Sunday, May 3, 2015

Motherhood, Aidan, and Vera

Trigger/Content Warning (TW/CW): this blog post contains mentions of abortion and rape. Reader discretion is advised.

A young couple, who lives next door to my studio apartment, has a newborn baby. And last night, that young one let the rest of the building know they did not want to go to bed last night.

Needless to say, my recovery from this sinus infection was interrupted quite a few times last night, heh.

Nonetheless, I am on the mend from this nasty sumbitch.

I do have another nasty sumbitch I have to contend with either later on this week or next week, depending when the ob/gyn doctor returns to the office.

On Thursday, the ultrasound discovered a complex ovarian cyst on my remaining ovary. My ovary is 3cm x 1.8cm x 1.6cm (or thereabouts). This punchsucker is 6cm x 4.3cm x 6.4cm (or close). The ovarian cyst is more than likely giving my ovary all types of hell (thus the amenorrhea) and will end up being removed via surgery.

The last time an ovarian cyst fucked me up was in 2005, when that punchsucker was in the ovary, not on it. The cyst was 10cm in length, torsioned (sp?) around the fallopian tube three times, was gangrene, and the gangrene was on its way to the uterus. After emergency oophrectomy surgery, I was given a breathing device to blow into so this itty bitty ball floats from the air I produced. I would find out later that my lungs collapsed during the surgery and that I had to be revived.

As you can imagine, my brain has now retreated itself back to 2005. It's amazing how PTSD works.

In the 10 years between these punchsuckers, I have done a lot with myself. I tried to get married three times to the same guy, and failed, heh. I somehow managed to pull off employment in both broadcasting and the United States Department of Defense (not bad for an autistic brat). And more recently, converting to Judaism and finally finding myself and what I want to do.

However, just like the left ovary, the right ovary will probably end up being removed as well (if the doctors can save it somehow, cool; I'll deal with Cousin Olga, I'm so not ready for menopause just yet). In the event that my right ovary does get removed, I will become menopausal at age 34.

The newborn baby's crying last night did not help with me contemplating my next chess move in life.

So, wait. Do you want to be a mother, Vera?

Good question. Let me counter; what if I were to tell you that, once upon a time, for a few days, I actually *was* a mother?

What, you actually got pregnant once?

Yes.

WHAT?! WHERE WAS I WHEN THIS HAPPENED? WHERE'S THE BABY?

The baby/zygote/you name it now only exists in memory.

HOLY SHIT! WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED?!

Bare with me, as this is the first time I am going public with this tale.

In 2004 (3.5 years before the rape, by the same person no less), as a shocker to even me, I discovered I had double vision. Okay, no. I was two weeks late from Cousin Olga's visit (I had very irregular cycles back then), and since I was sexually active with Dingbat at the time, I decided to run a dipstick test. The results showed me two lines instead of one. That was March 28, a Sunday.

I called Dingbat and told him what happened. I was pregnant and he was the father (yeah, I wasn't that lucky to have had more than one partner at the same time, or else this would have been a great story for "Maury").

And this is part is why I never shared this tale until now.

"We have to get rid of it," Dingbat whispered, so that his girlfriend of the time wouldn't hear the conversation.

Oh yeah, Vera was a rebel rouser in their late teens to mid-20s.

"Aw man," I remember saying. "At least let me give birth to it and give it up for adoption." I had the foresight then to not let a child be exposed to my assigned family at birth, not with their issues, oh no.

"Vera, what about your career? What about my career?" Dingbat countered. At the time, he had one adult child and one teenaged child, to which he wasn't paying child support for.

I conceded. "Okay."

Let this be known that no matter how high the intelligence quotient (IQ) is, piss poor decisions will always be made.

Fast forward five days later, to Friday April 2, I had the abortion procedure done, with Dingbat by my side. What made it extra rough was I didn't have enough cash for general anesthesia, so the procedure was done while I was awake. It didn't hurt me physically, but I understand that it could hurt emotionally for other patients.

Shortly after the procedure was finished, Cousin Olga came back.

After the procedure, I did experience that postpartum depression. That shit was nonsense; you want to talk about feeling hopeless after so much joy and love is devastating. And I do believe with the amenorrhea occurring by the cyst while it gives me the raspberries, I might be experiencing a depression similar, if not exact, to postpartum right now.

Did you name the baby at least? How far along were you?

I did. I wasn't aware of the gender, because according to the doctor I was approximately six weeks pregnant at the time of the procedure. So I gave it a name, Aidan; the name comes in the truest fashion of other Lakewoodite (or a resident of Lakewood, Ohio, USA) baby carriers who got their child's name off of a character from the soap opera, "All My Children," heh.

Now wait a minute, you said in a previous post that you never missed a cycle. What gives?

I apologize for the half-truth. Allow me to clarify; I have never missed a period in the 24 years I've been cycling without pedals that wasn't caused by pregnancy. I wasn't ready to share this tale then; today was a good day to do so.

And now with the probability that this latest punchsucker will wipe out any and all chance for me to ever get pregnant again, I'm not sure how to feel. I should be excited, because I don't want to raise children. Sure, it would have been kick ass to have known there's a half-Vera/half-sperm donor running around on this planet, raising all types of hell.

However, if the one pregnancy is all I ever get in this life, then I will make peace with that acknowledgment.

And as for the newborn baby now living next door to me? Time for me to invest in some ear bud sleep aids.

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