Life After Birth

It’s funny how things happen. Growing up we often imagine our lives unfolding in a certain way, and then a few unexpected curve balls are thrown at us. We must then decide if we will dodge them, let them hit us and take us out, or if we will catch them and throw them back or even grab a bat and knock them out of the park. One of these curve balls was hurdled my way on my fifteenth birthday, and nine months later I was a mother. But I was not the only teenage mother at the time, and I certainly would not be the last. Teenage pregnancy is prevalent and many times the consequences are long-lasting and devastating. In most cases, young girls become mothers alone, with only a “father” to conceive but not to help with caring for the child. In addition, teen mothers usually give up on any goals they may have had before pregnancy. Busy taking care of babies, many teen mothers don’t finish high school or pursue higher education setting themselves up for a lifetime of struggle and dependency on public assistance and other people. This book is definitely not a celebration of the epidemic of teenage pregnancy. There’s nothing fun or glamorous about having a baby as a child. In fact, it is limiting, embarrassing and hard. Unlike my friends who came home from school and, eventually work, and did whatever they wanted whether it was watch a television show, talk on the phone, workout or just lay around doing nothing; my evenings were dictated by my son’s needs. Helping with homework, driving to basketball practice, disciplining bad behavior, hearing about his day and preparing for the next were the activities that consumed my evenings. Even talking on the phone to friends was a luxury limited to my drive to pick up my son from his aftercare program because as soon as I saw him, my attention had to go to him. Going on dates was out of the question. Having a normal life as a young person with the huge responsibility of motherhood is a tremendous challenge that I encourage teens to avoid. No matter how much teens are warned against it, teenage pregnancy happens. This book is simply an acknowledgement of the fact and evidence that teen pregnancy does not mean a death sentence for a young woman’s dreams. By sharing my story, I hope to provide inspiration and motivation for teenage girls who are already or soon will be mothers. For those girls considering abortion, I encourage them to choose life instead. Not only should they choose life for the unborn baby, but they should also choose life for themselves once the baby is born. Regardless of the circumstances, God wants us all to live and to prosper. The challenges I endured and the accomplishments I realized have provided me with a story that I hope will encourage young mothers to continue to set goals and pursue their dreams and create the best lives possible for themselves and their children. My life has not been one that would be described as easy. In fact, it has been nothing like I imagined it would be. From the age of fifteen, I was embarrassed when people asked me how old my son was then looked at me knowing I was too young to have a five-year-old, ten-year-old son, etc. I was ashamed when some of those people knew exactly how old I was and astonished that sometimes they would even ask me. Finally, I got past the humiliation of being a teenage young mother. I realized I didn’t owe anyone an explanation. It was my life and no one else’s, and I had made a decision to make the most of it. Rather than feeling ashamed for having a ten year old son when I was twenty-five, I was proud and thankful for what I had accomplished in spite of being a teenage mother. God wanted me to be completely transparent and show other teen mothers what is possible. The life I have created with God’s help is rewarding, full of love, grace, family and a focus on the Lord. Over the years I have shed many tears and still do today, but I am thankful for every aspect of my life especially the trials that helped me develop me into a strong, independent woman who knows and loves God and all that He can do. Because I realized success is a choice that takes deliberate effort and that there can still be a meaningful and fulfilling life after the birth of a child, I chose to pick up a bat, a board, a hammer, a book, and whatever else I could find and make every attempt to knock my curve ball into another country. Introduction My warm blood ran down my skinny arm and sprayed everything on and around me. There was so much blood that the clumsy nurse had to change my once pale blue gown and white sheets on the long, narrow hospital bed. In an attempt to insert an IV in my arm, the nurse had somehow ruptured one of my tiny, always hard-to-find veins and blood decorated my body and bed. My heart nearly beat out of my chest. I was fifteen years old about to somehow push a huge basketball out of a hole in my body that I felt could only handle an orange at best. The nurse cleaned the blood, and when my heart stopped racing I realized I had forgotten about the contractions that only minutes before had crippled me. Panicking from the pain of the needle and then seeing my blood all over the place made me forget everything. However, once the IV was safely in my arm and the blood was cleaned up I remembered the contractions and felt the pain again. I didn’t hear my own screams for the audible beeps of the monitors competing with the instructions of the doctor and the nurses. Always as calm as a cucumber, my mother manned a post at my head. Standing and sometimes sitting by my side, she gave a few words of comfort but mostly quietly crocheted or watched television until the main event began. “It’ll be over before you know it,” she said with a half smile that was probably holding back tears. I figured she was thinking, I just can’t believe we’re here. My first baby is having a baby, and she’s still a baby. How are we going to do this? I have children at home already and now another one. How did this happen to us? The stirrups felt like ice chips pressed against the ashy soles of my small feet, but that was nothing compared to the crippling pain at the foot of my belly. In the nick of time the doctors helped me into a sitting position. As I arched my back and gripped the bed rail, she pierced the small of my back with the epidural. Conflicting feelings of fear from seeing the long needle and the need for pain relief were resolved without my feedback and I was lowered back onto my pillow. As my lower body began to go numb and I no longer felt the pain from the contractions, I was relieved that the needle won the fight. But there was no time to rest. Soon after the relief kicked in, it was time to get to work. I had finally fully dilated, and it was time for the moment we’d all been waiting for. I clinched the bedrails and started to push trying to get this thing that had been growing inside of me out of my body. Through my knees which were spread as wide as an eagle’s wings I saw my doctor’s head as she reached inside of my vagina in an attempt to pull the baby down. “We can’t see his head yet. He’s actually turned sideways,” she calmly stated as she asked me to keep pushing while she tried to change the baby in the right direction for a vaginal birth. “Come on, Summer. Give us a big one now.” “Uggggghhhh!” I grunted again as I pushed as hard as I could for a long as I could which really was only a few seconds. When my eyes weren’t on the doctor seated between my legs or on my mother by my head, they were on the small, round clock on the wall behind the doctor trying to turn my baby around so that it could come out of my fifteen-year-old vagina. I watched the clock wondering how long the ordeal could possibly take. After a long hour of grunting and pushing, my doctor broke the news to me, “Summer, this baby’s stubborn. We’re going to have to perform a C section.”