by Smith, TL
They kept pushing on my lower belly and tugging on the cord, all while I was looking for my crying baby. He pushed REALLY hard once and tugged REALLY hard once and all hell broke loose. Only I had no idea it was because of me. I thought something must be wrong with my baby.
Chapter 11
I Didn’t Die
I remember feeling hot and sweaty, so I reached around to wipe the dampness away from my neck and my hand came back bloody. The next thing I remember is hearing the doctor say, "Get a bucket, get a bucket!" Then he looked at my mom and said, "Get on that phone (points to wall phone to my left) and tell them delivery needs help STAT!"
Then we were running, he was on top of the gurney with me, his arm inside me holding whatever was bleeding. There were people on either side of me and at my head and feet and the rooms were just whooshing by. We went to another area. It was cold and the last thing I remember is them telling me they are going to add more drugs to my epidural.
When I woke up (hours later) the doctor and Jerry were there with me. The doctor was clearly upset. He explained to me that they tried to do everything they could, but they had to remove my uterus. He actually had a tear in his eye and told me how very sorry he was. Then I was out again. This time it would be days of in and out of consciousness. Mostly from drugs keeping me sedated and comfortable (I had just delivered a baby and been cut hip to hip afterwards) but a lot of it from losing so much blood I was severely anemic and weak.
I think it was about day 3 when I was finally awake enough to truly appreciate my baby girl. But I was still on a morphine IV and getting blood transfusions. I remember being so scared to sleep; afraid I’d never wake again. And I was so upset that I couldn't give Jerry more children, but completely enamored with my baby. She was perfect and beautiful and had the sweetest baby smell. She melted my heart from the first time I held her.
What I would learn was the complication I had was called "placenta accreta" and my placenta basically grew into my uterus, so when the placenta finally was pulled hard enough to be delivered, it ripped my uterus to shreds and I was bleeding out.
According to Jerry and my family, they tried everything they could to stop the bleeding. Medications, packing, cauterization. Nothing was working. The doctor came out and told my mom and Jerry that if they didn't take my uterus I would most definitely die and even if they did, I was in very serious condition. Jerry said, "What the bleep are you waiting for?" "Do the surgery!"
I had lost a lot of blood according to the doctor. The cold blood transfusions made me sick at my stomach and the thought of throwing up terrifying because I hurt so bad.
I had never had a major surgery before so changing the sheets on the bed was AWFUL. The pain of being cut hip to hip with 20 staples holding my guts in was enough to make me nearly pass out. But I did that when they attempted to get me up and moving.
It took what seemed like an eternity just to get to a sitting position on the side of the bed. Slowly I started rocking. My feet were on a step stool. I remember just going for it, then a horrible ammonia smell. Smelling salts. I had passed out.
The nurse looked at my chart and said, "Oh wow, I didn't realize how anemic you were, no wonder you fainted."
I also learned that while they were running down the hall with me, they left my newborn baby ALONE in the delivery room. When my sister Dottie realized this, she immediately went back and stayed with Paige until someone came in.
The most poignant thing I learned that while I was in surgery, my mom and Jerry (not knowing if I was going to survive) went to the hospital's chapel to pray. Jerry would tell me that my mom prayed for God to take her, not me. That my life was only beginning, and she had lived to see her baby have a baby.
Paige was born in October of 1988; my mom was diagnosed with cancer in December. She would live 11 months after her diagnosis.
I was haunted by this even though in my heart I KNEW God didn't work that way, but that human heart felt so incredibly responsible.
Chapter 12
Mom’s Diagnosis
I run through so many thoughts and with those come emotions that I have pushed back in my mind for a long time, so sorting through them has been something I keep procrastinating and this time in my life was so emotional and tumultuous.
So here I am, newly married, new baby, I nearly died, and now my mom has cancer. In retrospect, I can see where I did the thing again. I went on autopilot, but I also deferred. In my own mind I was reeling. Was this why I felt so strongly that I HAD to come back? Was God going to take me through loss AGAIN? I shut down. I could not allow myself to feel. So, I didn’t.
My sisters were amazing. Me, not so much. I was dealing with my own postpartum/post-surgery issues, learning about babies while my husband was at work and the whole time my mom is keeping a brave face battling this hideous disease.
I remember being so incredibly insensitive. I flat out asked her how much time she had. I needed to know. I don't know why I needed to know, but I needed to know. Not once thinking about how SHE may feel. She told me she didn't want to know, she just wanted to live. And I thought, “How could she NOT want to know?”
I'm still so mad at myself for being that insensitive, but I think my 23-year-old self was so scared and I didn't know what was going to happen to me. Who would be my mom when she was gone? Who would be Paige’s grandmother? What would happen to my family? Selfish right? But I'm being honest.
I didn’t want her to be sick. I didn’t want her to die when we had just finally gotten to such a good point in our relationship. And I was pissed. Pissed at her, pissed at the hand I was being dealt, she was being dealt, and really pissed at God.
My sisters took her to her doctor’s appointments and chemo. I could not make myself see her that way. She had always been so damn headstrong and had survived so much that I couldn't see her as vulnerable, even though she was.
