Don't say a word

Nine months after the miscarriage, we got pregnant again.  I took about 6 tests before I told Rick, and we waited about 2 weeks before we told my parents.  We told them not to say anything to anyone, because if we lost another baby, it would be easier the fewer people that knew.  I was starting to dig my way out of the depression and found my smile again, but I was terrified that I would do something again that would make me loose the baby.  Almost immediatly the morning/afternoon/evening/middle of the night sickness hit and kicked me in the butt.  It was aweful.  I was puking all the time, and when I say all the time, I mean ALL the time.  When I went to see my OB/GYN I told her and she gave me meds to help with the vomiting, but it wonked me out so badly that I was a zombie on it, so no matter what I did, I was useless.

This pregnancy was really difficult from the begining and I knew that it wouldn't get any better.  I tried as much as I could to play off my constant nausia to those around me and we kept the pregnancy a secret for a couple of months.

What's next?

Just four months after we lost the baby, I got a call from CPS (child protective services) that they had picked up the kids from school and that we were under investigation for child abuse.  Two months after that, our landlord came and told us that he and his wife were getting a divorce and that she was getting our house in the settlement, so we had to move out as immediately as possible.

Sometimes you ask yourself, "How much worse can it get?".  Don't ever do that, because it always gets worse.  In six months time, we had a miscarriage, lost custody of Rick's kids and were essentially homeless.

Fortunately, a week after finding out about our housing situation, the house NEXT door became available to rent, and we moved in.  It was a nicer place and the rent was less.  We were so happy, and since it wasn't that far, the move was really easy.  Awesome!

We settled into our new house and life continued.  I had a severe flare up with my RSD and required going back to physical therapy.  That was actually a good thing, because I was at home all day, alone and was not dealing well with the solitude.  At lease having to leave the house for an hour, three times a week forced me to get out of bed, shower and change my clothes.

The depression was lessening, but it was slow going.  Rick was never home, so I was there alone to wallow in my own pity.  Not good.

What did I do?

Time passed very slowely and I once again was faced with a severe depression.  I wanted, or rather needed that baby that was no more and all I could ask myself was "What did I do?"  "Did I give away my only chance at being a mom?"  I knew that the choice of adoption was what was best, but I couldn't help but question what I did.  I desperately wanted a baby, but knew that I couldn't handle another miscarriage.  What was I to do?  I didn't know, and the comforting words from everyone didn't help at all.  Nothing that anyone said did anything to make me feel one tiny bit better.

I was very empty and only a baby would fill that emptyness but I was terrified to try again for a child.

Nothing more than a zombie

I was released from the hospital the next day and I went home.  I walked in the door and headed straight to the bedroom and hit the bed.  I'm not sure how long I was there, but I didn't leave for a few days.  I just slept all the time.  Fortunately, Rick could get the kids to school and home again and make supper, etc., because I physically and emotionally couldn't leave the bed.

Rick called everyone to let them know about the miscarriage and I just couldn't talk to anyone.  After about  a week I finally decided to leave the safety of my bed and decided to venture to the mail box and got the mail.  I started looking through the various letters when I saw an envelope from our insurance, I opened it.  Big mistake.  The letter was refusing a bill, because they wouldn't pay for an abortion.  I lost it.  Retreated back to bed and when Rick got home he had to call and yell at the idiots that I didn't have an abortion, I had a DNC due to a miscarriage.  It wasn't pleasant.

I don't remember Christmas that year.  I know I tried to fake it for the kids and made it through somehow.  I'm not really sure how long it took me to withdraw from the safe haven of my bed, but I was there for a good long while, and when I finally did leave, I was really nothing more than a zombie.

By mid January I was starting to come around, but I still couldn't look at anything that had to do with babies.

I missed that little one that was so tiny, that baby was mine.  I saw his/her heartbeat and she/he was alive and then not.  When I got pregnant I finally felt alive for the first time in my life, and then not.

What Ifs

After I woke up on December 12th covered in blood, I woke up Rick and he immediately took me to the emergency room.  They took me back right away and put me in a bed.  The male nurse was asking me all these questions about how much I had been bleeding and I really had no answers for him, I only knew that I was loosing my baby.  I kept asking if I was miscarrying and all he would say was that it was probably my body's way of telling me that I had to slow down and take it easy.  I wanted to badly to punch him in the face.  How on Earth would he know.  A woman knows what is happening with her body, and I knew my baby was dead.  I just cried and cried.  Soon the doctor came and did an exam and said, "I don't know if you have miscarried yet, but your cervix is wide open."  Then he walked out of the room.  That was all he said to me.  A few minutes later a nice woman from ultrasound came and confirmed that there was no longer a fetus.  I just wanted to die.  My baby was gone.

Rick was wonderful.  He never faltered and was strong for me.  I didn't want him to call my parents right away in case I was wrong, but he said that I really needed my mom there, and I didn't argue.  It was around 3am when he called and said that I was in the E.R. and that I needed them to come.  It seemed like only seconds passed and they were there.  I found out later that Rick had also called his mom, and she said ok, and then hung up.  He needed her and she couldn't bother getting out of bed.  I also later found out that when my parents got there Rick lost all composure.  He nearly collapsed into my mom's arms and she hugged him the way that he needed his mother to hug him.  I am so thankful that my husband could be so strong for me, and that my parents could be strong for him.  I couldn't be strong for anyone.

They took me to a room and before long Dr. K. was there to see me and she cried with me.  I needed someone at the hospital to stop being so clinical and share my grief.  I needed those tears.  I asked where the baby went and she explained that since I wasn't very far along my body just absorbed the baby, and that I had two choices.  I could have a DNC to clean everything up, or I could let nature take it's course.  I'm not sure how I could think ahead, but I asked which way would make my body heal faster so that I could try again sooner.  She said the DNC.  I also asked why I miscarried and she said lots of things can cause a miscarriage.

To this day I don't know if it was stress of if I still had residual medications in my system that killed my baby, or if it was something all together different, but no matter, there is still a lot of guilt involved and a lot of what ifs.  What if I had waited a little longer to make sure all the meds were gone?  What if I hadn't let the kids stress me out so much?  What if?  What if?  What if?

Meeting for Lunch

Backing up a little.  Not long after Rick and I got together, it was time for Mom and I to go and visit my Grandma in Nebraska, we went every summer.  It was a major pain for Rick's ex to take care of the kids while Rick was at work during the day, and we eventually had to agree to pay her to watch her own kids.  Now that's a mom for you.  Anyway, our trip would take us straight up IH 35 through Austin and Fort Worth, through Oklahoma City, Kansas and then to Nebraska where we would take a hard right and head to Lincoln.  We had taken this trip many times and I almost never even thought about it beyond how far it was to drive, and that I wasn't really looking forward to being in the car for two days.  Then it occurred to me.  We were driving right past Fort Worth and Ryan lived very close to Fort Worth in a suburb.  My relationship with R. and J. was still new and I didn't feel comfortable asking to see Ryan outright (I don't know why), so I devised a plan.  I know it sounds silly, but I called J. just to talk and casually mentioned that we were going to Nebraska to visit family and would be driving right through her neck of the woods, hoping that she would want to meet somewhere.  She did.  We picked a spot to meet and I was really excited, Ryan was 4 and I had not seen him in person since the finalization when he was just an infant.  I had seen pictures, but I really wanted to meet him in person.

The time came and we met them at a resteraunt and had lunch.  He was such an awesome, amazing little boy.  So smart, a little shy and very sweet.  J. and mom and I talked and talked and we had a wonderful time.  We took pictures and I got hugs from that sweet little man and eventually we were on our way.

It was at that moment that I realized, that was not the same little baby that I placed for adoption.  It had been so long since I had seen him in person, that it was a complet disconnect.  I cried all the way to Oklahoma City.  The baby that I knew was gone, and there was this little boy that I did not know.   It would not be another 4 years before I saw him again.

Stress or Meds, I'll never know

After I found out I was pregnant, the first person I told was Rick.  Next were my parents, Rick's kids, my sister then I called R. and J.  J. was so excited for me.  We were both so happy that Ryan would have a sibling.

Rick's kids were still living with us at the time, and the boys were ramping up the stress in the house.  No one was happy.  I tried to stay calm, but the tension in the air could be cut with a knife.  Rick's youngest son was caught stealing, and the lying on both the boy's parts was out of control.  I wasn't sleeping and with the morning sickness and the added stress I couldn't keep any food down when I was actually able to sleep.

Rick's ex was still in Nebraska, and we could never get in touch with her and that made the kids act up even more.

With the hormones and stress I was crying all the time.  I knew that it was bad for the baby, but there was absolutely nothing that anyone could do.

December came, and for once, Ryan's birthday, December 18th, wasn't a horrible day.  I was pregnant and could handle it.  On December 11th, mom and I went Christmas shopping, it was a wonderful day.  At one point in the day, I commented to mom that the next day was the 12th and the end of my first trimester and the chance of miscarriage would significantly decrease.

I dropped mom off at home, went home myself.  I picked the kids up from school, another argument, ate supper, did homework, another argument, bath time and then off to bed.  I was really tired and not long after the kids drifted off to sleep, I did too.

