Category Archives: The Book of Meth

A time you feared for the safety of a loved one.

There was a prompt from Mama Kat this week that caught my attention.
Mama's Losin' It

5.) A time you feared for the safety of a loved one.

I’ve told this story before.  It’s from the scariest time in my life. New mother, beautiful newborn and a meth addict.  Somethings gotta go…..

There is nothing scarier than fearing that the drug addict you married is going to kill you and/or your child.  To me, there is nothing scarier or more dangerous than a meth addict in need of a fix.

converseChapter 7 in what I like to call “The book of meth”……..we’re nearing the end now, thank you all for coming with me as I tell my story….

Catch up from the begining here-

Or the entire Book of Meth here~

My first Christmas as momma was amazing. The PIT was healthy, happy and full of spunk. She had no idea I was miserable inside….

Mr meth was still in jail thru new years. I still hadn’t gone to see him, still refused to speak to him…all communication went thru his family. Finally in January I went to see him..I simply went to make myself clear…I was done. I told him that I hated him, that my daughters first Christmas was amazing no thanks to his worthless ass…told him that when he got out he was not coming to my home…told him it was over, I wanted out. I told him I wanted a divorce. I sat there and felt nothing as he bawled his eyes out and begged me to give him “just one more try”…I felt nothing. I wanted him to hurt. He crushed me…I wanted him to feel the pain that I felt when I realized “we” were over because of his choices.

I said “make a choice fucker! Marriage or meth?!?”

He made his choice and that is why we are here, discussing divorce, behind glass in a fuckin jail…on our fuckin sham of a wedding anniversary. Every little girls dream I know.

I left the jail still emotionless, quiet…I felt numb. Seriously?! Is this really my life right now?! What the shit?! What the fuck is wrong with me? I thought to myself. What kind of loser has a husband behind bars? What kind of loser has a husband who brings meth to a family reunion and drops it? Apparently me! Fuck!!!


111I went to pick up the PIT, took her home and cuddled and rocked her to sleep. I held her all night that night. Didn’t sleep for even a moment..I sat in that stupid gray rocking chair rocking all night…crying…bawling. I looked at my precious baby and I felt like such a failure….I wanted to give her the best and I knew that there’s no way I could. Failure….that haunts me everyday. I still feel like a failure because she doesn’t have a dad like I meant for her to have. I wonder if I always will…and as tears fill my eyes right now…I’m pretty sure I will.

Mr meth was released from jail sometime in January or February…he didn’t bother us at first. He went to his aunts and stayed with them for a while and seemed to make an effort. Soon however..the meth the friends the same old same old sucked him right back in. He started breaking into the house again and told me he would rather kill me than lose me. Ummmm, wouldn’t he have lost me either way? Hello…dead?! Nut job!!

Since the holidays my family had known that my marriage was over. Not feeling the need to hide my situation anymore I went to my dad for help. He spent a day with me helping get a restraining order and change the locks on the doors yet again. I met with a realtor to put my house, that I loved but could not afford on just my income, on the market. One more thing I was going to lose because of mr meths choices. I loved that house…my grandfather gave me my inheratance to use as a down payment on this house…I moved into this house literally one week before my grandfather died. He was to weak to even come into my house the day I moved in…but he drove to town with gramma and waited in the car in my driveway and told me that he was proud of me and that my house was beautiful. I squeezed my poppa thru the car window that day…poppa and I were both beaming. Now here I was bawling as I signed the papers to put the house up for sale. I still feel like I let poppa down…I lost the house he helped me get….

Mr meth was getting more and more nuts by the day and the restraining order didn’t stop him most days. One sunny afternoon I went out to my garage…a place I rarely went…I’m a girl…I have no business in a garage unless it’s a garage sale:) that afternoon I went out there looking for who knows what..I’m not even sure why I went out there. I went to open the door and almost broke my face…apparently the door was locked. Odd…I didn’t even know this locked! I knew I didn’t have a key because I knew this lock had not been on my door before, so being the naturally psycho bitch that I am, I kicked the door open…I must have been really pissed because I’m still kinda suprised I kicked it open in one swift kick!  There, in my garage was a Lexus, a Lexus that I knew was not mine since I had just begged the car dealer to buy my own Civic back from me because I couldnt afford it.  I actually knew who the Lexus belonged to…I was a fellow drug lord friend of Mr Meths car.  The question was. why the fuck is the drug lords car in my garage? How long has it been here? What the hell?! I really need to pay attention!

