Not Another Abortion Story

 

Trigger Warning!

I am about to reveal very personal information about myself that might be uncomfortable for you to know about me. If you can’t handle it stop reading now!

I used to not share this information with folks because I was ashamed. Now, I don’t share it because it makes people uncomfortable.

 

Not Another Abortion Story

 

I just turned 17, when I found out I was pregnant with my daughter. I loved her from the moment I knew she was growing inside me. My father and stepmother were not so happy. I told my stepmother in the car, she was so shocked, she stopped the car in the middle of the highway. We drove home in silence. She flung open the door and screamed at my father, “YOUR DAUGHTER IS PREGNANT.”

After a cigarette my father declared I would get an abortion. He was worried about the shame I would bring to the family. He didn’t want people to find out his daughter was “whore.”

The next week was a blur of frenzied activities. I refused to go to the doctor because I was afraid, he would pay off a doctor to give me an abortion. I got in contact with pro-life attorneys, and they made sure my father knew he was being watched. I was given an ultimatum, end my pregnancy or get out of my father’s house.

It wasn’t a hard choice. I loved my baby. I would do anything for her. Even at 17, I understood some of what my decision would mean. I was giving up a privileged life. One with horses, horseback riding lessons, fancy vacations, opportunities for amazing international boarding high schools, and flying lessons. I knew my daughter’s life would be very different than mine, but I also knew that she would grow up with all my love.

I fought hard to keep my daughter. I gave up that life of privilege and my family. It was more than worth it. I loved being pregnant. I love being a mom. I love being Susan’s mom. I wish I could have given her an easier life, one where money wasn’t an issue, but I absolutely did the right thing.  If I knew now what I knew then I would make the same choice a million times over.

Pro-life folks are probably thinking this a great story! Look at the outcome! Pro-choice folks are also thinking this is a great story, a 17-year-old who fought to make a choice for her body!

When people ask about why I didn’t have a relationship with my father, this is the story I tell them. It doesn’t make people uncomfortable. They cheer me on. Sometimes, they tell me I should forgive him and I just shrug and change the topic.

I won the right to govern my body in that story. In this next story, I didn’t get to choose what happened to body. It did end happy.

Fast forward to 4 years after I gave birth to that perfect baby girl. My father, stepmom, and siblings were living in China. I talked to them maybe once month. I was 21 years old. I was the youngest retail manger at the portrait company where I worked. I worked crazy hours. I was proud of myself for not becoming the “white trailer trash welfare queen” that my father said I would become. I wasn’t able to provide for my daughter in the same ways my father provided for me, but I was providing for her and always giving her all my love. I was happy.

My father called and told me he was flying to the states to buy a helicopter for a client. He would be Tennessee mostly but wanted to know if I could spend the weekend with him in Indiana. I was excited to see him. It wasn’t that long ago, that I was “daddy’s little girl.” We talked about dinners, places we would shop, and all the fun we would have hanging out, the three of us. He said he couldn’t wait to get to know his granddaughter and spoil us both.

I rearranged my work schedule, picked outfits for me and my daughter to wear that weekend, and thought about the possibilities of what it meant to have my father in my life again. Maybe he would help pay for college? Maybe we could go visit them in China? Maybe I would be allowed to talk to my brother and sister again?

He was late getting in the first night. It didn’t matter because Susan was at her father’s house until the next morning. I told him I didn’t care what time he landed, I wanted to see him right away. Around 10pm, he called to say he finally made. He picked me up. Because it was so late, he decided we should just go to his hotel room and order room service.

I chatted nervously about my life, and he gave me updates on my stepmom and siblings on the drive there.

All the pleasantries ended when we got into the hotel room. In that room, he wanted to make it clear that my body was his and he would do whatever he wanted to it. I was raped. My father, the person who spent 17 years raising me, raped me.

I escaped that early morning with just some of my clothes. I called my boyfriend at the time to pick me up. I couldn’t even tell him what happened but somehow, he knew.

My father tried to call me the next day to sort things out. My stepmom called me, angry. “How could you have sex with my husband,” she spit into the telephone.