And I wonder, was she scared?
It was late one night, and mom was in her recliner with the side table lamp on. I had put Paige down and Jerry was already in bed when I told her I loved her and was going to bed myself. I asked her if she wanted me to turn the light out and she said no. I thought that was so odd because anyone who knew my mom knew she needed pitch black and quiet to sleep well, but I went on to bed.
Her boyfriend woke us up and said something was wrong, it sounded like she was chewing ice. Jerry and I immediately jumped up.
I knew when I walked into her room it was bad. Her eyes were set to one side and she was clenching her jaw, grinding her teeth (hence the chewing ice sound) and she wouldn't respond to me.
I had Jerry stay with her while I called 911. By the time they arrived I had made sure I had all her medications out for them to know what she was taking. They got her on the stretcher and went to the hospital.
We followed, along with my tiny baby who was 4 months old at the time. I don't remember driving there, I'm sure Jerry did. But I do remember the doctor telling me she had a massive bleed in her brain, and they needed to operate.
My sisters weren't there, and I'm not sure if I called them right then or not, but I know she had brain surgery.
They removed 1/3 of her brain and she would need extensive occupational and physical therapy for some time afterward. The surgery affected short term memory and her speech, but I do remember when she started waking up over the next couple of days, she would just say, "owie, owie, owie." Over and over. I felt so awful. Did we do the right thing? Is this worse? Should we have let her go then?
But I kept on acting like everything was okay, even though it wasn't. My whole world was crashing around me and all I had was Jerry and my baby. And all I could hear in my brain was “this can’t be happening again” “I’m going to be an orphan”. “This is NOT happening”, “just act normal Terri.” And so, I tried. Because this was all I knew to do.
Mom would recover enough to regain her sense of humor and for that I'm so thankful. When she was young and whining about being bored, her grandmothe
r told her to learn her ABC's backwards and when she did that, then they'd talk about something to do. AFTER her huge brain surgery, even with her struggle to get the right words out, this lady could still say her ABC's backwards like we say them normal. That made me happy. She was still in there, just not in the same way.
I was still angry though and talking to God was the last thing I wanted to do. I wanted to be angry, I think I needed to be angry. But all that anger and hurt was inside of me. On the outside, I did my best to act like life was going on as planned.
Except it wasn’t.
My mom was always quite a character and stubborn. I always admired that about her. She would leave rehab to go live with my sister Diane, my other sister Dottie, left her family and missed her son's high school graduation to come care for her there. And I let them because I couldn’t. Even writing about this now has me emotional again.
I was busy learning to be a mom and wife. Jerry still liked to drink his beer, but it was only beer after all. But thinking back, even then, I had issues with his excessive drinking. We had moved into an apartment by then (then into a rental house briefly) when mom's place sold, and it was our first real shot at doing it all on our own. My other sister Debbie helped me pay the deposit to even get in the apartment and I repaid her, but it took me much longer than I told her it would. I had no idea how to handle all of it right then. Ironically, I helped mom as a kid, but couldn’t manage my own. Of course, money was always tight, and I was always worried about finances.
I was working for a tool company and we found an in-home daycare for Paige so I could go back to work to help with money. Leaving her with these people was the hardest thing I had to do. But we needed my income to survive.
Chapter 13
Trying to Survive
I would go see mom as often as I could, but I always had Paige with me because I didn't trust Jerry to be responsible even though he was "just" drinking beer. She was a tiny baby after all and if he happened to pass out while I was gone, what would happen if she needed something and he didn't wake up? So, she went EVERYWHERE with me. To the hospital, grocery store, you name it. I thought this was normal. All guys worked all day and came home and drank beer and watched sports. I had no way of knowing any different.
The only normal I had ever seen were my sisters families and even though their husbands didn’t do this, some husbands did, right?
I was at the hospital one night and my dear friend Baelie was there with me. Paige had just turned a year old a few weeks before. I found myself alone in the hospital room with mom.
She was semi-comatose, and I could tell she was struggling to figure out who was there. Oh, this is so hard for me to even go back to, but I'm going to.
I used to hate when my mom would cry when I'd sing. As a kid, you're like, "why are you crying?" and you don't want to see your mom cry. As an adult I realize it was because she was so very proud, and she loved me so much.
So that night, alone, in that hospital room, all I knew to do was sing to her. Her favorite song, songs we sang together, anything so she would know it was ME that was there.
"Oh Lord My God, when I in awesome wonder, consider all the worlds thy hands have made....." By the time I got through the chorus, my sweet momma had tears on her face, and I knew then that she knew it was me.
I told her it was okay and that I would be okay (BIG LIE) and then I softly sang "Have Thine Own Way Lord" to her. A song we had sung together so many times.
I kissed her cheek and went home and something in my gut told me to turn around, go back. But I had left Paige with Jerry, so I was so torn. I went home to my baby.
I got the call early early in the morning that she was gone. On the way to my sister's house, "Come Sail Away": by Styx came on and I just thought, "how appropriate." Anyone who knew my mom knows how much she loved music of all genres and I played the heck out of some Styx during my younger years.