The PIT was napping when I made this discovery so I took that as an opportunity to pick a fight with the drug lord.

First, I went down to the basement, also a place I rarely went, mostly out of fear of finding drugs…..but that day I went. I went into the room that I later found out my husband was smoking meth in, a room I hadnt been in for a very long time. There on the shelf was the bottle of ZipStrip paint thinner I was after……..I poured the bottle of ZipStrip paint thinner into a super soaker that was in my basement for some unknown reason….I figured it was a sign from God to use it in my mission.

I called the drug lord who had his Lexus in my garage and asked him what the hell was going on. He told me that Mr Meth and him had gotten in a bit to deep with the latino drug lords and were now on their shit list, so naturally, they decided to hide the Lexus in my garage.  Terrific. Using my garage to hide your car from latino drug lords that you have pissed off. How thoughtful. Especially since I had made myself more than clear that I wanted NO part of any of this nonsense….none.  At least I had thought I made myself clear…..apparently not….so I told the owner of the Lexus that I was on my way out to the garage with my super soaker full of ZipStrip paint thinner and I was going to write “CRACKHEAD” on the hood of his beloved Lexus.

Within moments he was at my garage ready to relocate his car….but not before I could scream every possible obsinity at him and called him every bad name a person could call an asian….all of my neighbors were outside at his point…..curious as to what the crazy lil white girl was screaming about.  They soon found out…..I made it clear that this person as well as my soon to be ex husband were worthless drug addicts and I had no part nor did I want any part of the horse shit they were into. In fact, I yelled to all my neighbors…..”if you see either of these fuckers anywhere near my house PLEASE call the cops….  they are most likely wanted for some crime somewhere”.  After this chaos I created in my own front yard had gotten way out of hand the police did arrive but my worthless turd of a husband and his drug lord associate had already fled.  However, at least now, EVERYONE knew that I personally wanted no part of his illegal activity and the neighbors soon took the action to call the police whenever Mr Meth slithered back my direction.  I also knew, that I had brought this chaos into their quiet little neighborhood.  I knew I had to move…..I was always gonna be the crazy white chick screaming at the asian drug lords with the cops at her house weekly.  Yuck…..nightmare neighbor!  Nightmare reality is what I was living….

Life after meth?

I made it through 8 minutes of an episode of Intervention once before I felt my stomach turn, my mouth started to water the way it does right before you blow chunks and I ran out of the room.

Yeah, *I* ran….away from my own television set.

I stood in the hallway, my heart pounding out of my chest, I couldn’t breathe, I felt like I was suffocating..I couldn’t cry, scream or even think straight..my legs felt like Jello…finally I gasped, fell to my knees and bawled like a fucking baby. Why? What the hell?! It’s just a tv show!

It’s just a tv show that I cannot watch.

It’s not a bad show that I’m aware of, I honestly only made it through 8 minutes..I’m not bashing the show….it’s just….for me…I can’t watch it.

Something similar happened tonight…anti-meth commercials are now popping up all over network television.  I felt the same crazy anger creeping up on me as I watched the commercial.  I made it through the whole commercial (yay me) but then it occurred…I cannot watch someone strung out on meth, a fragment of who and what they used to be….I cannot watch another family pull desperately at string that are already frayed, only to have their loved one take the frayed string and hang themselves with it.

It’s painful, insulting, heart breaking and makes my blood boil.

I have absolutely no patience/tolerance/sympathy for a meth addict.

For any meth addict.

The smell of a meth addict makes my fists clench in fear…and a bit of anger. The sight of a meth addict makes me sick to my stomach. The twisted and warped words that come out of their mouths makes me so bloody angry I want to punch a kitten.

I left my job at the hospital because I just couldn’t muster up the compassion to care for a meth addict. Honestly. I didn’t want to help them…that’s not like me (even on my bitchiest day I’m a helper) I figured if they wanted to smoke that fucking poison then they could tough it out till they OD’ed. Rather than adding “watch a meth addict OD” to the list of shit I did, I left.

I left my meth addicted husband, I left the job I once loved, I left my friends, I left my home….I left that town. I knew that meth would be where ever I tried to go but I figured not knowing the addicts personally would make a difference.