In the middle of the night, something woke me up, to this day I don't know what it was, but I guess I needed to go to the restroom.  I turned on the light and saw the blood.  Lots of blood, everywhere.

Dr. K.

Rick was always wonderful and supportive about the adoption.  To this day, he has never said a negative word about me or my choice, instead he is my biggest champion.  I know that I don't tell him enough, but I love him deeply and he is just who I  need in my life.

I knew that I was pregnant really quickly, because the morning sickness hit in a voracious way.  As soon as the home test said yes, I started freaking out about finding a doctor that knew about RSD and could help me through my pregnancy.  I looked in the phone book and there was one female OB/GYN in Pleasanton, and I figured that I would give her a call and interview her.  When I called I spoke to a wonderful M.A. named Lauren and I asked her if she happened to know if Dr. K. knew anything about RSD.  Her answer shocked me.  "Her mom has RSD, so she is really familiar with it, may I ask why?"  I explained my situation and she wanted me to come in immediately.

The moment that I met Dr. K. I fell in love with her.  She was in her mid thirties and was what I would call an old country doctor.  Down to Earth, easy to talk to and very laid back.  I knew that she was the doctor for me.  We discussed my condition and she said that she would look further into RSD and pregnancy and possible complication, so she knew what to expect and watch out for.

Awesome.

Tears at Wal-Mart

Before we got married, I explained to Rick that I wanted a child.  At first he wasn't really into the idea, but I told him that one day I would be a mother, and that we couldn't go on with our relationship if he didn't want any more children.  Eventually he said alright, but I could tell that his heart wasn't really into it.

About a year into our marriage, Rick came around and decided that he really wanted a baby with me and that we should start trying.  I was scared.  I knew that I would have to go off all my medications as not to hurt the baby, and my chances of conception and carrying a baby full term were slim, but I wanted a baby and thought about it.  The more I thought about it the more frightened I got which made me not want to get pregnant.  After time, I realized that becoming a mom was too important to me, and no matter what the ill effects going off my meds would do, it was worth it, but I still hesitated.

One day I was shopping at Wal-Mart and walked past the baby section.  I saw all the tiny little clothes and diapers and bottles and burst into tears.  I needed a baby, and I needed one now.  I finally just walked out of the store without getting what I needed and went home and cried.  I really needed a baby.

Luckily, I had a doctor appointment that afternoon.  My mom always went with me and without even discussing it with Rick, I blurted it out to mom that I was going to talk to Dr. Rana about having a baby. She was so excited.

At the doctor's office I explained that we wanted a baby and asked what I would have to do so that it would be a safe pregnancy.  She told me how to step-down my medications over the next 6 weeks and that I should come back in 2 months for a follow-up.  I followed her instructions over the next two months, and although the pain was horrible, and my mobility was suffering, I knew that a baby was worth it, so I endured.

After 2 months I went back and the doctor told me that we could start trying as soon as we liked.  She gave me a huge hug and told me to stay in touch in case things started going south and I needed help.  After the appointment I went home looked at my calendar and counted ahead and realized that I was more than likely ovulating...Today!!! 

We tried that night, and I got pregnant.

Mother's Day

Mother's day had always been a really hard day for me.  Mother's across the land were celebrated for giving birth, and I just sat quietly in my shame.  As a birth mom, I wanted to be recognized, but I didn't dare tell anyone, because I wasn't parenting and therefor did not deserve recognition.  R. and J. always sent me a thank you card and that really meant a lot.  At least someone acknowledged my status as a mother, and the agency always sent me a birth mother's card, and still do.  At our church all mother's were given a flower as they exited the sanctuary, and I just walked out quietly, because I couldn't dare tell anyone.  I tortured myself all the time.

There are lots of difficult days when you are a birth mom.  Mother's day is really bad.  Birthday's are always hard and any time that family is involved, Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter, etc.  Sometime a commercial on the TV or a song on the radio or a picture of a cute baby can just tear you up, but you just shove it down inside.  I don't know where this idea came from, but shame had a tight grip on me, and I didn't know how to let it go, so when times got hard, I just shoved down the pain, not knowing that eventually there is no more room to shove the pain down, and eventually you will blow.

Even as a step-mom. Mother's day wasn't good.  The kids made it very clear that I was not their mother, even though I never tried to be.  Even when their mom abandoned them and moved to Nebraska without even saying goodbye, I was still the horrible step-mom.  Once again, I came in last.

Things were filling up, and an explosion was imminent.

Model Behavior

Since my adulthood, I have looked to women who I admire on how to be a mother.  My mom, my sister, my friend Jan, and another friend named Dawn are just a few.  These women are not "perfect" moms, but they love their kids and only want what is best for them.  On the other hand I have noticed a few people that I do not want to model my parenting after, and Rick's mother is one of them.

It is hard to describe this woman.  When Rick and I first started dating, she was so sweet and wonderful to me.  Rick's ex was horrible in her eyes and had nothing good to say about her, and I was the exact opposite.  She loved me.  That didn't last.  As soon as Rick and I got married and Rick no longer needed her to help him with the kids, things started changing.  Little things at first, but soon it was out of control.  I never really liked the way that she treated Rick, but I didn't say anything, because it was his mom and I didn't have any right to butt in.  However, when she started in on me, I wouldn't put up with it, and neither did Rick.

She never supported Rick.  When he got a really good job, she couldn't even say congratulations.  If we told her that the kids needed to be home by 8 so that they could shower and get to sleep for school in the morning, we were lucky if they were home by 10.  No matter what we said, she ignored and did what she pleased when it came to the kids.  She would buy them toys that she wouldn't allow them to take home.

I finally drew the line when she was in my home an called me a liar and a thief.  I'll not get into the long story of why, but it wasn't true.  I told Rick that I would never say that his mother wasn't welcome in our home, but that I wouldn't be around when she came over.  He said that he would never ask me to leave our house because of her.  I said that I wouldn't ask him to choose between her and I, and he said that he already did, when we got married.

Rick walked away from his mom.  She has only seen Olivia a couple of times and has never seen Madeline.

I could never imagine treating one of my children the way that she treated Rick.  Nothing that he ever did was good enough for him and she made sure that he knew it.  When Rick and his ex went back to court over custody of the kids, Rick's mother paid the attourney for his ex and sat with her in court.  I don't think that he can forgive her for that.

Rick receintly heard that his mother left her abusive alcoholic husband (not Rick's dad), quit her job as a teacher and moved to the hill country.  He never talks about her that I don't still see the pain in his eyes.  She really hurt him.

Step-Parenting

I knew that being a step-mom wouldn't be easy, but I really had no idea.  Don't get me wrong, I loved those kids.  I wanted to do my best as a "parent", but every step of the way my hands were tied.  To start off, Rick had little influence on his kids.  While he was in the Navy, he was gone for months at a time.  Once out, he worked so much that again, he was gone a lot, so his wife did the vast majority of the "parenting" in the family.

So here we are.  In our house we have rules.  You will do your homework.  You will eat healthy meals.  You will clean your room and do chores around the house.  You will have a bedtime.  You will not sit in front of the tv all day, and you will go outside and play like normal children.  This was not popular.  When visiting their mother's house, or for that matter Rick's mom's house, there were no rules, and we were completely shot down.  We or rather I was mean to the point of abuse to the children.  Rick's ex and his mom felt that I was too harsh on the kids and was doing them harm.

When Rick and I got together, his children were horribly overweight, to the point of obesity.  It broke my heart that these beautiful children were so unhealthy.  I cooked them healthy food and encouraged them to play, not exercise, and within a year they were no longer overweight and were healthy children. Rick's mom however said that I was starving them.

I never disiplined the children, it was not my place and they knew it.  Rick worked and I was there with them all the time, and the two boys did whatever they could to torment me.  Most days ended for me in tears.  They would lie and we soon found out that they were stealing.  I wanted our family to work so badly, but all the cards were stacked against it.

One day I got a call from child protectice services that the children had been picked up from school and that Rick and I had to go and be interviewed by them about abuse allegations.  Rick's mom later admitted to calling them to "protect" the children.

Nothing came from it, other than the children going back to live with their mother,  Rick was interviewed by the police and they found no abuse, and therefor no charges were filed.  The case worker claimed that she would be interviewing people about the "abuse", however, she spoke to no one that we knew.  I was friends with most of the kids teachers and volunteered at the school, none of their teachers were interviewed.  In fact, when one of them tried to contact the case worker, she wouldn't speak to her, even though this woman knew all three children and taught two of them.  Now that is some good investigating.

When the kids left, it broke my husband's heart, but to be honest, it was somewhat of a relief.  I couldn't take the stress anymore.  I missed them, but they didn't want to live with us anymore, and turned their backs on their dad.  How could we compete with their mother, who would let them watch whatever they wanted on television, eat whatever they wanted, stay up as late as they wanted and let them come and go as they pleased.  They were kids, and mom's house was way more fun.  Within only months, they were all obese again,  And when Rick's oldest daughter was 15 she got pregnant.  One of the boys ended up moving out at 15 and lived with a friend to get away.  My soul aches for these kids.