I shut down. I ignored that it happened. It was weeks later when I realized that my period was late. At the same time, I knew without a doubt that if I was pregnant, I would kill the cancerous cells growing in my womb.

You just read one of my most personal truths. Most of you probably wish you didn’t know something so personal about me. But that is just it, abortion is personal. I keep seeing folks debating on the laws around abortion.

“I can agree to abortions for life saving measures or in the cases of rape.” It took me 25 years to tell you I was raped. Do you really think, everyone can utter the words to their doctor or police just weeks after it happened?

“There is a statistic that 75% of women who had an abortion didn’t want one. This clearly shows that for most women it isn’t their choice.” Okay Karen, I didn’t want my wisdom teeth pulled either, but I still had that medical procedure done and no one forced me.

Abortions are a personal medical procedure. Your religion, your ethics, your thoughts don’t get to govern other people’s bodies.

We should trust folks to decide what is best for their bodies. There should not be a debate about when a woman gets to choose to have a medical procedure.

If you are against abortions fight for better medical care, fight for paid maternity leave, fight for fair housing, fight for childcare, fight to end hunger, fight to end poverty, fight for tougher rape laws- all of these things are proven to lower abortion rates.

Don’t fight against my ability to choose what is best for me.

Trauma

Trauma.

My body’s way of dealing with trauma is to shut down, block it out, get sick, ignore it, or move on. Not this time. This time my body said no more. I will not hold you together. I will not give you something you can blame on me. I can’t hold all the evil inside. I can’t give you a way out. I am no longer strong enough.

I collapsed into a puddle of tears, leaving my wife to pick up all the pieces. She text my boss from my phone to let her know I won’t make it to work. She finds a doctor. She walks me there. I haven’t stopped crying for three days. The doctor agrees with my wife on leave of absence. A plan is put in place. Medicine is prescribed.

I am horrified.

It takes me forever to do anything. I make a plan everyday on things I will accomplish. It never works out. I spend hours in silence. Get up I say to myself over and over. Just get in the shower. When I finally make it to the shower, I turn the water on so hot that my skin is bright red. I like the feeling. I stand there until the tabby cat comes in and meows obnoxiously. I put on the same dirty clothes and go back to sitting couch.

I try to block out the world. I try to forget the evil. I try to forget the trauma that my body refuses to hold for me. I have memories that play over and over in my head. I sit. I tell myself to get up, do something but I sit.

My body aches and my soul feels broken.

I worry. I worry about work. What will I tell my coworkers? My students? I worry about going anywhere. What if this happens again? What if I am out and all the sudden can’t move? I worry that my life has changed forever.

I wonder why the memories that play over and over again, don’t seem that traumatic in all of the trauma in my life. I wonder why my body refuses to hold me together. I wonder why I can’t just get up.

I cry. I cry for myself. I cry for the little girl I never got be. I cry for the adult that just kept on taking the punches the world threw at me. I cry for my wife.

If there was an answering machine for my body it would say, “You have reached Kim’s body. She isn’t here right now. If this is an emergency please call her wife.” For almost two weeks now she has taken care of every part of my life. I try to be grateful for having a safe and loving place to fall apart but it’s hard to feel gratitude through the pain.

I sit on the couch. I am scared. I am in pain. I cry. I worry. I feel. I feel too much. The feelings are holding me hostage. They won’t let me ignore them. 

Susan Ashley

I fell in love with my daughter when she was growing inside me. I couldn’t believe I could love so much. I was seventeen. I was kicked out of my father’s house. I had no money. I had very few possessions. As I was leaving my dad’s house he mumbled something like, “You are white trash. You will never finish high school. You will live off welfare and if you’re lucky you’ll end up in a nasty trailer park. Your baby will be just like you. It’ll have nothing and it will be your fault.”

I moved to Missouri in a small town, where my mother lived. My daughter’s father followed a month later. I was taking a home economics class. In this class, I learned that statistically my father was right. I probably wouldn’t finish High school. I would probably live on welfare and my baby, still growing inside me didn’t have much of a chance.