It hasn’t.

It’s been years since I lived the Book of Meth….it’s been years since I’ve seen a meth addict that I know personally. I refused to see my own cousin until I was certain he was clean….I’m not easily convinced either but that boy proved himself and continues to prove himself to this day.

It occurred to me tonight that it may always be this way for me…I may never be able to watch Intervention or care for an addict….I may never see a glass pipe and not get sick to my stomach, the sight of a meth addict could very well haunt me for the rest of my life.

Although I personally have never used meth (or anything outside of my beloved Mary), it still managed to leave a scar on me. He may have been the addict but he wasn’t the only one who was affected by it.  I live with his bad decisions everyday, I have the nightmares of fighting him off me, my stomach turns at the sight of a glass pipe, meth is a drug that whether you use it or not…you ARE going to feel the aftermath.

I can’t possibly be the only one in the world whose ex is a meth addict.

Where are you ladies. I want to know what it’s like for YOU.

The one who feels the burn of someone else’s addiction even after they’re gone…

There’s more to being a dad than DNA

Mhmm, this post is Chapter 9 in the Book of Meth. A repeat I know. However, I like this one….to this day I KNOW I made the right choice going to court that day.

A recent post from the lovelys over at Singlemommyhood (yeah thats right-we have our own hood) reminded me that is more to being a dad than DNA….it feels good to have legal documentation of that now.

 

 

Get rid of him…..

Turns out that terminating parental rights is not an easy feat. The courts WANT parents to be involved and responsible for their children. Duh. Who doesn’t want that? What happens when one of the parents turns into a flaming douchebag by becoming a psycho meth addicted loser? Then what judge? You want me to sit here and hope and pray with all of my being that he never shows up ever again? Ah yeah fucking right. I refuse to accept that. If you don’t WANT your child, well then, fuck you. Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on your way out homie. And a meth addict who is notorious for his over the top “I’m gonna getcha” shit?!?! Nope. Not gonna happen.
When mr meth called me that night and begged me to terminate his rights….I was like a kid on Christmas morning! I was living in the city not the same place I got the divorce so first I tried to locate a local lawyer.

First lawyer was a prick and told me that I should be ashamed of myself for trying to get rid of him instead of helping him. I in return was an equal prick and told him that I was already plenty ashamed of myself but not for this…I went on to tell this attorney, who I didn’t know, nor did I need to spill my guts too, that I didn’t owe that son of a bitch anything and if I really wanted to get rid of him I’d hire a fucking hitman and not an attorney! All I was trying to do was protect my daughter from a meth addicted gang banger with a violent fuckin history! Is that really so much to ask?! I told the attorney that HE should be ashamed of himself for judging people so quickly, without knowing the whole story.  “A quick tognue will slit your own throat if you’re not careful” I told him before hanging up to sob. 

I went to plan B……the wonderful attorney who helped me throught the divorce.  Problem was….she was in a different county and we werent sure which county I would have to proceed in.  Since my ex husband had a long history of trouble with the law in the county where I was divorced we wanted to proceed there….I had already been before this judge for the divorce and my ex was before the same judge to be sentanced for drugs….the judge knew the story so I thought maybe that would help my case.  Nope, I thought wrong.  My case wasnt going to be easy but I had already come this far so there was no way in hell I was stopping until his name was OFF her birth certificate.  I didnt know what kinda trouble he was in and I didnt want to….I just wanted him GONE. 

My lawyer and I worked for three months to prepare the case.  How hard could it be to build a case against a gangbanger really?!

First, mr meth had “abandoned”  the PIT in the courts eyes.  He had been gone out of the PIT’s life since she was 15 months old and at this time she was nearing her 3rd birthday.  Mr Meth had made no contact (except for threats on my life) with the PIT. He left town that day after getting the divorce papers and never saw her again. No letters, cards, calls…..nada.

Second, Mr Meth was behind in child support payments to the tune of $20,000 and had never made a payment ever, nor was there any hope of him getting a job given his serious lack of motivation and current drug abuse.  I was busting my ass to survive on my own, without child support and without any sort of public assistance, without anything. Shit I even paid for the kids overpriced health insurance on my own and lived on microwave popcorn! 

Third, Mr meth requested this termination because of his gang involvement.  He had a long history of trouble with the law so proving he was a loser wasnt to hard.  I had the court papers of his last violent arrest, the restraining order from my divorce (which was valid for 8 years…thank you) and his own admission of gang and drug involvment. 

