The story of the twins

Saturday, October 4th, 2003. I went into the ER with severe pelvic area pain. They did a pelvic exam (which I had never had by the way), and an ultrasound. "Ma'am, I'm sorry, but your baby is ectopic. We have to do emergency surgery right away. Tonight"

Let's go back about 2 weeks prior though. The last story, where my car was stolen. You can read that post here Stolen Car entry.

After that night, I started to have really sore breasts. My friends convinced me to get a pregnancy test. Positive. Which is ironic considering my infertility issues I dealt with later in life. You can read about that here Infertility story.

I was going to take care of the baby myself. I decided that day. Then my friends chipped in and said they'd help me raise it. I had just turned 23. Junior in college. I could do this.

A few days went by, I decided to tell him. He deserved to know. I told him. He wanted proof from a real test. He knew I was coming to pick him up for the test. He was still passed out when I got there that morning. I had to pull him out like a child and get him dressed. We went to a free clinic somewhere in a small town. Or maybe, it was in town. I don't know. But I felt far away from myself.

After that confirmed test, I went back to my car and smoked a cigarette. I knew it would be my last one in 9 months or more. I just needed one more.

We told my parents that weekend. Looking back, I'm really surprised my dad let him in the house. After we told them, I just remember Daddy saying, "We'll see if the cream will rise to the top". My parents let him sleep on their couch for a few nights. He had no car. No job. When I look back and think about this time, you know what he DID have? ME. F*cking me. Y'all, DO NOT be a door mat. Do not be the girl that falls for the boy then does EVERYTHING. You are worthy. Worthy of much more.

I had a job at Cingular (the cellular company that turned into AT&T) part time while I was in college full time. I had moved back to my apartment, and he followed me back there. It was Friday night and I have having the worst cramps I had ever had in my life. I got in the shower and let the hot water, as hot as I could stand it hit my stomach while I lay on my back in the tub. He never got up once to check on me. I went in to work Saturday morning and told my co-worker about the pain. She had 2 kids. Of course she'd say, oh that's normal! But I was sore! I felt like I had done an intense workout on my abs. She told me to go to the doctor. The ER. That wasn't normal. She texted her nurse friend.

I went back to my apartment to get him. We drove to Southern Hills hospital. Next thing I was having my first "girl" exam by a red headed ER doctor whom I had never met. I was scared to death. "Ma'am, I'm sorry, but your baby is ectopic. We have to do emergency surgery right away. Tonight"

He hugged me. Told me it was going to be ok. He was here for me. He had to call my parents. My parents and sister got there right before surgery. If an ectopic pregnancy ruptures you can die. Hence the urgency. I remember my sister crying.

Next thing I know I'm waking up to Daddy and him trying to get the UT game on in the hospital room. It was probably the only thing they had in common. Ever. That was another HUGE SIGN. Donitka came. Donitka always came. She was always there. Erika came. Bless her.

We were released the next day. No sex for 6 weeks. He made me anyway THAT DAY. "I'll be easy. You'll be fine". Bastard.

I had to keep going to get my blood drawn to make sure the pregnancy hormone, HCG, was going down. It wasn't. "Ma'am, we need to do more tests"

"Ma'am, I'm sorry. They didn't check your other fallopian tube. The baby has already passed though, so we don't need to do surgery. We can just give you some chemo shots in both your hips to kill any remaining living cells." Cells.

Those babies weren't meant to be. I have another baby in heaven too. We had a miscarriage between Kenna and Everly. We don't understand God's way in the moment, sometimes decade. But we just have to trust he knows what he is doing.

This story's picture is of me and Donitka at a UT game. Seemed fitting :)

The story of the stolen car

You know...sometimes God flashes HUGE signs in front of us that we either ignore, or simply don't see because, you know what they say about love. It's blind.

It was my 22nd birthday, September 16th. Daddy had bought me one of those awesome CD changers where the face comes off. I was so excited. It was for my beloved Honda Accord coupe. 

I didn't go out that night, I was in school and I had a test the next day. I was living with a roommate and both our dogs. *Ben (actually, let's call him Bart, Ben is too nice of a name) was staying with us most nights at this point. I should add that this is a year before I married Bart. Bart wanted to go out, so he took my car. He didn't have a car.

I was woken up around 3am to loud laughing in the living room of the apartment. I went out there to to find 2 thug looking guys on my couch who I had never met, along with Bart. They were clearly trashed. I told Bart to the side to get them out of my house, I had no idea who they were. He told me I was crazy and just to take my crazy ass back to bed. I knew I wasn't going to win this battle, so I grabbed Toby, my dog and laid in bed until it was quiet and I went back to sleep. 

I woke up at like 5, all was quiet and I went out to the living room. Bart was passed out on the couch. I looked around and saw my purse on the kitchen table. All my cash, my debit card, MY KEYS were gone.