About 2 months after they left, Rick was on the phone with his daughter and she was telling us how his mother was drunk again and screaming at everyone.  Her exact words were "we made our choice and I guess we just have to deal with it".  They never asked to come back and live with us, but on many occasions they mentioned how much better it had been at our house.

To this day, our relationship is still very strained, and I don't ever see it getting better.  Their grandma convinced them that I abused them, not physically, but in every other way, and that I was a horrible person.

Bargaining with God

Rewinding a little, I need to speak about my faith a little.  It's the only thing that has gotten me through all of this, wheter I knew it at the time or not.

After my depression was somewhat under control, I had to face the facts that I was 23 years old and would more than likely NEVER get any better, in fact, it would only spread and get worse.  I had to come to grips with the fact that the pain would be a part of my life forever.  How do you do that?  When you can barely make it through the day, how do you think ahead to say 50 years from now?  I had heard of people with whole body RSD.  Every inch of their body was in agony all the time.  That is a nasty little habit of RSD.  It starts out in one area, but like a grass fire in the wind, it rarely stays put.  It spreads and envelopes until you are all burned up.  Mine started in my ankle, then spread to the top of my foot, then the arch and toes, into my calf, up my shin then into my knee.  This took about a year to go this far and I was scared and eventually I got angry.  Angry at healthy people who wasted their lives, angry at people who had headaches and whined and complained, angry at myself for not being the person I used to be and most of all I was angry at God.

After I got hurt, I prayed every day for Him to take it away.  I begged him for relief from the pain.  I pleaded with him to give me my old life back.  Nothing ever changed, except for the worse.

I got mad, I mean ugly mad.  I would scream and yell and feel so far away from God and I knew that I had messed up things so badly that even God didn't want anything to do with me.  He, much like most everyone else had given up on me, and I guess I deserved it,  For a long time, I figured if He didn't want me, then I didn't need him.  That is when I started self-medicating.  We all know how that worked.

How dare He take my life away.  I was young.  I was supposed to be going out and having fun and enjoying life.  Instead, I was barely surviving.  WHY???  Why are you punishing me?  As usual, no answer, so I walked away.  I didn't go to church, and when my parents made me go, I just sat in the last pew and ignored what was going on.  God didn't love me, so I didn't need him.

As we all know, anger is one of the stages of grief, along with denial, bargaining, and on and on.  I did all those.  I was greiving the death of my old life and of my health.  Little did I know that when I finally let go and embraced my "new" life, it was so much better.

One day, I was having a particularly bad day and I decided to bargain with God.  I said, ok, if you don't want to fix me, then at least give me the strength to make it through today.  Guess what?  He did.  And He has ever since.

My path at that time wasn't to be healed, it was to learn to lean on him and not myself.  I had strayed so far from the path that I know God wanted me on that I couldn't have found it, even if I had wanted.

I tell all my post accident friends that they wouldn't have liked me before I got hurt.  I was not a nice person.  Heck, I didn't even like myself, so how could anyone else.

I've Been There Too

After playing pool and talking, I finally asked why Rick was in Pearsall.  His answer broke my heart.

He left his wife after learning that she was cheating on him with pretty much anyone and everyone, including who he thought was his best friend.  He grabbed a few clothes, the three oldest kids and left.  He went to his mother's house and tried to figure out what to do.  Soon, he decided that he needed to talk to someone because he was becoming depressed.  He started seeing a psychologist and a psychiatrist.  They were helping, but with the added stress of his mom and step-dad, along with the head games that his wife was playing on him, he soon got to the point of what he felt was no return.  He was taking a walk one evening and decided that it would be much better if he just stepped into traffic and ended it all.  He couldn't take the pain anymore and wanted to die.  Luckily, he called his doctor and told him that he was going to hurt himself and the doctor found him a room at a mental health facility in Pearsall.  He could come and go as he pleased, but had to be there at certain times for check-in and for medications and doctor appointments.

He was at the lowest that he had ever felt and needed a friend, and he thought of me.  He looked my parents number up on the internet and gave it a shot.

Over time, I realized what an emotional train wreck he really was, because I had been there too, and knew how he felt.  I knew that I still loved him from the second I heard his voice, but I was so afraid that in his fragil condition, nothing good would come from too quick of a relationship.  Well, that worked about as well as most other plans I have made in my life.  A month and a half later we were living together.  I know that it is a sin, and I have begged God's forgiveness for it.  At the time, Rick needed me and his kids needed me.  I know it's not an excuse, but it is what it is.  My life is one huge sin after the next, and that is why I am so lucky that when I realize how stupid I am and am sorry, God forgives me, even when I can't forgive myself.

I helped Rick with his divorce, and his soon to be ex-wife made our lives as horrible as possible.  She is an alcoholic who thrives on chaos, and wants to spread the drama around.  It was so difficult at times to not just go ballistic on her, but I tried to respect the fact that she was the mother of the Rick's kids, and we never spoke negatively about her around the kids, even though she trashed me on a daily basis.  Oh well, I lived through it, and it made me a better person for it.  My skin definately got a lot thicker through all this.

That Rick

Rick and I talked as if no time had passed.  The sound of his voice was as soothing as it had ever been.  I found out that he was currently going through a nasty divorce and had custody of 3 of his 4 kids.  Four kids, wow.  We just talked and talked and it was like I was 16 again.

Soon he said that he needed to go, but would like to see me.  I said sure, where can we meet?  He told me that he was in Pearsall and would love it if I could come to see him.  He would explain later why he was in Pearsall, but really wanted to talk in person.  I said that I would be there around 7 and looked forward to seeing him.

Oh my gosh, what was I going to wear?  It had to be perfect, but not too perfect.  After about 20 outfit changes I decided on a nice green sweater and black jeans.  That'll do.  It will have to, because I need to get going.

The drive to Pearsall seemed to take forever, but eventually I was there.  We were supposed to meet at a grocery store there on the "main drag" of this tiny little town.  I walked around the store and didn't see him.  As I was walking out, I heard his voice.  "Robyn?"  I turned around and there he was.  Rick, my Rick.  It was wonderful to see him again.  We hugged and leaned against my car and talked for what seemed like forever.  Finally, he suggested we go to a little bar and shoot some pool and talk some more.  To this day, he still claims that he "let" me win, but I know how good I am and how not good he is.

It was comfortable with Rick.  I could just be me and it was nice.  We talked and laughed and I enjoyed myself so much.  It was easy.  I needed easy.

Rick who?

Things were going well.  I was in school, almost done with my classes, I was no longer working at the PASS Center, but had got a job with the IRS entering tax returns.  It was a horrible job, but paid really well.

One day I came home from school and Dad said that someone named Rick had called and would call back around five.

Rick?  Rick who?  I don't think that I know anyone named Rick.  Who could it be?  Unless...  There's now way.  It couldn't be.  Could it?

The only Rick that I have ever known was my first boyfriend, from high school.  All other men in my life were compared to him, and all had fallen short.  I still loved him, even though it had been ten years.  He graduated before I did, joined the Navy, moved away and went on with his life, so did I.  Could it possibly be that Rick?  If it was, what was I going to say after all these years?  Why was he calling?   How could I possibly wait nearly two hours to find out?  My stomach started turning and I thought that I was going to vomit.  I didn't want to get my hopes up, but what if it was him?  I had thought about him so much over the years, and always wondered how he was and how his life had turned out, hoping it was better than mine.  I'm sure he married and had kids, and was happy, so why was he calling me?

As the clock ticked closer to five, I could barely breathe, and at five on the dot the phone rang.  I slowly picked up the phone and answered.  "Hi Robyn."

It was him.  I almost fainted.

My Secret

Not long after Ryan's adoption was finalized, I told my sister and she was and still is wonderful.  Her and Greg have met Ryan and his parents and are super supportive.  With my sister I feel safe.  Her life has not been perfect and has made choices that she may or may not regret, but I have never judged her, because it is her life, not mine, and she is the same with me.

However, I have many relatives that are not so loving and supportive.  My mom's siblings and her mother were never told about Ryan.  I really don't believe that my grandma would have taken the news badly, but by telling her, my aunts and uncles would have found out, and it would have destroyed any relationship that we had.  Even when my aune D. was adopting foster children, we (my mom and I) didn't dare say a word, because she is so judgemental and hateful that it just was better to keep our mouths shut.

Two years ago my grandma passed away, never knowing her great-grand child, and it still haunts me to this day.  As it turned out, our horrible family turned on my mom and I and my cousin Jackie while my grandma was dying in the hospital and we have not spoken to them since.  I still cannot fathom the amount of anger that they carried for my mom and I.  I don't understand how family can treat each other with such hatred.  My poor cousin had to end up calling the police on her own father because he was threatening to kill me and her.  It was horrible.  I am just so glad that my grandma didn't have to see how her children were acting.  I have relived that night over and over in my head a million times, wondering what I could have done differently to make things better, but because I did nothing to instigate the situation, nothing I could have done, or not done would have changed a thing.

When we drove out of Lincoln, Nebraska, we knew that we would never have a reason to return, because we no longer had any family there.  In essence, when my grandma died, so did the rest of my family.