I moved back to Indiana. I was 8 ½ months pregnant. All of our belongings fit in a two door car. We moved into a very small one-bedroom apartment.

I gave birth to a beautiful, healthy daughter on July 10, 1993. When she was just hours old, I started crying because I knew that I already screwed up her life.

She started her life sleeping in a laundry basket. I married and divorced her father before she was 2. We moved six times before she was 5.  

I did some things right. I got my GED. I worked hard as a photographer. I read to her every night. (I love statistics and I read that reading to your child improved their chances academically.) There was always plenty of food and books in our home.

I got a lot wrong. Our power and phone were shut off more times than I care to remember. We were homeless for a short period.

I read another statistic that said the more college a mother has the more chances her child has at going to college. I enrolled. Susan was in middle school.

Some mothers dream of the day their daughter gets married, not me. I have always dreamt of the day that my daughter beat the statistics, despite me screwing up her life before she was even born. I’ve dreamt of the day she would graduate from college.

I love statistics but I knew I wasn’t raising a statistic. My daughter has proven over and over again that she can accomplish anything. She continues to rise above everyone’s expectation.

She graduates from college in a week and half!!!! I can’t begin to explain my joy and excitement. I am so proud of her.  I feel incredibly honored to be her mother. She is graduating with a degree in marketing and a minor in public relations. Did I mention she is graduating debt free? She is also getting paid to get her master’s degree.

Statistics

41 percent of young adults with LD complete post-secondary education within eight years of leaving high school, as compared to 52 percent of young adults without LD.

Children of teen mothers perform worse on many measures of school readiness, are 50 percent more likely to repeat a grade, and are more likely than children born to older mothers to drop out of high school.

Many children born to teen moms have behavioral problems, juvenile delinquency and conflict with authority.

Two-thirds of families begun by a young unmarried mother are poor. More than half of all mothers on welfare had their first child as a teenager.

Daughters of teen moms are three times more likely to become teenage mothers themselves.

Fat, Again

I am fat, again. It is so difficult to be back here. I promised myself when I started this blog that I would get below 200 pounds and never return to the 200s again. I promised myself that I would treat my body with the respect it deserved by exercising and eating healthy. I promised myself that I would work on my emotional crap by painting, running, and being more open with those around me.

I lied but I also felt that I was told a lie. I did everything I was supposed to do and it felt amazing. Then I was betrayed by own body, at least that’s how it felt.

It started over three years ago. I had a crazy pain caused by a rather large gallbladder stone. After surgery this happened, http://speakingaboutthat.blogspot.com/2013/04/tw-trigger-warning.html . I ate and ate some more but I also tried to cope with the memories in all the new positive ways I taught myself. I started getting depressed and crying all the time. I started screwing things up and forgetting to do really important things.

I ran my second marathon. (I was still trying.)

I ate.

Running became a challenge because I couldn’t feel my left side of my body. I started getting migraines and I was exhausted all the time.

My b12 and vitamin D levels were “dangerously low.” I was given vitamin supplements and b12 shots. I felt better but still exhausted.

I ran a half marathon (still trying). Had another surgery to repair the giant hole the first surgery left in my stomach muscles.

I ate.

I was tired.

I went work, ate, and slept. I had no energy.

Summer break, I slept, a lot.

My father died. I was grateful, numb, confused, and angry. I called my step mom to give her my condolences. She asked me how much I weighed. I had not talked to her in years and this was the question she asked.

I ate.

I slept.

I couldn’t figure out why I couldn’t do more. Why I couldn’t just get up and start running? Why I was hungry all the time? Why I was always exhausted and in pain? Why wasn’t I coping with my life anymore?

I went to a new doctor. He ran some new blood test. My iron was low, as was my B12 and D despite being on heavy doses of supplements. He also discovered that I wasn’t absorbing protein. He suggested that I stop eating gluten.

Two weeks after that I started feeling better.