I ran outside to the parking lot. My car was gone. I ran back in and tried to wake him up, asking him where the F*CK my car was. He was no use. He couldn't even talk, still too drunk.

My roommate drove me to my parents house and I told Daddy what had happened. Daddy drove me back to the apartment, his gun with him. We had no idea if these guys were coming back...what we would come back to. We walked up to the door to hear a blaring noise. It was my alarm clock. He was still passed out, no budging. Daddy banged on the door until he finally unlocked it. Remember, I had no keys. I don't know how he managed to get up and lock the door. 

Daddy told him to get his ass up he was taking him "home". I don't even remember where that was at that point. Maybe his brother's. It was over, it was done. I couldn't be with someone who would bring random people to my house without my permission. And they had STOLEN my car. Luckily, my car was found 2 weeks later abandoned in a parking lot. Of course it had been stripped, along with my new CD changer. 

I had decided the relationship was over. Of course it was. Until about 3-4 weeks later when I discovered I was pregnant.

That story will be next...

The Story of bar hopping

*Ben had a knack for just not coming home at night. This is before iPhones. Before you could "track your friends". These were Blackberry days. He worked downtown and a lot of his line of work would be to wine and dine. Funny I was never invited to these events.

One night we were supposed to actually have dinner at home. Together. A rarity.

5:30 came. Then 6. So I called. No answer. 

7 came. 8 o'clock passed. No calls. No answers.

It MAKES YOU CRAZY. They warned me. There were bets on how long the marriage would last. 

We lived almost to Nolensville. I was tired of being the waiting wife that night in particular. A lot of nights when he did come home, I'd be lying there just waiting into the early morning hours. When I heard the garage door, I'd turn out any lights and get still as a mouse. I didn't want him to know I'd been waiting. Pathetic he'd say.

So this one night in particular I was determined to find *Ben. I went alone on a Friday night downtown Nashville to at least 7-8 bars. All these happy, dancing, laughing people. Couples. Friends. They had no idea. I'd search every room. I probably looked like a crazy woman. Crying. Just desperate.

I never did find him that night. He never came home either. One of many. So so many. Not counting the nights he was sleeping in a jail cell. But that's for another story. 

The story of the unfurnished room

Our brain has a way of protecting ourselves by keeping us from remembering all pieces of a traumatic experience or time in our lives. A lot of parts of my first marriage are blurry, just glimpses of time that sometimes pop up, just little bits of certain moments. Not knowing when it happened, why or where along that part of my life it was. Some of it is such a blur...but there is one moment that is played over and over.

We had this nice house, with almost all of the rooms furnished but one. It was to the left when you walked in the front door...I guess what you might call the sitting room. It was carpeted, with a railing around the wall. The rest of the house was furnished with little decor but nice furniture. 

I don't know what I did to set him off in the middle of the day, but I was thrown against the wall in that unfurnished room. My whole body going up in the air and across the room until I hit the railing on the wall and then slid down. Before I could get up I was being kicked. In the stomach. In the back. I fought for him to stop, but he just yelled "crazy bitch" at me and some other things I don't remember.

The next moment his hands were around my neck, choking me. I do remember thinking, this is it. He's going to kill me. I fought and I scratched for what seemed forever. I don't know why, but he let go. Walked upstairs and went to bed. 

I was too scared to call anyone. I may have not been able to. One time he broke my phone on the kitchen floor - but I don't remember if that was this same day.

I went upstairs and laid on the bonus room couch, blankly watching TV. After he woke up, he came in, laid his head in my lap with his pillow, like nothing ever happened. I was too scared to move. The only thing that lingered were the bruises on my neck.

Talking my stories out

My dear friend Amanda McNeal took these photos of me a few weeks back. She drew the sketch out and had her art in mind and I had no idea what she would create from the images. After looking at the picture and studying it, I see how it was perfectly meant for me. The current Carla has a healthy and happy life moving forward in time, but she also drags the old me behind her, looking over her, trying to save her. I have nightmares, a lot of them, so my subconscious cannot escape my past. The present me carries the past me on her shoulders every day. My psychiatrist told me that I haven't "talked them to death" - meaning I haven't shared my painful stories enough to just get them out.

I have struggled with depression and anxiety for years. Thankfully there is medication that helps me with these mental sicknesses. There are several reasons I believe I struggle from both - one genes, and the other the events of my life so far. I have decided to change the theme of this blog to being pieces of my story. I hope that one, it allows healing for me, and two, that it opens the door for others to also talk about their story, common experiences, or current struggles.

A lot of these stories I will use fictitious names to give others privacy. I hope that whoever reads this will benefit in some way, or can share it with someone else who may just need to hear that they are not alone.

Time to let go,

Carla