Friends for Life

I would be remiss if I only spoke about my friend Jan, because I met another friend in college that means the world to me as well, Loralee.  She and I met not long after I started school and we are still close, even though she lives in Round Rock, which is like forever away.

We are a different as night and day, and that is why I love her.  I am very conservative, she is liberal.  I am a christian, she is pegan.  She is much more a free spirit, I tend to plan, plan, plan.  But for all our differences we love each other.  She came to my wedding and my babies baptisms, I went to her and Robert's hand fasting cerimony.  We respect each other's differences and hopefully learn from one another. When her first son was born, I was there when he came home, and when she was sick in the hospital, my wonderful husband drove me to Round Rock to bring her flowers.  She is a wonderful ray of light in my sometimes drab world and I thank God for her.

The really cool thing, is that Loralee's parents only live a couple of miles from my house and because of it, I get to see her and her beautiful family.

I ask myself, how did I get so lucky to find such wonderful and diverse friends that I have kept for so long, and as of yet, I haven't got an answer.  I have stopped questioning, and just love my friends.  They are like sister's to me.

My Friend

While in college I met lots of new friends, however, I had no idea that I would meet someone who would change my life.  Her name is Jan.  I just started working at the PASS Center and since it was the begining of the semester, we were hiring readers and looking for work study students.  Jan was a work study.  She was wonderful with our students and had an amazing work ethic.  She was an older student, like me but with a little more life experience and I admired how she worked at a law office, at the school and at a golf course and took classes and was essentially a single mom.  Wow!  I met Lalo and Elisabeth when they were 4 and 5 years old, she also has two older sons.  Elizabeth stole my heart immediatly.  She was so well spoken for a little girl.  So smart and cute and just a little firecracker.  We were instant friends.

Jan and I were also instant friends and she took me for who I was, for what seemed to be a first in my life.  She didn't expect anything from me but friendship and it was so refreshing to have a companion who liked me for me and not what I could do for them.  She is a christian.  In fact, a wonderful christian.  When I needed it, she would pray for me and with me.  I needed that.

Jan and I have been friends for almost 13 years and I treasure every moment of that time.  She loves my kids and my husband and parents.  She is strong when I cry and I try to do the same.  We laugh, cry, pray, worship, celebrate and mourn together.  She is exactly who I need in my life.  When I moved to Pleasanton, she was there, then she bought a house about a mile away from where I live now.  We are in the VFD Auxiliary together and try not to make too many people, including our husbands, mad at us.  We have the same bizarre sense of humor and we love each other.

Elisabeth graduated from high school just weeks ago, and I it feels like my own child walked that stage.  I am so proud of her.  She has grown into an amazing, beautiful woman.  She is going to Texas Lutheran University to study music.  Woo Hoo!!!   Go Bulldogs!  I always knew that Elisabeth had a little Lutheran in her.  She calls me Aunt Robyn and Olivia calls Jan Aunt J.J.

Jan knows almost all my deep dark secrets, and next to my mom, she is my best friend.

Jan just found out that her parents are ill and will need her help as time moves on.  I don't worry about her, she is strong, one of the strongest people that I have ever met.  I pray for her daily and hope that she feels me lifting her up to the Lord in prayer.  I know that it weighs on her heart the fact that she will not only be caring for her parents, but she is also raising two of her grandchildren, who are one and two.  She has raised her children and is now starting over with grandbabies.  I wish that I had her strength.

The Smell of Desperation

If you ask Yanni, he felt that I was too needy, and I may have been, in fact I'm pretty sure that I was, but if you smell desperation, you run quickly, don't draw it out.  We were together for over two years.  He took me to a jewelry store to look at engagement rings.  How could he?  Seriously?  I know that I was not in a healthy place then and still needed time to get myself together, but a little honestly on his part would have been nice.  Up until that fateful night, he assured me that he was coming to San Antonio.  In fact, he had me looking at houses here for us.  

Still to this day I don't understand the game that he was playing.  It really hurt.  That was cruel.  When it was over, I asked him to send somthing of mine back to me, and he told me that he had spent way too much money on me already.  Ouch!  Now, with time and reflection, I can see that with him it was all the bottom line.  Money.  He is still single.  My sister and brother-in-law still see him from time to time and apparently he just broke up with a wonderful women after almost two years together.  She wanted to get married, and he just isn't ready.  Sound familiar?  

I see his mother occasionally when I visit Pensacola and have even seen him a couple of times.  His mother and I talk and she looks at my sweet Olivia and I can see the hurt in her eyes, that she isn't a grandma yet.

In the end, breaking up was what was best, because I can't compete with money.  Apparently it keeps him very happy and if that is what he wants, then more power to him.  I loved him, and I do want him to find happiness with someone, but I am afraid that he will grow old alone, and that saddens me.

Distractions

School and work were wonderful distractions.  I would occasionally call and talk to J. and they were really good at sending pictures regularly, and life marched on.  Ryan was almost two years old, and it just seemed like a horrible nightmare.  In 1998 I went to my sister's wedding in Florida and met a guy.  He was really nice and sweet and very Greek.  His name was John or Yanni in Greek.  He lived in Atlanta, Georgia, and with me in San Antonio, somehow we decided to try to make it work long distance.  We talked on the phone all the time and e-mailed .  We talked and talked and learned quite a bit about each other.  Finally I decided to tell him about Ryan and he was less than supportive.  He wasn't hurtful, but he just kind of ignored it all and chose to change the subject whenever it came up.  Like an idiot, I just looked past it and moved on.  He flew me to Atlanta for Christmas break and then we drove to Pensacola to visit my sister and his mom.  She was wonderful!  To this day I still love Sophia.  She is the epitome of Greek mommas.  She lived to cook and clean and spoil her little boy.  It was fun.  This was the first time that I had ever spent Christmas away from my parents, but my first Christmas with my sister.  Being 12 years older than I am, and growing up with her mom, we never spent holidays together, it was really nice.

I flew to Atlanta and he came here quite a bit, at least 5-6 times a year.  He was an engineer and made good money and had no problem driving down, or flying me up.

Once again though, I chose wrong.  He cared about me, but couldn't stand that I was always trying to loose weight.  I don't know if he liked me overweight, or what, but once again, he didn't accept me for who I was.  Eventually, I would just not eat for about a week before I saw him so that he wouldn't say anthing if I didn't want to eat much.  Stupid, I know, but I was still sick.  Oh yeah, and he was a liar.

He told me over and over that he was trying to transfer to San Antonio with his company and even came down once to speak with the office here.  Come to find out, he had absolutely no intention on coming here, in fact, he was planning on moving home and expected me to move to Florida with him, even though I made it clear from the begining that San Antonio was my home.  After 2 years, he dropped that bomb on me and I told him to go to hell and that was that.  He told me over the phone, so we broke up over the phone, just like the rest of our relationship, all on the phone.

Once again I was alone again, and I needed a distraction.

College

It had been a year and a half since Ryan was born and I was merely existing.  I was doing much better with my therapy and was up and walking and driving and doing pretty well, but I was still very much alone.  Chris was in Germany, and I went and visited him for a week there and had an amazing time.  I would love to go back and see so much more.  We went to Berlin and I must have taken about a million pictures, but I couldn't believe that I was actually walking the same ground as my ancestors.  Very cool.  I have lived and visited all over the United States, but Germany was so foreign.  Well duh.  The people were very kind and it was soooo clean.  I loved it so much.  I wouldn't want to live there, but would very much like to go back and visit again.

It was time to start doing something, I couldn't remain static forever.  I had to start living again.  I went online and filled out a FAFSA and applied to Palo Alto College.  Got some money, and registered for classes.  I was scared to death.  Would my pain and disability inhibit me so much that I couldn't do it?  I was just going to have to find out once I got there.

First off I needed some kind of job.  I needed money and the little bit of worker's comp. was not enough, so I started looking around campus.  I saw in the special services department that they needed something called Reader/Scribes.  The special services department helped disabled students with accessibility to the campus through a variety of services.  Sign language interpreters, note takers, extended test time, and readers and scribes for blind and low vision students.  Since I knew some of the people there, I figured what the heck and filled out the application.

I handed a woman named Renae my application and sat for about 5 minutes and she called me back for an interview.  We talked for awhile and ultimately she didn't offer me the job of Reader/Scribe, but as her assistant, she being the Reader/Scribe services coordinator.  Woo Hoo!!  More money!  The only problem was that I had to lie my butt off to get it.  I knew Microsoft Word and how to use that, but they used Word Perfect.  I figured that it wouldn't take me long to muddle my way through and get the hang of it.  I did, and it all worked out.

Self Medicating

I tried to be "normal".  I tried to continue my life and "move on".  I met a guy, not dating, just a friend.  Chris was great.  He was really what I needed.  He didn't want anything from me that I was not in any position to give.  We hung out and did fun things and drank.  And drank.  And drank.  Chris was in the Air Force and liked to unwind after a long day at work, so we partied, way too much.

I soon found out that when I drank, the pain wasn't so bad, physical and emotional.  I drank so I didn't feel, and looking back now, I know how dangerous that was.  My grandfather was an alcoholic and I have addictive tendencies, so medicating with alcohol was really stupid.  Before I knew it, I was drinking every day, and all I wanted was to not hurt anymore, and liquor made the hurt go away.  Another bad thing with drinking was that I never get hangovers.  I wake up and feel just fine, so I never paid for drinking way to much.  Oh yeah, I also have a very high tolerance for alcohol and medications, so I could drink and drink and drink and it really took a lot to get drunk.