It was clear Mr Meth was not father material. This should have been easy.  Instead, I had to meet with the social service people so they could see how I interacted with the PIT and to see that she was well taken care of. Ummm im sorry but what the fuck?! Make him prove something!! I birthed the child and I have been caring for her MYSELF since day one! My lawyer advised me to shut my mouth and jump through the hoops the courts were going to put me through. I KILLS me to shut my mouth by the way. But I did. I jumped through every stupid hoop and met with every social workers they sent to me and I smiled through every interview, the whole time I really just wanted to tell them that this “system” was a bogus fucking mess. 

Finally, my day came and I was heading to court to present my case.  I threw up in the lawyers office before we left. I was just a lil bit nervous apparently!  My mom and my dad both came to the court with me….I was so glad that they did.  As I cried my eyes out on the stand as I relived the nightmare that Mr Meth had made my life and begged the judge to sign the order….I felt stronger with my parents there. (Thank you both)  As I sat on the stand all teary eyed, the judge looked at me and said “How do you know he isnt just trying to get out of child support?” 

“I dont care. I dont care about the child support…Ive never recieved any so how could I miss it?! I dont recieve any assistance from tax payers at all nor do I intend to. I dont see what the court cares about the stupid child support order!” I yelled. I was so frustrated…..so angry…..WHY was this not an open and shut case?!?! ”Im not doing this out of spite or to get back at him or anything like that your honor. I AM SCARED of this man. I am terrified that he is going to take my child from me again….like he did that day when I almost ripped his face right off. Together we are monsters who will fight to the death. I just want this nightmare to stop. I want to be mommy. I have a gorgeous little girl who NEEDS and deserves her mother….a mother who is not living in fear.  Please your honor,” i said as I bawled…..”Please help me

The judge handed me a tissue, leaned back in his chair…..he told me that he hoped I had learned a lesson about running with the “wrong crowd” and that in the future I should pick my baby daddys a bit better.

Ok…that kick in the teeth is duely noted sir.  Thank you for pointing out the obvious.  

Finally he signed the order terminating Mr Meths parental rights, changed the PITs name and my last name….ordered a new birth certificate and sent me on my way. 

I was exhausted but giddy! Had I really just accomplished that?! Holy SHIT! WoooHOOOO!! That was the best feeling in the world……I fought my ass off for my girl and I WON. The nightmare that I had been living finally came to an end in 2005. The PIT and I were free of Mr Meth!!

*Currently maintain NO contact with Mr Meth what so ever. I attempted to make nice with his family when the PIT was wondering why she looked like she should speak spanish but it didnt last long. We’re good with why she looks like she would speak spanish. His family and I didnt see eye to eye on alot of things and I am not the kinda girl to bend for someone if I just dont want
to. Mr Meth is still cracked out in Cali last I knew….has a new baby now…super…glad your winky still works and that youre still irresponsible enough to reproduce….(I revoked my own rights to reproduce after the book of meth and had my tubes tied. I made a mess the first time around..no need to repeat!) Anywhooo—-the PIT and I are together, we’re happy, healthy and ready to take on the world!!

*These* eyes

These eyes……that look…..that is ‘his’ look.

*His/him from this point on is the man he was BEFORE Mr Meth*

It’s creeping up on me again….the dates, the memories, the anger all still way to real for having been 8 years ago. 

I’m NOT going to crumble this year. 

I’m NOT going to relive that nightmare as the first few days in April go by….

I’m NOT going to sink into that hole where I hate myself and Mr Meth….

Im just not going to. 

If you’ve been over to The Book of Meth lately and have read my recent comments you know what Im talking about.

When I look at the PIT…her eyes….those are ‘his’ eyes….and sometimes it just hurts to see *him* in her eyes

However, when I look at the PIT grow, learn, become this unique little being…..

I see me and my greatest work in progress.

She has ‘his’ eyes.

I once loved those eyes…motherfuck….that hurt to admit.

**Like shitting a knife hurt. But there, I did it.**

I may hate who & what he became but I have to admit that I once loved him.

Even though he never deserved my love…..I did just the same.