In a span of 13 years, I lost my dad and my mom. To say I clung to Jerry would be an understatement. But he was all I had. My sisters had their own families, I had Jerry and Paige. At least that's what I believed.
I remember feeling so incredibly lost, but I didn't want anyone to see my weakness. I'm not sure that I could fully accept what had just happened.
I handled things the way I always had, "as long as I act like everything is normal, then no one will know." (Told you it was a recurring theme).
We had a memorial service for mom at the church our preacher had moved to, she was cremated, and I had to move on.
In the meantime, there had been several arguments about Jerry's drinking, about his insistence to control all the money, his lack of interest in being an "active" part of his daughter's life.
He worked a full-time job and came home and drank beer until he passed out. Usually right after dinner. I also worked a full-time job and was handling drop off and pick up of our daughter myself. Along with laundry, shopping, cooking. I thought doing it all was what all moms did. Yes, I had sisters who were married and seemed to have it all together, but it's not like I felt like I could confide in them or even ask them what I should do. But I know that I absolutely did not want them to think bad of Jerry.
The only normal I ever saw was my sister Dottie and Paul. And let's just say, everyone should have the kind of love they share. Every woman should have a Paul and every man should have a Dottie, or Diane, or Debbie, or even, Terri.
Jerry was no Paul.
But he was all I had. And I loved him. I didn't realize what was happening slowly, how controlling all the money, barely allowing me enough to get what I needed for our daughter, he was laying the groundwork.
His mother flew us out to Oklahoma for Christmas and during that trip, I met Jerry’s best friend and his wife. We all got along great. They had a son just a few months older than Paige.
We were all going to the movies one night, the drive-in. His friend’s wife asked me if I was okay with Debbie being there. I must’ve looked really puzzled because she said, “you know, Debbie. Jerry’s ex-wife.”
Now, I only knew about his sons mom, who he had a child with and the high school marriage. I had never even heard the name Debbie. But I told her I would be fine. Inside, I was seething. Engage auto-pilot. But in my mind I was thinking, “what else has he lied to me about?”
On the way back to his mom’s house from their place I made him stop the truck. And I asked him if there were any more skeletons in the closet I needed to know about? He said, “no” and I’m not sure I believed him, but I am sure I wanted to.
We flew back home and resumed our California lives. Until…………………………..
One day, he said, "your mom is gone, you have nothing left here, (I did, family) you'd rather be in Arkansas anyway, let's go." So, not long after mom's death, we sold everything we owned, packed what we could in a small U haul trailer and left California.
Of course, Jerry drank the whole time he was driving, and I remember being so terrified. He never got drunk, but he was drinking until we would stop for the night. I knew better than to say anything as that would result in a verbal argument and I was not going to argue in front of my young daughter (not quite 2). So, I kept my mouth shut and prayed.
I had to visually make myself see our car as a small child's toy that God had his hand on, guiding to even manage my fear.
We made it through the first mountainous area in the high desert of California when we realized my little 4-cylinder car was not going to pull this U haul all the way to Arkansas. Mom's boyfriend at the time she passed, Paul, lived in Bullhead City, AZ. We took out what we needed from the U haul and left the rest there to pick up later.
We stopped for gas in Albuquerque and we all ran in to use the restroom. We got about 15 miles down the road when Jerry realized he didn't have his wallet. He had put it on top of the car when he was filling up.
We immediately turned around and went back, but it was gone. Along with all of the money we had. EVERY. LAST. PENNY.
This was late 80's so long before cell phones and Venmo or even Walmart money transfer. We were in New Mexico with no way to get further than the tank of gas we just bought and no way to eat.
The only thing I had was my jewelry, some of which my mom gave me. Crying uncontrollably, with Jerry promising me he would get it back or replace it, I gave him the treasured things I had on. He sold it all at a local pawn shop.
I think I cried until we got to Oklahoma. I had nothing left of my mom's. Not even the beautiful little "love" ring she bought all her girls and herself.
I had Jerry and I had Paige and we were staying with his folks in Oklahoma until we could get to Arkansas. And I desperately needed my sister and brother in law.
Chapter 14
Selective Amnesia
*** Trigger warning *** to anyone who's suffered abuse, this may be difficult to read.
Do you ever have selective amnesia? Like you remember some things so vividly, but others are just a blur? Or they are foggy?
That's how I am about actually getting TO Arkansas. But I do remember we moved into a little duplex off Kibler Road in Van Buren. It just happened to be the same duplex I lived in as a teen with my Danny Ray’s sister.
Jerry's folks brought us some furniture. A table with red rounded back chairs and a metal frame bed (full sized) for he and I. We already had a couch, though I'm not sure how we had a couch. Isn't that weird?
Jerry got a job at a local cabinet shop and I worked part time at a small local grocery store.
One day, Danny Ray just showed up at my house. I'm sure his sisters (who I had been in contact with) told him I was back in town. I was nervous, but happy to see him. We had managed to remain friends, so there was nothing to worry about.