t be any children.   Not only did Jack remind me to get the diaphragm but, less-than-trusting, insisted on watching me insert it.

I thought about my situation a long time before initiating my plan.  I decide to take-back my body and put it under my control. With great determination, I picked up the scissors and began giving the diaphragm---a makeover.

Words can’t adequately describe the day Jack came home for lunch and heard me say “I’m pregnant.”  He stopped eating, pushed his food away and glared at me, with his if-looks-could-kill face.  In a controlled but threatening tone, the heartless wonder said “Go to the doctor’s office, now!  Dr. Walker is a longtime family friend and he’ll get rid of it. You better know I’m not joking; I told you before--- I don’t want a fuckin baby.  You’re history until this matter is resolved.”

I didn’t go to Dr. Walker’s office. Morning sickness woke me early and lingering for most of every day.  Several afternoons, Jack dropped by the house to find me on the couch, helplessly nauseated and weak.  Badgering me with threats, he succeeded in making me sicker.   He came home long enough to shower and there were evenings he didn’t come home at all.   I cried--and cried--and cried.  I was married, pregnant, and alone. With no one to talk with, I finally confided in my enemy--- my mother.  She took pleasure in spreading gloom and doom, saying Jack would probably divorce me. “Without him, you won’t have any money to raise a child.   You are so helpless you can’t even take care of yourself.    Well, don’t expect to move into my house or use my money. When the baby’s born, I’ll take it because you’re too self-centered to care about anyone but yourself.”

I easily remember the day my abdomen started cramping and I felt a strong urge to urinate.     By the time I reached the bathroom, blood was dripping from between my legs; a steady stream of droplets splashed on the bathroom’s white tile floor.  I called the doctor’s office and heard the nurse say “Get someone to drive you to the emergency room immediately.  I’ve alert the doctor and he’ll meet you there.”  Scared, I called Jack.  He responded indifferently “Weeks ago, I told you to get rid of it!  I’m not going to the hospital and have people stare at me and know what we’ve been doing.  Take a taxi to the hospital or call your mother but don’t involve me!”  The towel between my legs was heavy with blood when I dialed my parents’ number.

By the time my mother and I arrived at the emergency room, Dr. Henry Adolphus “Dolph” Crane--- Dr. Walker’s new associate--- was waiting for me.  Thirty minutes later--- the bleeding still out-of-control--- I was admitted to the hospital.  Over my objections, my mother called Jack for an update.  Eventually Jack came to my hospital room, saying he was late because he’d been discussing my “dilemma” with his family. Jack’s mother thought the word miscarriage sounded too personal, so the family agreed to tell people I was in the hospital because of a “kidney infection”.  My father-in-law’s position on the Hospital Board automatically silenced the hospital staff, hospital workers, and the medical team.

Jack and I had been married more than three years when I experienced the miscarriage. Even now, quoting his words, “People will know what we’ve been doing” disgusts me.   It was an overwhelming struggle to stay married---for almost twelve years--- to someone with such a perverted view of sex and life.  But, prior to marrying Jack, I lived with my mother so---I should be an expert on depravity.

Six weeks after leaving the hospital, I accepted my in-laws’ invitation to view the Christmas decorations, downtown. We parked on Pine Bluff’s Main Street and began walking, admiring the holiday-filled store windows. In only a few minutes walking became difficult for me; I began experiencing a strange and heavy pressure between my legs. Feeling something wet and warm, I looked down to see a stream of fresh blood running down my legs and into my black leather pumps. Turning in the direction of the parked car I panicked, scared I couldn’t walk the short distance.  Grabbing my mother-in-law’s arm, I said “Please, something’s terribly wrong--- I must get home.”  Looking down at my blood-soaked hose she told her husband:  “Start the car, we have an emergency!” 

Within an hour, I miscarried on the white tile floor in the bathroom. For one brief moment I held the tiny stillborn baby in my hands, marveling at its perfect features, before placing it in a clean white towel.  Later, after examining the towel’s contents, Dr. Crane described what had happened:  Weeks earlier, when I miscarried at the hospital, the single baby I lost was actually a twin. At the time, doctors decided against performing a D&C (Dilation and Curettage), believing my body had expelled the womb’s contents.  Clearly the other twin, the one I lost at home, had survived the first miscarriage despite significant trauma. The unborn baby, still safe in the womb, must have fought for weeks to survive--- but the odds proved insurmountable.  

Jack never acknowledged the loss of the second baby-the remaining twin- but I noticed a slight change. He stopped mentioning the diaphragm and, his trusty pocket calendar disappeared.  Maybe, after experiencing the second miscarriage, Jack’s parents felt the need to have a little “come to Jesus” meeting with their oldest son.  I’ll never know.  Clearly, the second miscarriage couldn’t be labeled as ---just another kidney infection.

After the trauma of two miscarriages, I was ready to be “unmarried.”  Sadly, nothing about my situation had changed.  I was still alone, still without money, and--- just like before-- had no place to go.  Without resources, I had no choice but remain in captivity.