Thinking back, I can't believe how incredibly stupid I was, I drove when I had no business behind the wheel.  I could have killed someone, or myself.  The really sad thing was that I don't really think that the latter ever scared me, I just didn't care anymore.

This lifestyle went on for months.  Drinking and thinking about when I was going out again.

Fortunately, one day I woke up at 2 p.m. and realized that I was blowing through money like water and that if I didn't stop now, I wouldn't ever be able to stop.  So I did.  Chris and I remained friends, but we just did different things, and still had a wonderful time.  I will always think of Chris and the male version of me.  We were so alike it was disgusting, and we both loved it.  Sadly, Chris got re-stationed to Germany.  I lost my one and only friend and it once again broke my heart, and again, I was alone.

What did you just say?

Thinking back over the past 14 years I am constantly reminded how hurtful people can be.  There have been so many people that have said so many positive things when hearing about the adoption, but the negative ones are the ones that haunt me daily.  At first a lot of people had no idea and when something about adoption came up comments would invariably arise to tune of "how can someone just give away their baby to a complete stranger?", or  "why would someone just throw away their baby?".

Over time, after people learned about the adoption, they usually wouldn't say anything at first, but eventually their true feelings would come out.  "Why do you keep pictures of him, it just makes you feel worse?  You should just forget about him, you would feel better."   "I just don't know how you could do that.", and every variation of that you could imagine, but the worst one came from my step-daughter.  She lived with her mother and when she was 16 we found out that she was pregnant.  When I suggested adoption, she said "I could never give my baby away, I love my baby."

Luckily, we were talking on the phone.  I just handed the phone to my husband and went and cried.  That hurt so much.  That child lived with us for 2 years, I loved her and that really just tore out my heart.  To this day, our relationship is not the same.

I guess people don't really understand how words can just tear you up.  That is why it took nearly 14 years for me to start talking about Ryan.  It took that long for the words to not hurt so much.

Alone

After my injury, all my "friends" seemed to quickly disappear.  I wasn't fun anymore.  I couldn't go out and party and coming to see me was a real downer.  When I found out I was pregnant I secluded myself even more, and before I knew it, I was all alone.  I didn't have my party friends anymore, all my work friends had moved on, and I had no one.

It was just me and mom and dad.  That's it.  I was working to get some sort of life put back together and trying to figure out what I would do with the rest of forever, but I was very lonely.  I had no one to really talk to and confide in beyond my mom.  My entire life had just twisted inside out, and I didn't know what to do with myself, or where to go.

What do I do next?  What is my next step?  Where do I go from here?

Then I decided to go back to college/

The Finalization

Six months had passed since Ryan went home and life was getting somewhat easier.  I had relearned how to walk again and I was able to drive.  I was still struggling with common everyday tasks, but I was learning how to deal with my disability.

I got a call from the agency that the finalization date had been set for the adoption, and was asked if I wanted to come to court.  I couldn't do it.  I couldn't have the judge look at me the way so many others did.  It's hard to describe, but that look people gave me when they found out that I had placed a child for adoption was worse than getting slapped in the face, so judgmental.  I figured it would be best if I didn't go, I just didn't need that again.

A couple of days before the court date the agency called and said that R. and J. wanted to go out to eat with me after court to celebrate, this I could do.  It meant that I could see Ryan again and maybe even hold him one last time.  Immediately, mom said that she wanted to go and see everyone, then to my shock and amazement, my dad said that he wanted to come too.  I couldn't understand.  To this point he wouldn't mention Ryan's name and refused to look at any picture, but now he wanted to come and see Ryan for the first time and meet R. and J.  I was blown away.

We picked a restaurant that had been a favorite of mine for years, a little Greek deli, that a dear friend owned and decided on a time.

It was awesome.  Seeing Ryan healed my heart in so many ways.  He was so handsome, and so big, and happy.  I could see how much R. and J. adored him, and their family was beautiful.  Looking at them, you would never know that Ryan was not their biological child.  Mom held him, and I held him and at one point, Dad even held him.  It was really good.  I guess dad just needed time to figure all this stuff out for himself, that is the way that men work I guess.

We took picture and talked and laughed and it was a wonderful day.

Lost Time

The next few months are a blur.  I'm sure that I was in fact there, but I have no memories of what happened.  I basically just existed.  I went to physical therapy three times a week, because I had to.  I went to psychotherapy appointments once a week, because I had to, and I went to Dr.. appointments weekly, because I had to.  Other than that, I'm not really sure what else happened.

I was still very quiet about the adoption.  Only a handful of people knew what happened.  I had secluded myself so much that almost all of my friends and all of my family except my mom and dad didn't know.  My dad never mentioned Ryan and that broke my heart.  It hurt my mom too much to talk about her grandson who was gone, and that broke my heart, and I could only feel the huge hole in my heart that that little boy could only fill.

I do remember getting pictures in the mail.  It was so painful.  I would get the envelope and feel it's weight and know that there were pictures inside.  Immediately I would cry.  I wouldn't open it, I just cried.  I would set the envelope on my dresser and as long as I cried when I looked at it, I wouldn't open it.  Finally, when I could hold it in my hand without tears (sometimes this could take weeks), I would open it, read the wonderful letter, cry, put down the pictures without looking at them, then eventually, I would look at the beautiful little baby that was no longer mine, and cry.

Quiet Time

It was done.  Now what?  My entire life changed completely but what is my next move?  There should be something that I should be doing, but I have no idea what it would be.  For about a week, I just felt really sorry for myself, but then life started again and I had to go to physical therapy, doctor appointments, psychologist appointments, etc.  I had some kind of appointment every day, and it really helped to keep my mind off what I just did.  I had to focus on me and try to get my life back in some kind of order.  I was still not able to walk, or drive and was still not sleeping (when that was all I wanted to do).

At the agency, they kept telling me that I should write a letter to Ryan to let him know my feelings.  I didn't know what to say to a child I only met a few times.  I started thinking about it, and I realized that even though I only knew him briefly, I would carry him in my heart forever, so I wrote.

I told him how much I love him and that I chose adoption for him and not for me.  I knew that I would not be the mother that he needed and knew that R. and J. would give him a wonderful life and love him more than anything else in the world.

It just came from my heart and the letter turned out several pages long, but the thing I kept repeating was that I loved him.  I never wanted him to think that he wasn't wanted or love, and that he was never a mistake, I have made so many mistakes in my life, but Ryan is not one of them.  He is a miracle.

The Breakdown

It had been a few days since Ryan went home with R. and J. and I was doing fairly well.  I was content with the choice I made and despite the fact that my supposed friend Tina, who said that she supported me throughout my pregnancy, gave me a horrible time when it came time for him to go with his new parents.  I guess that she assumed that I would somehow change my mind and decide to parent, and when I didn't, I was a horrible person.  Needless to say, I cut her out of my life and I am so glad that she is gone.  I really didn't need that type of negativity in my life.  I know that I made mistakes, but I tried to do the right thing.  Apparently she never made a mistake in her life and therefor can judge those of us who do.

It would be 6 months until the finalization of the adoption, but R. and J. promised to send pictures of Ryan every month.

I was doing ok, or so I thought.  Then one day I just lost it.  Literally, lost it.  I started sobbing and sobbing and went completely out of my mind for an entire weekend.  That was really the only time that I really questioned my decision for adoption.

The Meeting

I got a call from the agency and they told me the day that I was going to get to meet R. and J.  They explained that Ryan would stay with the foster mom and after we had a chance to get to know each other, if all was going well, then she would bring him to meet them.

What was I going to do?  What was I going to wear?  What was I going to say?  All these questions kept swirling around in my head.  I knew that if I wore the wrong clothes, they wouldn't want to adopt Ryan, so I tried on 57 outfits.  I knew that if I said the wrong thing, they wouldn't want to adopt Ryan.  If my hair wasn't right, they wouldn't want to adopt Ryan.  I was so scared I could hardly breathe.

Mom had made me make an appointment with a psychologist and I had started taking antidepressants, and my depression was lifting some, but I was still in constant terror and cried most of the time.

When the day finally came Mom drove me to the agency and I sat there waiting for R. and J. to come.  Was I early, or were they late?  Maybe they changed their minds, why would they be late if they really wanted to adopt my baby?  Something was wrong.  Come to find out, the agency asked me to arrive before them so I could chat with them for a while before the prospective adoptive parents arrived. 

Finally they came and we introduced ourselves.  They were so sweet, and not a lot older than I.  They seemed so in love.  R. was very quiet and soft spoken, but when he did speak it was always worth listening to.  J. was more like me, she liked to talk and we hit it off immediately.  Soon I was sure that I wanted them to raise Ryan, I knew that they would be wonderful parents.  After a while one of the agency staff asked me if I wanted the foster mom to bring Ryan and I agreed.

