That Wasn't Even The Half Of It- The First Time Part 2

The doctor walked in the room and said, "Well the good news is, we have a diagnosis.  You have PCOS- Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome." After the relief of knowing there was a name for what I was going through, reality set in. Out of control weight gain, hair growing in places it shouldn't, fertility problems, extreme hormonal fluxuation and unpredictable periods, to name a few symptoms. I was 21 years old and facing a future that would include daily medications, managing some pretty unfortunate symptoms and some bleak possibilities.

For the next few years it wasn't so bad. Once they found the right birth control pill to manage my cycle I hardly had any pain. But the December after my 25th birthday the medication stopped working so my doctor decided to try a different approach.

A few months later I went back for my annual exam and when my doctor read the results of my blood tests she said that the window for the possibility of ever getting pregnant was closing. As a matter of fact, even with fertility treatment, it might already be gone.

At that point in my life I had learned an important lesson: Once you lose your virginity it's gone, period. I never felt the same. Another thing I knew was that having sex with someone you loved was amazing.  After a very confusing and traumatic "first time" I no longer felt any motivation to restrain myself. I also was in a long distance relationship so everytime I saw my boyfriend we were staying over at each other's apartment. The temptation was too great. And my greatest motivation to wait was gone.

We had been talking about getting married and I told him that after watching friends and family jump into marriage before they really had a chance to get to know one another, I had decided that I would not get married before I had dated someone for all four seasons. We had met in the summer on my birthday and so we talked about getting married the next summer, on my birthday.

But that spring I was beginning to have my doubts. My close friends and family were worried about me too. I kept trying to convince myself that the warning signs were in my head. Not to mention the fact that I felt like my chances at being a mother were fading fast.

After my change in medication, we started using condoms. But we weren't that careful. I was told that I was not ovulating on my own anymore and besides, I was in a monogamous relationship.

At the beginning of June I found out I was pregnant. I was thrilled, disappointed, scared, confused, torn and worried, to name a few of the emotions I was experiencing at the time. I was expecting to elope the next month but I knew that decision was a cop-out on my end. I told myself we were going to run off and get married because he had been married before but deep in my heart I knew I was doing it because none of my close family and friends would be excited about this wedding and really deep down I suspected I wasn't either.

People who loved me were worried and I hadn't even told them about some of the things he had done. I was so confused but I was so in love with this man. I believed in the possibility of who he could become but I knew I didn't trust him.

So I suggested we take a vacation. I thought I would be able to figure out what to do after we had some concentrated time together. The last week of June we packed up the car and drove to Washington DC. His parents had given us a week in their time share and we stayed in Virginia in a beautiful, romantic park overlooking a waterfall.  The whole week I felt like I should be happy but I wasn't. We fought on several occasions but at other moments he treated me like a princess. I finished the week as confused as ever. The only decision I made was that I wasn't going to tell anyone about the baby until after the wedding, including him. At the very least I wanted to know he was deciding to marry me for me, not because of an unplanned pregnancy.

The day, well almost the minute that I got home from our trip my sister called. I don't remember the conversation that well. All I know is that she said she had to tell me something that she knew would hurt me. She said, "Your fiancé was accused of having sex with a woman at a party the week before you went on vacation." My sister said that this woman was saying that it was a rape. I was shattered. I never thought I could hurt that bad.

Hours later, after I had somewhat composed myself and after I knew he had had enough time to drive from Grand Rapids back to Indiana, I called him. Through my tears I told him what I knew. I never even asked if it was true. It was beside the point. I knew it was over. A few days later I drove to Indiana to see him once more face to face. He spoke the words that I couldn't. We went through the details of breaking up. We gave keys back and I gathered the things I had at his apartment and we said goodbye.

A few weeks later I panicked. Again, reality started to set in and I had to decide how to deal with the fact that there was a baby in my belly. I wrote him a letter begging him to go to counseling, talk to my pastor, go to his parents for help, do any and everything to make it up to me and promise to become the man I knew he really wanted to be.

Weeks passed and I heard nothing. Then I started bleeding.  I went to the doctor and there was no detectable heartbeat. I had lost the baby. At that time I still hadn't told anyone about the baby. I had the procedure alone. Then went onwith life trying to pretend like nothing had happened. A few weeks later, as my head started to clear, I knew I needed to be tested for STDs and HIV.  I was so ashamed of myself that I decided to never tell anyone about my baby or any of it . . . until last year.


Why last year? Well, I was 41 years old, strangely sick and no one could tell me why. It wasn't the PCOS. Six years ago I had started hemmoraging really bad, after bleeding for nine months straight. I was 35 years old and I had to have a radical hysterectomy- no more ovaries, no uterus, no cervix. It was all removed. I had grown a cyst the size of a football so it all had to come out.

Now I was throwing up all the time and no one knew why. Last year, in about May, I began to wonder if the secrets and pain of the past were making me sick. I decided to try to find him, after 15 years, and tell him about the baby, to talk about everything. The details of that conversation don't matter. He doesn't matter anymore. But I knew that telling him was only the first step in coming clean.  

I had to tell those people who loved me the most. One by one, I very unpoetically blurted out my story. It's been hard, really emotionally exhausting, but in the end good. Which is why I'm now telling you. Maybe my story can help someone else make better choices than I did. I haven't stopped throwing up all the time yet, but here's hoping.