My greatest adversity, my greatest blessing

Do you know what is required to get pregnant? Not just the basic "birds and the bees," but the nitty gritty biological stuff that has to happen for a new life to form? There has to be a perfect synchronization of hormones, temperature, pH, uterine lining thickness, timing of the release of the egg from the fallopian tubes and strong little swimmers all arranged in a dramatic, perfectly timed, crescendo. It's not as easy as it sounds. And all I could think sitting in that very cold, very depressing Enmark bathroom on that February day was, "Please, don't let that perfect crescendo have happened inside my very not-ready-for-human-life, 14-year old uterus." I knew it was happening. I had broken a pact with God. You shouldn't break promises that you make to God.

You see, three months earlier I had had a similar experience. I had lost my packet of birth control pills, been too scared to tell my mom that I had been irresponsible with my birth control, and foolishly continued having sex with my boyfriend knowing that I wasn't taking my pill. When my period was late that month, I made a pact with God. "God, I know I have been incredibly stupid and irresponsible and if you will just pull me out of it this one time, I promise never, never to do it again. Really, I won't. I will take my birth control religiously for the rest of my natural life and never, never lose it again. And if I do lose it, I promise not to have sex. And if I do, you can make me pregnant. I swear it." I shouldn't have sworn. My birth control pills disappeared again, I was still too scared to tell my mom I had lost them, and I still let my boyfriend convince me it was fine for us to keep having sex.

So, there I was in that awful gas station bathroom praying to God, the Universe, the Goddess, my ancestors and anyone else who would listen to please, please, please, please, please do not let me be pregnant. It felt like I had time to read novels as the seconds ticked by and we watched that stupid little stick. Until finally there they were, two perfect, and quite bright, little pink lines. Joey was thrilled, and I knew that my entire world had just collapsed.

What were we going to do? My mother was going to kill me! My daddy was gonna kill him! Maybe we should just run away somewhere and never tell them. Oh wait, we can't do that because neither one of us can drive and we don't have jobs. What were we going to do?

And this single moment is the reason that I still support pro-choice legislation for abortion. Because, until you have been a very scared 14 year old girl sitting in a gas station bathroom holding a positive pregnancy test, you cannot imagine how important it is to have all of your options open and on the table.

As we drove back to my house, which was really my mom's friend's house where we were living in the basement because my mom had had to sell our house when she couldn't afford the payments, Joey chattered on and on about how great this was going to be and how he was going to do everything. He was going to buy the crib and baby clothes and take care of us both and it was going to be just great. And all I could think was, "You are a crazy person! You have lost your mind. This is most definately not a moment to be celebrating. How am I going to tell my mom?!"

And truthfully, 14 1/2 years later, I don't even remember how I broke the news to my mom. But I know she freaked out! It was a horrible, horrible time for all of us. We were living in that basement and my mom started taking the phone with her to work everyday, driving me to school, and making me ride the bus to her office after school. I wasn't allowed to go anywhere else, talk to any of my friends, or generally leave her sight except to go to school. And seriously, can you blame her? Her 14-year old, heretofore perfect daughter, was pregnant after all. But, after a few weeks of that coupled with the incredible tension in the house, I decided I had no choice but to get away from her because she had totally flipped! I managed to sneak a call to Joey and arranged for him to pick me up from school the next day right after she dropped me off. I never even walked into the school.

My epic adventure in running away lasted all of about 12 hours. I wound up going to my friend's house where all of my friends had gathered and the police picked me up. I was taken to a shelter for runaways in downtown Asheville. My mom came to pick me up, but sent me to stay with a friend of hers because she apparently couldn't stand the sight of me (again, can you blame her really for needing a cooling-off period?). I stayed with her friend for a few days until I finished up my suspension from school. Seriously, they can suspend you just for not walking into the school? Evidently, yes. The whole experience was for the best because the shelter offered counseling which we participated in and it really helped my mom to accept my pregnancy. After a few sessions we were back on at least speaking terms and she was coming to grips with my decision to keep the baby. In the meantime, we moved out of Angie's basement and into a new place in Weaverville.

While we were living there, my biological father made a trip to North Carolina, the first time he had ever come to visit us, and only the fourth time I could remember seeing him. I guess Randy was feeling guilty about the predicament we were in and the fact that he had never contributed a single freaking thing to my life and he suggested to my mom that we all move to Charleston together so that he could help her take care of me and the new baby. As it turns out, on further reflection, he decided that was actually not such a good idea. After my mom had given notice on our house and her job, Randy called to say he had changed his mind. In her desperation, my mom took a train to Florida to try and find Randy to talk to him. She didn't find him, but she did meet a guy on the train who seemed to connect with her and offered a place for her to live in Richmond. She spent a few weeks talking to him on the phone, and then as we were riding to the grocery store one evening in June she said, "Do you think any of your friends would let you stay with them for a month or so until I get set-up in Virginia?" I remember that being the strangest moment. Do I know anyone who is just dying to take in a pregnant 14 year old? Um, no, actually I don't. But I ran through my list of friends, ruling out everyone whose parents were just as poor as we were (which significantly narrowed the list down), and the friends I wasn't sure I could handle in my grumpy pregnant mood, and settled on "Maybe Ashlee." I was horrified when my mother pulled up to a pay phone and asked if I would call and see. Right then. That minute. As soon as the name left my lips. Call Ashlee and ask if her parents will take you in for awhile. But I did. I made the call. And to my utter amazement, they said ok. And that was the beginning of me trying to figure out how to take care of myself and pretty soon a baby, at 14 years old. Its strange looking back to realize how very in control I felt.  I knew I was keeping my baby and I had every confidence that I would make this work. Man was I crazy!