When he showed up, he had changed so much in the two weeks since I had seen him last.  I didn't look at R., but when J. saw him I saw the love in her eyes.  She already loved him so much, I was certain that this was the right decision.  Everyone held him for a while and we talked and talked. 

At one point Sandy pulled me to the side and asked me what I thought of R. and J. and I told her that they were definitely Ryan's parents.  

We told them that if they wanted to that they adoption would proceed and J. teared up.  I was holding Ryan and just then he started fussing and crying.  I looked at R. and said "here Daddy, you need practice", and handed him the baby.  No sooner did he take Ryan and he stopped crying.  It was awesome.

The paper work would be finished the following day, and they asked me if it was ok for them to take him to the hotel with them for the night.  I agreed, and kissed my little man goodbye.   My mom gave him a beautiful quilt and some other items she got for him and I gave him the baptismal gown that his cousins had been baptized in.  

It was a strange moment, I felt such happiness, but I also felt this horrible emptiness in my heart.  I smiled on the outside, but on the inside it felt as though someone was ripping out my soul.

Ryan was exactly one month old, and R. and J. gave me two wonderful things.  First, a photo album that they promised to fill up, which they have, and their address, so I could always be in contact with them.  That was wonderful.  I was giving them the most precious thing in my life and they gave me the promise that he would always be in my life.

When I walked away that day, it would be six months before I saw him again in person.

Moving Foreward

Terminating parental rights is not something that you can do quickly.  As with most legal matters, you have to give them a chance to sign the papers themselves, then they have to be served to appear in court, then you have to wait for the court date, then it comes and when Ray didn't show, his parental rights were over. This took forever and Ryan was nearly a month old, and yet did not have any parents.  Until I found out that Ray had no rights to try to take Ryan from me, I couldn't relax.  I was so scared that he would try to fight me to keep Ryan, and I would never let that man raise this amazing little child.  On the other hand, I was in no condition mentally, physically or financially to raise him myself, so the termination had to go through, luckily it did.  Now we could proceed with getting Ryan into his new home.

Then next step would be to meet R. and J. and I was terrified.

Hurry up and wait.

Now that the initial phone call was made, and Ryan was with a foster mom, all I had to do was wait.  Wait to meet R. and J. for the first time and see if they did in fact want to adopt Ryan.  Wait for the time to run out and Ray be taken to court and his parental rights terminated.  Wait to see if my dad would ever speak to me again.  Wait to find out if I would ever want to breathe again.  Wait to see if I would eventually take my own life.

The depression was at it's worst and I could barely function.  If it required more effort than breathing, I didn't have the strength to do it.  Something had to happen or I was going to just stop living.  I have never been a place so dark, so cold, so alone.  I pray that I am never there again.

The Phone Call

After I chose R. and J. for perspective adoptive parents the next step is a phone call. This call scared me to death. What do you say to someone you have never met, but they are an vital part of the most important thing that you will ever do in your entire life. It's rather daunting to say the least. I knew when they would be call, what day it would be and I just sat by the phone staring at it, all day. Finally, in the early evening around six or so the phone rang and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I slowly answered the phone with my heart in my throat and could barely mutter a hello. For about 5 minutes it was very awkward on both my and J.'s parts, but before we both knew it, two and a half hours had passed and it seemed as though I had known her for years and that she was already a part of my family. I spoke to R. for only a couple of minutes, but you know men, it takes them longer to become friends. I had this exhaustive list of questions that I wanted to ask J., but the more I spoke to her the less important that list meant to me. I was finding out about her as a person and what kind of character she had, and the interview style that I had imagined was not needed. Before the end of our conversation that lasted until almost 9:30 I knew that these were the parents for my beautiful little son. They were as perfect as I could ever dream of. I knew that they loved each other and would love Ryan just as much, and that was all that mattered. I just hoped that they felt the same way about me.

Signing the papers

I always thought that signing all the paperwork to buy a car was a long drawn out process, I was wrong. Signing adoption papers is unbelievably horrible. There are only about 100 pages that have to be read then signed and initialed on EVERY page. Just when you know that you can't take any more, there is more. It seemed to take forever to finish, and when we were finally done I was dehydrated from crying so much and completely exhausted.

I went home and collapsed and knew that soon, R. and J. would be calling. I was so scared and nervous. I had no idea what to say to the people that I was hoping would adopt my child. How do you ask someone to take your "mistake"? What do you say to someone who you desperately need to raise your child? I couldn't even breath thinking about how the conversation would go. What if I said something stupid? What if I said something that offended them and they decided that they didn't want my baby? What if they hated me? The what ifs were eating me alive.

Picking a family

Since I had so little time before Ryan's birth, and we were getting Ray's rights terminated, and we didn't know if he would be healthy, my baby was born and I had not yet chosen a family yet.

Ryan was out of the hospital and with the foster mom with the agency and was doing well. Ray's rights weren't terminated yet, but only a few more days had to pass that that would be completed, so mom and I went to the agency to look at profiles. They handed me two. At the time that didn't seem like a big deal, but now after speaking to other birth moms, that wasn't much to choose from. As it turned out, two was more than I needed. Mom took one and I started reading the other. The couple seemed really nice. He was a doctor that taught at a medical school back east and they had the huge house and the nice cars, etc. I hadn't even finished reading when mom shoved hers in my my hand and said this is the couple. I told her that I wanted to finish reading the one I started and she just said again, "these are the ones". I finished and handed her the profile that I was reading and picked up R. and J.'s profile. Immediately I could tell how much they loved each other from the letter they wrote. On the next page was the empty nursery that was in their home from previous failed adoptions. There were more pics of their family and a their dream home that they were planning to build on their land. Then I turned the page and my heart melted in my chest. I know is may seem silly, but there was a picture of R. standing in his cattle field in a pair of bib overalls. To most people that would mean nothing, but my grandpa wore bib overalls every day, and for some reason that spoke to me. I finished looking at the profile and with every word and every picture, I knew that my baby would have a home.

The Message

At this point the adoption agency was taking care of Ryan. When he was released he would go home with a foster mom until a placement was made. I couldn't even call the hospital to find out how he was doing, all I could do was contact the agency and they would call and then fill me in on his condition. He spent three days in the hospital before he was released.

When I got home there was a message on my pager from Ray. These were the days before cell phones were readily available so everyone had pagers. He asked me how HIS son was doing and called me every expletive you could think of. Now, the only way that he could possibly know that Ryan had been born the night before is, if either my mom or my supposed friend Tina had told him. I know that my mom had nothing to say to him, so I am pretty sure that she took it upon herself to once again insert herself in the middle of something that she had no business getting into. I thought that she was there for me and was supporting me in what I was doing, but I would soon find out that she was an immature, back stabbing bitch that wanted nothing but more heartache for me. I was going through a lot and someone who had supposedly been my friend for 10 years was siding with the abusive man that was making my life even harder.

That call on my pager was the last time that I heard Ray's voice for a couple years, and that was the best thing for me.

Just let me die.

Soon my mom came and was told that I was in the nursery and came to see me. She walked in and I could see the pain in her face. Looking at her baby holding a baby of her own. She asked to hold him and I could see how I was tearing her heart out. This was her first grand baby (close to home) and soon he would be gone. Again I felt like the worst person in the world. I was destroying so many lives with my actions, I knew that I could never make things right again.

After a while the nurse came in and told me that I would be discharged soon and had to complete some paperwork before I left, so I had to go back to my room. We both said good-bye to the baby and left him. So tiny and helpless and here I was, leaving him alone. He would have to stay in the hospital for a few days, and then the agency foster mom would come and pick him up. My duties as a mother were over.

When back in the room a lady came down and wanted me to fill out the paperwork for his birth certificate. When it came time to name him I knew what his name should be.

When my mom was pregnant with me, everyone was sure that I would be a boy and they only decided on a boys name. Now, my dad, being the person he is, decided that all his children would have the same initials. My sister is René Denise, my brother is Richard Desmond, my dad is Richard Dale and I was to be Ryan Daniel. Well obviously, I came out a girl and became Robyn Deborah. So when the lady asked, I named my son Ryan Daniel. Even if his new parents changed his name, he would have mine for a little while.

I saw my mom's heart break again, and once again I felt that I shouldn't have done that. I just kept screwing everything up.

Not long after that, I was discharged from the hospital and had to leave Ryan behind. I was abandoning him and I just wanted to die. He had no advocate there at the hospital that was "family". I knew that one day he would realize what a horrible person his mother was and would be glad that I didn't raise him.

I was wrong

I had convinced myself that this was going to be easy. I didn't know I was pregnant until recently, I was placing the child for adoption. Piece of cake.

They wheeled me from my room to the nursery and the first thing I saw was the incubator with a tiny little person inside. As I got closer I could see the cannula helping him get oxygen and how small he was. He weighed almost 8 pounds, but to me he was very small.

When I got there the nurse asked me if I wanted to hold him and I said yes. She carefully removed him from his little plastic house and placed him in my arms. I looked down and this little person and my heart almost exploded and I started to cry. I loved him. I loved him in a way that I had never felt in my life and never wanted to let him go. All I could do was look at his beautiful face and cry.

