408 days to go

June 25th – 1 year 1 month and 13 days from today

8.43am Just sharing my load so it’s lighter on my shoulders.

“I don’t want to see you again”
“I can’t wait for you to leave”
“You are the worst thing that happened to me”
“I hate you”
“You are useless”
How can you say things like that? You are supposed to love me…
January 2012 “Just do the test and you’ll know” “No, I’m not pregnant. I can’t be pregnant. I wanted 4 kids, I have four kids. That’s it.”
February 2012. Two weeks before my 40th birthday. “You HAVE to do the test. You can’t live like that, and me neither. Just get a test and pee on it” “Ok, if by tomorrow nothing happened, I’ll get one”
Next day. “WTF… This can’t be true.” “You wanted 4 kids, now you’ll have 5… It’s even more of what you wanted”. “No, you don’t understand, I can’t do it. Do you remember the last time how bad it was? I could have died. I’m afraid of death. I just can’t do it”. “I’ll be there” “No, you won’t… You were not there the last 4 times and I don’t believe you’ll be there this time either”. That day, I could have won the award of “Most Quiet and Immobile Person in the World”. I just sat there, looking at nothing in the living room for hours. I saw my world fading.
I spend the rest of February, March and half April asking God to take my baby. Every single time I went to the toilet I looked to see if I found blood in my panties. “Please God, don’t test me this way, I can’t do it”.
Three months had passed. No blood. The baby was there to stay. So I did what I’ve always done. I took more care of that baby than of myself and tried to get the idea that I was having another child.
The man went with me to every appointment to the doctor, hospital and midwife.
May 2012. I twisted a muscle and couldn’t walk. I had to ask for help to pick my kids from school. I hated it. As I hated being called “Useless”. “Please, that hurts. You promised you were not going to say that anymore”.
End of May 2012. International Evening at school. I ate something that really didn’t agree with me and I was SICK… The kind of sick that you can’t leave the toilet, have goosebumps, sweat, and wonder which exit the food is going to take… Up or down… Or both… I was folded because of the pain and begging the man to hold me because I thought I was having an abortion and was going to die. He looked at me in a really cold way and left me there. And I swear I saw hate in his eyes.
August 2012. “I can’t do this anymore, I want this baby to be born NOW. I’d like to have a c-section”. “No, we only do that for medical reasons” “It’s my body and I want to choose, please tell her it’s my body” “No, I don’t want you to do that” “Do you understand that I can’t go through that experience again?” “She’ll change her mind”.
September 2012. “Ok, the baby is now 38 weeks and I need him to leave my body NOW” “Why?” “Because I’m scared, I won’t survive another delivery” “We’ll talk again next week” I left crying and kept crying for days. “Please, take me to Germany, they will do a c-section, no questions asked. It’s my body” “I don’t know, it’s not natural” “Leaving 4 or 5 kids without a mom is not natural either, please take me to a place where somebody listens to me and does what I want”.
He was there, but he wasn’t there. I felt that way. He wasn’t listening to me. Not supporting me. And what it was even worse, deciding for me.
40 weeks… No baby, no c-section, no induction… And no name. The man didn’t like the name I had chosen. “Everything is ready. Even my mom is here. Please, we need to choose a name. It’s called “nesting”. If my nest is not ready, my baby won’t be born… And I will die if that doesn’t happen soon” “You are overreacting” “No, I’m suffering, can you see that? I’m begging all the fucking doctors to help me and they are not doing it. And you are not helping either, can’t you see I’m desperate”.
41 weeks… 40.5 years old… In the car, on the way to the hospital, I was going to be induced (or I was going to sue them) “I want you to know that I HATE THIS PLACE AND ALL IT’S PEOPLE… And it’s not because I’m hormonal, it’s because they can help but they choose not to do it, and you became one of them. And I don’t care anymore if you like the name Aristeo or not, I just decided, his name will be Stefano, like my brother and all the first born boys in my family. I don’t care he’s the 4th… ” “I don’t like the name” “Too bad, you had the time to choose and you didn’t do it… This baby will be born in a couple of hours and his name is Stefano” “But I was going to say that Aristeo was fine” “Then get a dog and name him Aristeo, because this baby’s name is Stefano”.
I will not write much about that day in the delivery room because you will think that I’m stupid… That I should have punched the doctor in the face or kick the nurse in the eyes. But if my last experience was BAD… This one was twenty times worse… I was fully open but didn’t have the reflex to push. “We’ll give you some hormones so you can start pushing” So the nurse took my arm and started searching for the veins. She couldn’t find them. I must have passed out because I don’t remember what happened, I only saw my arm completely blue and the man later said: “She was searching with the needle inside your forearm and saying “I’m sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry” like ten times, but I had to stop watching because I was going to faint.
One hour later. “Please, call Stefano, tell him to come out. I can’t push anymore, I’m exhausted, he’ll listen, you are his dad”. “No, enough, you are unreasonable now, I won’t do it”. “Please, I beg you”. He didn’t call Stefano. I looked at him, my eyes filled with tears and I saw again hate in his eyes.
The fucking student doctor (because I was that lucky, I got a 25 years old wannabe doctor), got tired of being there and wanted to leave the room and as I saw that she started removing the gloves, I pushed with all my strength and let Stefano partially out, so she had to come back. And then a second push, and Stefano was out and the stupid doctor failed to hold him, and dropped him, and thank God he fell on the lowered bed and not on the floor.
Seconds later I had Stefano on my chest, I looked at him and said: “Please forgive me”.
Next day we left the hospital. After one hour at home, I sent the man to get more diapers and started breast feeding. A couple of minutes later, Stefano stopped breathing and turned purple. I started shouting at my mom. She took Stefano and started shaking him. I was begging God not to take him from me. And shouting “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Please God don’t take him”. Guilt. I’m going to carry that for the rest of my life.
I called the man crying: “Please, come here, Stefano is not breathing” When he got home, Stefano was breathing and everything was back to normal. I was still trembling and crying. “See, you always overreact”.
How could he say that to me? I needed a hug, or an “it’s ok, I understand you panicked”… He was just cold. I saw hate in his eyes again.
October 2012 My dad was also visiting. We were supposed to go all together to town by car to do some shopping, my parents were going to leave 2 days later. We had a fight and the man said: “I’m not driving you to town, if you want to go, take the bus”. “Come on, don’t do that to us, we’ll never get there on time if we go by bus” “Then stop being useless and get the driver’s license”. Oh no, you didn’t said that… I had to swallow my rage and tears because my parents were there listening to every word said.
Once on the bus I said to my mom: “That was the last time he called me useless”
One week later I left him. I know that 20 months have passed since then and that we are still living in the same house. But that’s going to change soon. I need the approval from the owner of the house NOW.

And I also need a drink. A Martini Bianco please, make it double.

~ by DotedOn on June 25, 2014.