It’s been two months since giving up gluten. I am not as hungry all the time. I am only sleeping 8 hours. I have a little bit more pep in my step. I am still not running but I have hope. I have so much hope that I signed up for a race April 2.

I am still fat but I am starting not to hate my body or myself for the extra fluff. My body and I went through and SURVIVED a lot these past few years. The fluff is my armor. It is my emotional crap and my bodies cry for nutrition. I hope I can start down a healthier road. I also hope when I look in the mirror it’s not with disgust with how I let myself go but instead with awe of how I survived.

Nana's Cookbook and the Kelley Thanksgiving

The beautiful china cabinet, dinning room table, china, elegant crystal and silver moved in at the same time as Lavender. These things didn't exactly fit the other things that moved in with her like the hockey stick coat rack.

These things, like almost everything Lavender owns, have sentimental value. They belonged to her Nana (grandma). In the past seven years, through the stories that Lavender's told, letters that were written from Lavender's grandfather when he was in the war, pictures, and a handwritten cookbook, I have learned a lot about the woman that was raised during the depression with 13 siblings, fell in love and stayed in love to the same man until she died years after him, fought for the rights of her disabled son to obtain a public education, and raised her granddaughter when her own daughter wasn't capable.

I wear her engagement ring. Lavender gave it to me at our "making it legal ceremony." It reminds me how powerful love can be and how much love can do. It reminds me to take care of my marriage and all the people I love.

Lavender and I don't have traditional holidays. We sometimes come close to what resembles how others celebrate. We sometimes do that "thing we usually do." We are a family that loves to celebrate so we ALWAYS celebrate.

This year for Thanksgiving we have three couch surfers staying with us, whom we have never met. We know that they are Atheist, Orthodox Christian, and Muslim. They come from all over the world. Of course Susan will be joining us. She is bringing her roommate from Twain and her boyfriend.  Our friends who fall into that category of "things we usually do" will be joining us for the 7th year. Our neighbor Mike who usually partakes in all of our family celebrations will be there. My cousin and his girlfriend, who live in Arizona and are more people we have never met, will hopefully be joining us too. This isn't the final list, at least I hope not. I hope we also have the usual "mind if we stop by" "can so and so also come" "is there room for me?" or the "we haven't seen so and so in forever so lets see if they can make it." This year we are celebrating on Friday after Thanksgiving, just in case you want to stop by.

We will celebrate the diversity of people. We will give thanks for the gift of being able to host and feed others. We will be thankful for the way that food and drink can bring together people. We will be grateful that the people who choose to come into our lives don't just tolerate each others religions, political views, gender, sexuality, education, and careers but celebrate these things and honor them.

This year, we will do this by gathering around Lavender's Nana's table and eating the recipes that she lovingly hand wrote. Recipes that she made to share with people she wanted to comfort, bring joy, or just feed in times of need. There are notes written next to some of these recipes like "My favorite" "Johns Favorite" and "Feeds 18." Food is an amazing gift and meant to be shared. I look forward to cooking with Nana on Thanksgiving and many more times. Out of all the meaningful gifts she left behind, this cookbook is my favorite. Sharing food is always an act of love for me.

Nana's Recipes that are being used for Thanksgiving 2015

Holiday Cheese Ball
6oz of smoked or chipped beef, diced fine
2 packages of cream cheese
8oz sharp cheddar cheese, grated
2tbsp. Worcestershire Sauce
1/4 cup  pickle relish
1/8 tsp of Tabasco sauce
1/4 tsp onion salt
dash of white pepper

Cream all ingredients together. Be sure they are mixed well. Form into ball and roll in chopped parsley or grated pecans. Serve with crackers.