The PIT may have ‘his’ eyes and somedays she wrinkles her face just like he would generally implying “What are you talking about woman?”

 but that girl is without a doubt, 100% her mothers daughter and truely a blessing to her mother

And when I get good reports from her teachers it feels damn good to look into *those*  big brown eyes,

 (‘his eyes’ yet knowing that I did this-all on my ownsince day one..even when it blows goats..)

and tell her how very proud I am of her and how much I love her more and more every day.

Can’t say I didn’t try

After the why do I look like I should speak Spanish talk I felt like I’d been ripping the PIT off.

She didn’t even know what Asian was!

Clearly I have neglected to teach her anything about her Lao heritage.
I felt the need to fix this issue and teach her about being Lao.

Yeah ok I can’t even type that now without laughing!

 What the hell do I know about being Lao?! Is there such thing as “being Lao”?!

Why would I want to teach her anything other than how to be a good person?

The teach her how to be Lao idea was obviously not something I could teach her.

Shortly after the talk I took the PIT to see my ex husbands aunt & uncle who had always been very kind to me and the PIT.

Mr meth was back in Cali and nowhere near his aunt & uncles and after our talk the PIT thought it would be cool to meet her dads family so one weekend I drove 4 hours with the PIT and we stood hand in hand as I rang the doorbell…we were both nervous.

I hadn’t seen these people in years.

I took off..left town and didn’t exactly keep in touch.

The PIT didn’t remember them at all so it was like the first meeting in her nervous little mind.

Mr meths aunt answered the door with arms open, a smile on her face and tears that I assume were joy..or perhaps relief that she finally got to hug her again…it’s hard to tell because auntie t doesn’t speak English.

(kinda hard to keep in touch when you don’t speak the same language)

Her husband didn’t speak English either…their kids all did but at the moment none of them were home.

We (auntie t, uncle and I) did our best to communicate and make the PIT feel comfortable…this was huge for her, well for all of us.

Soon after we arrived one of their kids came home (thankfully) to translate and that really helped.

 I could tell the PIT was getting frustrated not being able to understand them.

Auntie T cooked up a storm which was awesome!

The PIT had her first homemade Lao meal and she loved it!

Huge fan of sticky rice!

All in all-our first visit to his family went very well.

We made a few more trips to see them over the next couple years.

Each time I noticed the PITs frustration when she wasn’t able to understand them.

I imagine it’s scarey for a little person to suddenly be tossed into a room full of people speaking loudly in another language.

 Our last visit didn’t go so well….there was a party or celebration of some kind at aunties house which means a house full of people…none of whom speak English…all curious to see the PIT they grabbed at her, tried hugging her, tried talking to her…loudly in a foreign language and I could see the overwhelming panic in my daughters eyes as they filled with tears.

The PIT came running into my arms and held on to me so tightly…it was clear to me this would be our last visit.

We tried.

 It killed me to ring that doorbell the first day…I hadn’t had any contact with his family in years but I wanted to at least try for the PIT to introduce her to the good people in his family.

I had done that…she met them.

The language barrier is one that is simply unavoidable.

It frustrates the PIT and makes her very uncomfortable when she can’t understand someone.

 The visits were not proving to be such a good idea.

That night as I buckled the PIT into her car seat and she looked at me and said “momma. I don’t want to come here anymore. Is that ok?”

“that’s perfectly fine peanut” I said as I kissed her on the forehead.

That night I was up all night torn between what to do but in the end I went with my gut.

 The kids not diggin this.

The language barrier is a challenge I don’t feel the PIT and I need to conquer.

Plus there were plenty of cultural barriers that I felt like I didn’t get so how could I help the PIT understand?

I’m not Lao. I barely get my own culture!

It bothered me that in all of our visits and effort….there was never a phone call from them.

They never actually invited us over.

In fact to this day, noone has inquired about my daughter which is fine…it justifies me not going back.

The PIT hasn’t asked to go back to visit and I’m not going to force something I think she’ll be just fine without.

Does she fully get what being biracial is? No….she doesn’t care. She’s content being a kid.

When the time comes that she wants to learn more about the Lao culture…we’ll learn about together.

For now, we are plenty busy learning about life…in general….together.


 

Flood of memories

Tonight a commercial for the super bowl came on and for some reason that triggered a flood of memories that felt so fresh, so real…..I felt a chill down my spine as the chill of the feelings of that day…the way I felt that day.

Eight years ago to the day. 2-2-02.