Eventually, I composed myself enough to form words. I told him that I was him mommy and that I loved him. Then my mind started to grasp at straws. You can do this I told myself. You can raise this amazing little person. Just grab him up and run away. I knew if I just loved him enough, I could do this.

I sat for a long time thinking of ways that I could make it work, but no of them would have ever worked in a million years, because I couldn't do it. I couldn't even take care of myself, let alone a child. I wasn't what this baby needed. He needed parents who could take care of him physically, (I couldn't), financially, (I couldn't) and emotionally (I couldn't). I was a mess and all I could do for this baby was mess him up to. He needed people who were in a better place than I was. I couldn't do it and I just wanted to die. He was a piece of me and very soon, that piece would be gone forever.

BTBA

I can't believe that I have a son. That thought just kept running through my mind over and over. I was scared to death. I had no idea how he was, what was happening to him, and why no one would tell me what was going on.

Earlier in the day, I had noticed that on the top of my chart, the letters BTBA were written in bold letters in marker. After the birth, and I was in my room, I asked a nurse and she explained that it meant Baby To Be Adopted. Everything became very clear. They didn't care about me and how I was. Hell, it took 10-30 minutes before they would even answer the call button. At one point my IV blew and my arm started swelling from all the fluid just streaming under the skin. No one came. Eventually, after it started hurting so bad I couldn't take it any more, I just pulled it myself, and threw it on the floor.

I had never felt so horrible in my life, and these people were doing all they could to make me feel worse. Job accomplished.

I immediately started asking to see the baby, and the nurse explained that he had inhaled myconium and needed a little time to get breathing well on his own. I waited for a while and pressed the call button and asked to be taken to see the baby. I needed a wheel chair because I couldn't walk at this point. She said over the little intercom that someone would be with me shortly. No one came. I rang again and again and again, all night long, but no one ever came. The woman that I shared a room with had her baby delivered to her every 2 hours to nurse, but when I asked to see my son, the nurse would say that someone would be with me shortly. I cried all night.

Finally at about 5 am I couldn't take any more and started yelling. Strangely, people in hospitals start running the second you scream. They tried to pull the someone will be here shortly and I just told them that I would continue to yell until a wheel chair showed up. Amazingly, there was someone there with a chair in about 30 seconds.

I was going to see my son.

It's Time

Time went by so quickly many things weren't in place when I went into labor. Ray's parental rights had not yet been terminated. I had no idea what was going to happen, and I was still scared. I had one false trip to the hospital. That was no fun, since of course it was in the middle of the night.

When I finally went into labor it was morning and we headed to the hospital. It was around noon when we got there and I saw no sign of my doctor. Finally at 7 o'clock he showed up and informed me that I couldn't get an epidural because it was too late. I had only been asking for it all day, but now it was too late. The back contractions were horrible and I did not believe that I could do it. I was taken to another room, away from my mom and after what seemed like forever my baby was born. I got a quick glance, the doctor said "You have a son", and he was rushed away.

I never heard him cry, and no one told me what was happening. They took him away, and then they took me to my room.

Movement

I still couldn't believe I was pregnant. I didn't look pregnant and I didn't feel pregnant. The horrible thing was that I never felt the baby move. No doctor ever told me this, but I'm sure that all the meds I took basically kept that tiny little person sedated all the time, and that terrified me. My OBYN was an horrible doctor. He treated me like some bug he scrapped off his shoe and rarely even spoke to me. He was concerned about the baby and sent me to the hospital for tests. They hooked me up to monitors and then made me drink juice and lay on my side, and finally, after what seemed like forever, the baby moved. I wanted to cry, but by this time, I don't think that I had any more tears left. I couldn't believe what I had done. It finally became very real. There was a little person inside me, and I had done good for this child, I had only abused it with alcohol, prescription drugs and neglect.

I wanted to die.

The Call

They told me that Ray had to be informed so that his parental rights could be terminated, and that they would be willing to handle this for me. I thought about it for a while and decided that it would be better if I handled the call, he might take it better coming from me, rather than a stranger. I was wrong.

I told him that I was pregnant and going to place the baby for adoption. Then he spoke. It first started out with how much he loved me and that we could get married and love each other and the baby and the world would be wonderful. When I told him that would never happen, he then went started yelling and said that we would never allow me to give away his baby and that he would fight me and get custody and he would raise the baby. Then it turned into how my parents were making me do this and that he was going to come and kill my parents and burn down their house. At this point he was insane and I hung up.

Two hours passed and the phone rang, and he was telling me how much he loved me, and I just stuck to my guns and told him that I couldn't do than. When he would start screaming and ranting and threatening me I just hung up. These calls happened several times a day until after the baby was born.

Finally I just laid the law down. He would never see this child. I would never give him the chance to poison this baby. If he wants to fight, I would somehow raise this baby myself and get a restraining order against him and he would know that he had a child living living 10 minutes away and also know that he would never be able to see it. So fight if you want, but you will never win.

Apparently he didn't listen because he still called and would tell me how much he loved me, and then snap into a rage and threaten to kill me.

By the way, we didn't have caller ID or even voice mail, so if I didn't answer it would ring 200 times then he would call again.

This was my life, and I had no one to blame but myself for getting here.

They Agency

I called the next agency and a wonderful woman answered the phone. She said that she could see me the following day, and I just knew that they were going to help me. I was so scared, I didn't know what to expect. How were they going to treat me? What were they going to say? Needless to say, I didn't sleep at all that night, all I could think about is a business of people who would now judge me and make me feel lower than I already did.

Mom drove me to the agency in San Antonio and I braced myself for the worst. I walked in and couldn't believe what happened, they were nice, and understanding and non-judgmental. They really acted as if they cared about me and what was going on. I explained how quickly the baby was coming and they got to work right away. They gave me a birth-parent questionnaire to fill out about me, and the birth-father. It asked all kinds of questions about me, and my family and health issues, how long people had lived and how they had died. Mine was easy to fill out, then I got to Ray's. It was at that point that I understood how little I actually knew about him, and I started to cry. Fortunately, they were very kind and told me to do my best and not to worry about the questions I didn't know. I still felt so stupid. I was with this man for over 2 years and got pregnant, but knew very little about him.

I really didn't want any contact with Ray, and I hoped that I could just ignore that fact that he was the father, and as far as I was concerned, he never needed to know, however, by law, he needed to be told.

A blur

What follows is a rather big blur. I remember going home and my mom telling my dad. I remember him yelling and screaming, then not talking to me for about 8 months. I remember going to the OBGYN and them not telling me anything about the baby, because, obviously, I was a horrible person, at least that is how I felt. I had lots of tests and blood work done. Had to completely go cold turkey off all my meds, and somewhere in all this I had to come up with some sort of plan for this baby.

I knew that I was in no condition to parent, so adoption was my only answer. My mom was awesome during all of this. She had to take care of her baby, and I needed to do what was best for my baby. She never pushed me toward any decision, just supported what I wanted.

I had no clue about adoption. All I knew was what I saw in movies where they take the baby away and you never know what happens to it or where it goes. That really scared me, but I really didn't have a choice. I was not any kind of mother that this baby needed, and I wasn't going to have my mom and dad take care of my mistake.

I'm sure you are all thinking that I am now a horrible person calling the baby a mistake. Let me clarify. My situation was a mistake, my pregnancy was a mistake, most of my life was a mistake, but that little baby was not a mistake.

I didn't know what to do or who to talk to, so I grabbed the yellow pages and opened them up to adoption. Man, there are a lot of agencies. I had no idea. Well, we were Lutheran, so I called them first. No answer, and I had no idea what to say on an answering machine. Then I went back to the beginning and started at the A's. The first place I called said that they would get some information to me within a week. "I don't have that kind of time!" I hung up without talking to them any more, then I dialed the following number, and was saved.

You're Pregnant

They wheeled me on a stretcher to another part of the hospital and did a sonogram. At which time the tech informed me that I was almost 8 months pregnant. At this point it hit me what was happening and I broke down.

I had not gained weight. I never felt the baby move. I took almost every narcotic available by prescription. I had done so many things that were harmful to a baby, that this one must be horribly damaged.

I covered my head with a sheet and sobbed. Then I heard them tell my mother that I was pregnant and she sobbed. What had I done? What was I going to do? What had I done? I just wanted to die.

November

My birthday came and passed, I'm sure that my parents did something for me, but for the life of me I can't remember what it was. I was in no real state to celebrate anyway.

On November 8, I was scheduled to get another lumbar sympathetic block at the hospital. Another ordinary day, nothing in particular made it stand out. We got to the hospital, did the pre-op procedures and they wheeled me into the operating room. They gave me my normal dose of medication to make me sleepy and started the procedure, at which time the doctor asked me, "When was your last period?" "I don't know." I answered. "Because there is a boney mass in your abdomen. We need to get an ultrasound."

At this point I had no idea what he was talking about because I was out of my mind on meds. I would soon find out.

Darkness

Over the coming weeks I faced many procedures and tests. I had a bone scan. Basically they inject radioactive material in you and take pictures of your bones. I had countless lumbar sympathetic blocks. This is where they use a fluoroscope and inject pain medications and steroids around your spinal cord. Multiple MRIs and on and on and on.