Dinner Rolls
1 package of active dry yeast
1/4 cup of warm water
1 cup of boiling water
1/3 cup of butter
3 tbsp. sugar
1 tsp salt
1/2 cup of dry milk
3 1/2 to 4 cups of flour
1 egg

Soften yeast in 1/4 cup of warm water. Combine boiling water, butter, sugar, and salt. Cool to luke warm and add yeast mixture. Stir in beaten egg. Add dry milk. Beat in as much flour as possible and then continue to add enough to make soft dough, kneading 8 to 10 minutes. Put in a large bowl that has been oiled, turning dough to coat it all over. Cover and let rise in a warm place (85 degrees) until doubles, about 1 to 1 1/2 hours. Form dough into rolls. Brush top with butter. Fold in half to make parker rolls. Place on greased cookie sheet. Brush with melted butter. Let rise in warm place, until doubled, about 30 to 40 minutes. Bake at 375 for 15 to 20 minutes or until golden brown. Yields about 2 dozen.

Shoepeg Corn Salad

1 cup chopped celery
5 green onions chopped and the tops
1 green pepper
1 *can of corn
1 *can of party peas (I am not sure what part peas are but I am using frozen petite peas)
1 *can of French green beans
I medium jar of pimento (drain)
1/2 cup of oil
1 tsp of salt
3/4 cup vinegar
1 cup of sugar

Mix it all up.
*I am using frozen vegetables just because I prefer the taste of them to canned.

Cranberry Salad

1 pound of crushed cranberries
2 small boxes of strawberry jello
1 2oz can of crushed pineapple juice, do not drain
2 cups of sugar
2 cups of boiling water
crushed pecans

Mix and refrigerate

Nep's Dressing (Nep was the neighbor across the street)
First make the bread for dressing

1 cup of corn meal
1/2 cup of flour
2 eggs
1 cup of milk
1/2 cup of butter
1 cup of celery
1 cup chopped onions
1/2 tbsp. of sugar
1/2 tbsp. of tabasco sauce

Sorry, folks there is no directions here. I am guessing your mixing and  baking at 350 for 30-45 minutes.

Next
Corn Bread in pieces
12 slices of bread in pieces
1 cup of milk
1/2 cup of half and half
4 eggs
2 cups of broth
1 tsp of lemon pepper
1 tbsp. of chicken bouillon
1 tbsp. of poultry seasoning

Again no directions. I am guessing you mix wet ingredients toss in dry and bake 350 for 30-45 minutes.

Harvest Potatoes

32 oz frozen hash brown  potatoes, thawed
1 can condensed cream of soup
1 cup of sour cream
2 cups shredded cheddar cheese
1/2 cup butter
1 1/2 tsp salt
1 medium onion diced

Topping
2 cups cornflakes crushed
1/4 cup of butter melted

Grease 13x9 baking dish. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. In large bowl combine all ingredients except for topping. Spoon into baking dish. In small bowl combine topping ingredients. Sprinkle over potatoes. Bake 45 minutes or until bubbly.

Asparagus Casserole
3/4 pound grated cheese
10 or 12 crackers crushed
2 *cans of asparagus spears
slivered almonds
2 cans of cream of mushroom soup
1 stick of butter
1/4 cup of sweet milk

Mix grated cheese and cracker crumbs. Place half of the mixture on the bottom of a long Pyrex dish. Drain asparagus spears and arrange on crumb mixture. Sprinkle with almonds. Pour mushroom soup over this. Cut butter over this. Add remaining cheese and crumb mixture. Add the 1/4 cup of sweet milk. Bake at 400 degrees for about 45 minutes.
* I am using frozen asparagus. Canned asparagus is gross, according to Lavender.

Broccoli Casserole *This is something that often gets served at holidays because Susan and Lavender love it.

2 packages frozen broccoli
1 can mushroom soup
1 cup cheddar cheese grated
1 egg well beaten
1 cup mayonnaise (not salad dressing)
1 cup cheese cracker crumbs
salt and pepper
Combine other ingredients saving 1/2 cup of  cheese crackers. Combine with broccoli and spoon into a greased pan. Top with remaining crackers.  Bake in a 400 degree oven for 20 minutes.

Cocoa Cake (This cake recipe is on the first page and is marked "My Favorite Cake.")