Memories both good and bad of joy and sorrow all poured over me like a cold rain.

I felt it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

2-2-02:

It was the day before the super bowl.

I remember that so well because it was the super bowl where the Patriots played someone and the Patriots were sure to lose so my meth addicted husband placed a bet against the Patriots.

This one…..

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

The American Football Conference (AFC) champion New England Patriots (14–5) win their first Super Bowl by defeating the National Football Conference (NFC) champion St. Louis Rams (16–3), 20–17, as kicker Adam Vinatieri made a game-winning 48-yard field goal as time expired. The Rams had been 14-point favorites to win the game, making the Patriots’ victory one of the biggest upsets in Super Bowl history.

Mhmmmm….and he had bet a shit-ton of money on that game. Which is probably the logic thing to do when you’re out of work and tweeked outta your fucking mind….

The day before that Super Bowl game I had my regularly scheduled weekly fetus check.  Still on bedrest….still not working…bored out of my mind and rather depressed I was SO hoping to find out if the fetus was a boy or a girl.  I had worked at the hospital during my pregnancy….I had access to nurses and ultra sound machines….and I totally abused that access:)  I started trying to find out what sex the fetus was going to be at 13 weeks gestation.  Early, yes, Im impatient damnit!  2-2-02 at 33 weeks along the little shit FINALLY cooperated with me and revealed her lil vajj!  So many emotions surged through my already hormonal and unstable mind….in all honesty…I had ‘planned’ on the fetus being a boy.  Seriously, what the hell do I know about being a girl besides most of the time it pretty much sucks ass?! I suck at being a girl.  To this day, I still do not own a dress. Why? What the hell am I going to wear it with? My sneakers? Oh yeah-one pair of shoes. I hate shoes.  I was freaking the fuck out.  I dont know what to do with a girl?! Holy fuck…now Im really in over my head!

  (right, because having recently found out your husbands a meth addict & your in preterm labor isnt quite in over my head)

I left the appointment still a little bit in shock.  I honestly didnt think I was going to have a girl.  I was totally rooting for a boy. 

(Looking back, I blame the hormones.)

 I went home and just sat on the couch…the house was quite well except for the pups playing…other than that I was alone. 

As I had been for most of the pregnancy. 

 In some ridiculous attempt to try and provoke my husband into “daddy” mode I called him to tell him that he was having a daughter and I dont know what I expected I guess…..not facing the reality of what your husband has become can seriously cloud ones thinking. 

No you know what. Fuck that. I do know what I was expecting.  I was expecting a “YAY!!!” or “Lets go buy something PINK” or some sort of joy…some sort of reassurance that this was going to be ok…some sort of connection–I expected him to feel something. 

Instead, when I told him the fetus was a girl he simply replied “Oh. Ok. Is there anything else? Im in the middle of a card game.” 

Really?!

 ”Alright well since you asked motherfucker yes there is something else. GO FUCK YOURSELF.” and I hung up the phone so pissed I was shaking…so pissed I threw the phone and scared the bejesus outta the pups who I honestly did not see there.  So pissed all I could do was cry. So I did.  I cried for hours as the reality set in….that son of a bitch is too far gone.  There’s no feeling left…i dont know that man…I dont want him anywhere near me or MY daughter.  I cried myself to sleep that night…..

The next day I went out and bought my first pink baby blanket.  I felt a little bit better as I put the pink blanket into my “time to birth this baby” bag. 

I was having a girl!!

I had no idea what to do with a girl but I also was clueless about raising boys.  Im glad the Lord gave me a girl….that girl….MY girl. 

The girl who is now snorring on the couch behind me in a pink Vikings jersey (she was the only one upset by their loss btw…) and the kitten Jake Maxwell snuggled up under her arm.

  I think he’s comfortable….I hope shes not choking him! It does sorta look like shes got him in a headlock….I better check on that…

Back to that day in 2002….I still hadnt heard from mr meth and with that he fueled the fire which eventually burned any ties between us.  He actually called on Super Bowl Sunday to tell me cry to me about the thousands of dollars he had lost on that game to a certain druglord thug that is the kind of thug you’re going to pay back.  No “how ya feelin?”, “hows the fetus?” nothing….just Im in trouble….that was just the start of a long line of “Im in trouble” moments and disappointment that I could have done a lifetime without……

PS–Jake Maxwell IS breathing.  It wasnt a chokehold afterall

 

Being pregnant can be scary enough

  

Being pregnant can be scary enough.  

