I screamed at the top of my lungs. “Do the breathing techniques I showed you,” as the nurse held my hand. “The more you fight the contractions, the longer you’ll be in labor. Let your body push the baby out.”
I remember that nurse as clear as day and that was over thirty years ago. I was a scared seventeen-year-old just married a few months living with an abusive husband. It was January 3rd, 1989.
My husband and I were on and off with separation since we wed September 1988. I was attempting to study for my G.E.D before Christmas break.
I was supposed to be finishing my senior year of high school, but pregnancy happened. I promised my family I would earn my degree and graduate no matter what it took. It was not easy because my husband was abusive.
He would leave me alone with no food and money to pay bills. I wasn’t working; I spent my time taking classes and studying. When my husband would be home, he usually was drunk and verbally abusive.
Sleeping was elusive since I didn’t know whether my husband would show up from one of his many drunken tirades.
The apartment building we lived at was owned my husband’s family. It was atrocious living conditions to say the least. The building was old and dilapidated, with broken windows, stairs, and cockroaches/ rats everywhere. It should have been condemned but for some reason the city of Chicago never did condemn it.
My in laws were the ultimate slum lords and could care less about the horrendous condition of their building.
I was separated from my husband at Christmas time. I spent the holiday mainly by my mom’s place due to the heat barely working in my in laws building.
I was a complete mess. I was surprised I did not go in to labor early from all the stress.
I went out to dinner with my husband earlier on January 2nd in hopes to keep some semblance of peace between us. He dropped me off at my mom’s apartment early because I felt contractions.
My mom started keeping track of the time between each contraction. It got to be two minutes a part. She hoped my husband would pick up the phone so he would take me to the hospital.
Surprisingly, he wasn’t out drinking and answered the phone. He got to my mom’s a half hour later to drive me to the hospital. We arrived around 11:30p.m on January 2nd.
I was a terrified seventeen year old about to deliver my first child. I wanted to believe everything will work out, but knew I was about to face a hard life ahead.
The nurse I had was terrific. If not for her, I don’t think my delivery would have gone smooth.
The doctor they assigned me on the other hand was a complete ass. I had no public aid or insurance so the hospital assigned this doctor who was more interested in how he would get paid.
I lied telling him my sister could probably help pay the bill. My husband certainly wasn’t going to pay since he didn’t work.
The doctor finally agreed to help deliver, but he had an inexperienced intern do all the work.
The baby was about to come out. I had no local or anesthesia to numb me. So, the nervous intern gave me in episiotomy, cutting me sideways severing a nerve. All the doctor did was scream at the intern about “ not doing it right.”
My son came out without a hitch. My elation of holding him in my arms melted away all the trauma and pain. The time was 2:40 a.m on January 3rd. Time stood still as I held my baby. He was all that mattered.
The nurse took my son to clean up and take measurements. I soon remembered what a botch job the intern did to me.
He began stitching me up, again not realizing he still did not numb me. I let out a gut wrenching cry when he stopped and finally asked if I had been given a local to numb me. I screamed at him, “what the hell do you think?”
Through my tears, he mumbled an apology, got a syringe ramming it inside to numb me. I felt utter and complete humiliation as I lie there getting stitched up.
As I got wheeled back to my room, the nurse asked where my husband had gone. I asked her if she had seen him. She looked down and replied, “no.”
My husband didn’t even wait to see if I was okay. I had no idea if he even stuck around to hold his son. My world was crashing and had no clue how my son and I would survive financially. I had no money, job, and lived temporarily at my mom's. I questioned how were going to make it. Yet, I held my son, knowing somehow, someway we would survive.