By this point the pain was unbearable, and later I found out that severe chronic pain causes severe depression. So there I was. Laying in bed, wishing I had the energy to get up and kill myself. I knew if I could just die, the pain would go away. I would lay there and my mom would talk to me for hours begging me to get out of bed to go to physical therapy or to the hospital for another treatment. I had to go somewhere five days a week, and all I wanted to do was go to sleep and never wake up. I know now that the pain was the only thing that saved my life, I was hurting too much to get up and end it all. I remember so clearly the sound of my dad's guns in his gun shop calling my name. Telling me that they could make it all go away. Luckily for me, he keeps the shop and safes under tight lock and key. It got so bad that my mom started hiding knives and anything else that I could hurt myself with, including my medications. She handed them to me every day and watched me take them.

The sleep deprivation also was at an all time high. The lack of sleep was causing me to scratch myself unconsciously and pull out my hair. I would scratch and scratch until someone stopped me, or I noticed blood. I still have faint scars on my arms and face to this day.

What is RSD

I had to find out what I had, so I went to the computer, I typed in "What is RSD?" and this is what I found.

RSD (reflex sympathetic dystrophy), also known as complex regional pain syndrome (CRPS), is a complex disorder that may develop as a result of injury (which is most common), surgery or disease. RSD consists of unexplained intense pain in a part of the body which has been injured, and includes altered sensation and reduced motion in the body part affected. Once thought to be a rare disorder, reflex sympathetic dystrophy occurs in people of all ethnic backgrounds, with women affected twice as often as men. RSD most commonly occurs in adults in their 20s to 50s, but may occur at any age.

Symptoms

Symptoms of RSD often begin days or weeks after an injury, usually in an arm or leg which has been injured. The symptoms may include:

• unexplained intense pain, out of proportion to the injury
• swelling
• altered skin temperature, either warm or cold
• altered skin color
• reduced motion of the affected part, and movement makes the symptoms worse
• sensitivity to touch
• abnormal sweating

Treatment

Early diagnosis and treatment of RSD is best. A pain specialist should be part of the treatment team for an individual affected by RSD. Steroid medications can provide pain relief. Opioid pain medications are also effective. Other treatments may include antiepileptic drugs, antidepressants, and creams applied to the skin for treatment of the pain. Some individuals may have pain relief with injection of local anesthetic around nerves to the affected area (nerve block).

Physical and occupational therapy also are important in the treatment of RSD to improve the movement of the affected part of the body.

Outlook

When treated early, many individuals with RSD have relief of symptoms within 18 months. Others individuals, unfortunately, develop chronic pain and disability. Researchers do not know why some people improve while others do not. It is also not known exactly what causes RSD. Future research will no doubt discover how and why RSD begins, how it develops, and identify those individuals at risk for chronic disease.

I really didn't know what to think, I just hoped that this new doctor was as good as everyone said he was.

What the heck is going on?

Dr. E. didn't know why I was getting worse and not any better, so he decided to get an MRI and go from there. Wait... Finally the MRI is scheduled and performed. Wait.. Nothing. Let's start physical therapy. Wait... I do two weeks of physical therapy and the pain and swelling only gets worse. Now I am able to get around in a Cam Walker with crutches, but the pain is getting worse by the day.

Two months have now passed since my initial injury and not only am I no better, the pain is horrific and you can't even touch my ankle/foot without me almost jumping out of my skin. I am taking Vicodin, Loritab, and Darvocet for the pain, and still can't sleep at night, so the doc gives me sleeping pills. Things are going from bad to worse quickly. The only way that I can describe the pain is: put your foot in a bbq pit and never take it out. It was the most intense burning pain I have ever felt, and I just knew that one day I would look down and see the flesh on my leg just falling off.

Dr. E. didn't know what to do, so he decided that a second opinion would be the best. Wait... I was referred to a pain management specialist. After spending 6 hours waiting past my appointment time, the doctor walks in takes one look at my leg, ankle, and foot and says, "You have RSD. We need to get you in to see Dr. C." and walks out. Not knowing is horrible, now at least we know.

Finally, a diagnosis. Whew. Now at least they can do something to help me, but what is RSD? Those three little letters don't sound like much but they became a curse to me.

Dr. E.

I got an appointment with my favorite orthopedic surgeon, whom I have known for a "million" years and was able to see him the following day. I limped in favoring my ankle and told him what had happened. He shot films of my foot and ankle and told me that there were no fractures, just a deep bone bruise and that I should be back to work in two weeks. "Two weeks?" "I'll be back in a week."

Well, two weeks later I could no longer put any pressure on my foot at all and I the swelling and pain was about 5 times worse than my previous visit. Little did I know that this was the beginning of the longest 10 years of my life.

Back to the grind

Once home, life started back at it's slow pace. Life consisted of basically work. I tried to stay as busy as possible and concentrated on my job. I really loved my job. I was good at it and it brought me a lot of satisfaction.

I was working at a local hospital in the medical center, doing remodels and they were building a new wing and the work there was constant. Two weeks has passed since coming home from my wonderful vacation and I was working in a small room with another electrician and we were pulling in the wire for an electronic scan medicine cabinet. When my journeymen went to step up on a ladder that was leaned against the wall. I said "hold on, let me brace it for you", but before the words registered in his mind he was on the second rung of the ladder and it slid back on the slick tile floor. No big deal right? Wrong. My right foot was directly behind the ladder and was pinned between the ladder with all his weight and the wall behind me.

OUCH!! Man that hurt, but I didn't really think it was that big of a deal. At lunch, I told the foreman what happened and went on with my day. They following day my ankle hurt really badly and I told my boss and he let me work on blueprint take-offs so I could stay off it, and let it rest. That night I went home, took off my work boot, and my foot blew up. The swelling was horrible. That evening I decided that I should probably go to the doctor to see what was going on.

Peace and quiet

Florida was just a a tired soul needed. Days just hanging out and getting some sun at some of the worlds most beautiful beaches. We went tubing and drank a hurricane at the place that invented the hurricane. We went out and watched Greg's band, and danced and just had a blast. It was wonderful, but like everything else, vacations have to end eventually. After 2 glorious weeks in Pensacola, it was time to come home, back to reality, back to my totally messed up life. You can only escape from yourself for so long before you have to deal with all the messes you made.

Each mile that we drove closer to San Antonio, my heart grew heavier and my feeling of worthlessness started coming back. I know now that I wasn't worthless, but then, that is all I felt. I had messed my life up so much and I didn't know what to do or where to go. I say that I messed my life up, I don't blame anyone else. I made bad choices, I didn't leave when things started going bad. I don't blame any of this on anyone but me, because I only had control of me at that time, and I should have done things way differently. Strangely, I still don't blame Ray for any of this, I should have ran sooner. He was what he was, and it chose to put up with it.

My brother-in-law

Greg is one of the coolest people I have ever known. When I grow up I want to be cool like him. He is so smart and handsome and talented and laid back and a true gentleman. Greg is also an awesome musician. While on vacation we went and saw his band play at a place called Seville. His band at the time was Egg Man, and I so enjoyed myself. I was blown away by his voice and his guitar skills (mad dope skills, man). It's wonderful that my sister and Greg found each other because they are a wonderful couple. Don't get me wrong, as with any relationship it isn't perfect, and everyday isn't sunshine and roses, but in the end, they love each other madly and will get through anything together. Greg is so good for my sister, and Rene' is good for him. They don't complete each other, they compliment each other, and it's a beautiful thing.

P.S.

Greg is a number cruncher for the state of Florida. He wears the Dockers and golf shirt by day, then shreds Pink Floyd and Tom Petty by night. Too cool.

My sister

How do I describe my sister? Hmmm. First of all she is a great sister. It took a long time for us to get there, but it was worth the wait. She is an awesome, strong, beautiful, smart, feisty, woman with big hair, a big personality and a big heart. She is a true southern lady, and I love it. I really admire my sister and I hope that I will be as good a mom as she has always been. Her road was not an easy one, but she came out on top with a man that is worthy of her love. She has struggled with domestic abuse, being a single mom, difficulties with her sons and their dads, but she overcame it, and I admire her for it.

I wish that Louisiana, Alabama and Mississippi would trade places with Florida, so we wouldn't be a 12 hour drive from one anther. I would love to grow old with my sister nearby.

Sunny Florida

The two weeks we spent in Pensacola were wonderful. First of all I love my sister dearly and I don't get to spend nearly enough time with her and her wonderful husband Greg. I also got two weeks of fun with my nephews. They are great kids and we had many adventures. Getting lost going to the beach (only 5 miles away from the house), by the way, never take directions from an 8 year old, big mistake. Loosing children at the Naval Air Museum and nearly getting kicked out because I couldn't keep the boys from touching things. Luke falling through the garage ceiling and shaving off all the boys hair. Fun times.

I love all three boys, Lucas was 14, Jonathon was 8 and my precious Joshua was 7. I fell in love with Josh on this trip. For only being a little boy he had, and still has an old soul. He was a true southern gentleman and grew into an awesome man. All of my boys did. I love them all dearly, but Josh is something a little special. I know that it makes me a horrible aunt for picking a favorite, but for some reason that soft spoken little boy with his thick southern accent just stole my heart.