  Preterm labor and the risk of losing your baby is a whole new kind of scary.  

 

This….is my story….   

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….   

It was like any other night.    

I finished my shift at the hospital and was home around midnight.   

 Mr. Meth was still working at this time, we had been married for 21 days, I was 26 weeks pregnant and mr meth had recently started acting odd.   

I was home around midnight, tired and feeling like ass from a nasty cold but Mr. Meth was MIA. He should have been home from work before me.   

This was still rather new behavior; it was the first time I thought “holy hell. I’m on my own.”   

You see, that night in January when I had a nasty cold, a coughing fit sent me into preterm labor.   

   I knew that these pains I were no normal pains that a pregnant woman should have, at least not yet.    

 I called Mr. Meth over & over but he never answered…ass.    

I headed to the hospital alone.   

   

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….   

26 weeks into my pregnancy and I was hooked up to monitors, IVs and scared shitless.   

Barely past the half way point is not far enough!   

“What the hell was happening here and where the fuck is my husband?!?” I thought to myself.    

My doctor came in and explained to me that I was dilated to 2 and 90% effaced.    

Interesting, now what the fuck does that mean doc?!    

Well, apparently that means that your cervix is preparing for delivery even though the baby’s not done cookin and that is a problem.    

 A big problem.    

You’re not supposed to start effacing until much later in the pregnancy and the doctor told me that “when you go into labor, you’re going to go quick”    

Ok…so what are we talking here? She’s like gonna slip out?! What the hell do I do now?!   

A baby’s chances of survival at 26 weeks is not that great ok…I was freaking out, absolutely terrified and incredibly pissed off.    

Mr. Meth showed up at the hospital around 2am…by then I had already been seen by the doctors and the labor had been stopped…I was told to rest…no stress—obviously they had no idea my husband was a stress inducing asshole.    

 In order to attempt the no stress I simply ignored him when he came in my room.    

 “Are you ok?” he asked    

“Yup” I said and that was that.    

 I told him that I was being kept overnight for observation…which was a blatant lie.    

Shortly after he left my doctor came back in and went over my discharge instructions and told me that I was hereby on strict bed rest—I wouldn’t be working anymore.    

That sucked because I actually liked working at this time!    

I went home….alone…Mr. Meth was not there when I arrived…who knows where he was.   

 I didn’t care.    

I was worn out and all the fighting and stressing with him was clearly having a bad impact on me and the baby.    

I was exhausted from the fear of “oh shit-what was that pain?! Omg was that another one?!”    

 I was scared, worried, tired, depressed, disappointed and alone.    

 I spent the remainder of my pregnancy like that.    

Scared, worried, tired, depressed and alone.    

 I went in to my doctor every week for the rest of the pregnancy as well…that gets kinda fucking annoying ya know?    

 Being pregnant is scary enough, I mean I remember barely being pregnant and thinking “there is not a day that I’m not going to think about this baby inside me”  granted, I’m an all star worrier but add preterm labor into the mix and I’m beyond terrified.    

 Thankfully, I worked (well up until that night) at the hospital so the nurses knew me and my crazy ways and they were very tolerant of my every frazzled frantic phone call asking if “this” is normal (like it’s easy to assess a pregnant woman over the phone)   

They were patient and kind every time I coughed my way back into the preterm room.    

Without them I would have been utterly alone and I’m grateful that I wasn’t.   

  They helped get my through the rest of the pregnancy and they were there when I delivered at 39 ½ weeks.   

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………    

Today the PIT is pushing 8 years old and is healthy, active and never ever shuts up!    

 Each year we participate in the March Of Dimes WalkAmerica which is a charity close to my heart for obvious reasons.   

Last year we walked in honor of Kolton who was born far too early at just 27 weeks and spend months in the hospital.    

  

 The latest report from his dad?
  Kolton is doing great! Healthy and active giving his brother a run for his money! 

   

The PIT and I are excited to see Kolton and his family at this years walk!    

We’re praying for sunshine this year..seriously..we’ve walked this in the snow! We want sun!!   

    

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….   

    

*If you or someone close to you has a preterm labor story that you would like to share please email me at   

notyouraveragesinglemomma@gmail.com