My first marriage was your typical fairytale story. We were best friends in high school and then fell in love. We knew everything about each other and always had a reason to laugh. I married Ken at 21 years of age, and we moved into a two-bedroom apartment. It was the typical life really. We were both working, he was going to school, and we were saving to build our first home. I had purchased 3 acres before we had even started dating. It was an investment and I had hoped to one day be able to build a home on that piece of land.
I can only recall one fight the entire time we were building our home. They say if you can survive building a home together you can survive anything. He was the calm to my storm and fighting wasn’t something we really did. He always knew what to say to make it all be ok again. We moved into our home around our one-year anniversary. Life was simple but it was good. We pinched pennies to make it work and went without extravagant vacations or expensive material things. Looking back, I don’t think we should have rushed to build a home like we did. It was fun living in a small apartment and not really having any responsibility. Unfortunately, we had the “what’s next” mentality, and we didn’t take the time to enjoy the moment. Looking back now, I kick myself for rushing life.
Well, what was next? Now it’s time to start a family! Isn’t that what people do next? We got pregnant just shy of our three-year anniversary. I know it was August, but I can’t recall the actual date. I remember telling Ken I was pregnant. I don’t know if it was a look of shock or a look of panic. It happened much faster than we both had anticipated. I figured we would be trying for a few months, at least, but I was pregnant less than a month after going off the pill.
The first baby is always so exciting. We were in a good place with our home, our jobs and with each other. Our parents were delighted that we were expecting. The holidays were right around the corner. What could be better than hanging out with family during the holidays? Since being married, Ken and I would always stay later than everyone else at my parent’s home on the holidays. We would play cards and laugh. My memories of those holidays are good ones. That Christmas though, ken said he didn’t want to stay. He said he had a headache. What? A headache? Are you kidding me right now? This is our last Christmas without a baby, and he was going to complain about a little headache?
Disclosure: This post may contain affiliate links. If you make a purchase through them,
I may receive a commission at no cost to you. For this, I thank you.
We went home and I told my mom that I would call if we would be coming back later to play cards. His headache got worse. He wasn’t much for complaining but I was hormonal and a young selfish girl. I didn’t care that his head hurt. I just figured he was blowing it out of proportion. The headache went away later that night.
It was January 31, 2006. Ken woke up that morning for work and got ready as per our routine. I started getting ready for work as well. He complained of a headache again. I asked him if he wanted me to get him anything to take and he told me no. He left for work, and I left shortly thereafter.
I got a call from my mom a few minutes after I arrived at work. She told me Ken had been in an accident. I immediately started sobbing. My mom told me she would be there to pick me up and take me to hospital. I was in no condition to be driving. The hormones of pregnancy didn’t help matters either. The car was already at the wrecker when we drove by. Things move fast in a small town, I guess. The thing is, when I looked at the car, I couldn’t rationalize why we were going to hospital. “What the flip Ken, the car looks like you hit a mailbox. Why are you at the hospital?”
We arrived at the hospital, and it is obvious that something is wrong. He can’t find his words and he is very confused. I asked him what happened, and he told me that he doesn’t know. He explained that his head started hurting so badly that he decided to turn around and go back home. He had gotten out of the car and had fallen. He was found in the middle of the road by a passerby and that angel called 911. Later I found out that Ken repeatedly said, “don’t call my wife.” He was concerned, even then, about me. He knew it was better if someone else got a hold of me because my reaction to the events would have been too much for me to handle. They didn’t listen, of course, but called my sister-in-law instead thinking that was his wife. She had the same last name as I. Ken’s mother then called my mother. They all knew I would flip out. It would have been best if my mom called and told me, no one else.
Our family doctor arrived, and he didn’t seem too concerned. He indicated that he should just go home. I didn’t agree with this answer. Something was wrong with my husband. Why did this happen? We needed to find out. By this time, he was fine. It was as if nothing had happened. I went with my gut and transferred him to a larger hospital, with the direction of another doctor, north of us.
They prepared him for a procedure that sent dye into his brain to see if there was a blockage. He changed into his hospital gown, and I saw him before he went in. I remember kissing him and telling him I loved him. He did the same and he walked away from me. I can still picture him walking away from me and I tear up as I recall it. That was the last time he would ever walk away from me like that again.
Test results confirmed that Ken had experienced a TIA that morning when he was driving. Most of us know commonly refer to that as a mini stroke. During his procedure they had found a blockage in his brain. When they dissolved the clot, he ended up having a full-blown stroke. He was 24 years old. I was 6 months pregnant.
When Ken finally came home it was like having a child in an adult’s body. I think we all had this mindset that it was like being in a car accident. It would just get better with time. It didn’t get better with time. Knowing what I know now I would have had him admitted to a facility that specialized in the rehabilitation of stroke patients. There, he would have had 40 hours a week of therapy. When someone has a stroke, a part of their brain dies. In order to regain what one has lost; you have to retrain your brain to use other parts of itself. My husband had lost all fine motor skills in his right hand, he could barely walk with a cane, and he had significant aphasia.
Our daughter, Faith, arrived April 24th. My mom had to drive us to the hospital when I was in labor because Ken could no longer drive. I would not have been able to get through that pregnancy without her. She was my Lamaze partner (Lamaze class was in the basement of the hospital and Ken could not do stairs yet). She was at my side during the birth of my daughter. Not only did I need to lean on her, but Ken also needed to lean on her.
I cried a lot those first few months. I remember asking God “why” more times than I can count.
My daughter would never know the feeling of her daddy throwing
her in the air. I was so focused on the negative that I didn’t give myself a hot second to fully realize my blessings. I didn’t lose my husband. His daughter was still going to know him. She would know a father’s love.
It’s hard sometimes to focus on what we have and rather focus on what we don’t have at times. It’s an easy thing to do. If we aren’t careful our minds will take us to a place filled with self-pity and sadness. I believe the only reason I didn’t lose my shit was because I had a baby to take care of. No one else was going to do it for me. She kept me going. I had to get up in the morning and get her out of her crib, change her, feed her, because no one else was going to.
I should have realized how much worse it could have been. I just kept telling myself what a negative situation it was. For crying out loud, the first child is supposed to be a magical adventure shared by both parents and I told myself the adventure had been stripped from me. I was very negative for a very long time. I should have just been thankful that our daughter was able to know her father.
I read this story somewhere, the author is unknown, but I think it’s spot on.
An old Cherokee told his grandson, “My son, there is a battle between two wolves inside us all. One is Evil. It is anger, jealousy, greed, resentment, inferiority, lies and ego. The other is Good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, humility, kindness, empathy, and truth.”
The boy thought about it, and asked, “Grandfather, which wolf wins?”
The old man quietly replied, “The one you feed.”
Was your pregnancy anything but perfect? What's your story?
Commentaires