1 cup boiling water
1 stick of butter
1/2 cup of cooking oil
4 tbsp. cocoa
2 cups sugar
2 cups flour
2 eggs
1/4 cup of buttermilk
1 tsp of soda
1/2 tsp salt
1 tsp vanilla

Combine water, butter, oil, cocoa heat until blended. Pour over sugar, flour, and eggs. Beat well. Add buttermilk, soda salt, and vanilla. Beat well. Pour into a greased 9X12 pan. Bake at 400 degrees for 20 minutes.

Topping
1 stick of butter
6 tbsp. of buttermilk
4 tbsp. of cocoa
1 box of powdered sugar

Combine butter, milk and cocoa. Bring to boil. Add powdered sugar. Pour over hot cake.

Mamie's Pumpkin Pie *I did an internet search and found some recipes similar to this with credit to Mamie Eisenhower. I am not sure because the recipes are not exact but I think the Mamie could be referring to First Lady Eisenhower.

3 egg yolks
3/4 cups brown sugar
1 1/2 cups pumpkin
1 cup of canned milk
1/2 tsp salt
1 package of plain gelatin
1/4 cup of water
3 egg whites, beaten
1 tbsp. pumpkin pie spice
1/4 cup of powder sugar
Pie crust

Cook egg yolks, brown sugar, pumpkin and milk in a double broiler. Dissolve gelatin in water with pumpkin spice. Cool. Then fold in egg whites and powdered sugar. Spoon into a  baked pie crust.

Easy Pecan Pie

1/3 cup of butter
1 cup of sugar
1 cup of light corn syrup
1/2 tsp salt
2 tsp vanilla
4 eggs
 1 cup of coarsely chopped pecans (The side note says, "I add a little more."
1 unbaked pie shell

Combine butter, sugar, corn syrup, salt, and vanilla beat well. Add eggs beat well. Stir in pecans. Pour into pastry shell. Bake at 375 for 45 to 50 minutes.

What I Wanted Vs What I Needed

I wanted a cat that would cuddle me all night long, even if it meant sleeping in uncomfortable positions. I wanted a cat that would convince me lying in bed for five more minutes was a good idea. (This is after of course I woke up at 5 a.m. to feed him.) I wanted a cat that would lay next to me while I lazily watched movies. I wanted a cat that would purr while I explained my hard day. I wanted a cat that always liked being petted.

Enter Flanker an incredibly handsome black cat. He could care less about petting. Waking up at 5 a.m. is necessary but going back to bed is just plain silly. It’s time to play. If his humans try going back to bed he brings them his toys and if that doesn’t work he zooms around the bed. There isn’t enough time for petting when you are trying to catch the red dot, attack an inanimate object that mocked you, steal things off the desk that really should be yours, run around the house, climb on everything, and kill the very dangerous fly. He doesn’t have time to listen to problems or cuddle on the couch. Moments matter and every moment needs to be spent playing, eating, or dreaming about playing. Sleeping with humans is a bad idea, after all he might miss something in the outside world if he didn’t sleep in his chair by the window.

The cat that I got gets me out bed, helps me view the world in wonder and play, and makes me laugh multiple times a day.

Moments Matter

I have a huge extended family on my mother’s side but I didn’t get to see them much. The moments that I have had with each of them touched me in ways that took the good parts of me and made them better, more loving, and more understanding.

I wrote a letter to my uncle several years ago because I wanted to try to express the importance of one moment he shared with me long ago. Saturday he passed away. I am grateful that I had the chance to tell him just how important this one moment we shared was in my life.

I try to remember that moments matter. You never know what small gesture you can do for someone that will give them the strength to continue.

Dear Uncle Stephen,

I have been writing this letter in my head for over a year now. Each time I start, the words just don’t seem to be there to explain how very important you have been to me. Then I found out that you are not in good health. This information makes me struggle even more with what and how I want to say this to you because I want to make sure that you know this is from  I want to make sure that you know this is from my heart and always has been and not something that has come to be because of your health. 

Some time ago, maybe 17 years ago? I was sitting on the couch at Grandma and Grandpa’s. You came and sat next to me. You put your arms around me and just held me. It and just held me. It was the first time I can remember being embraced by someone who wanted nothing from me. You were just you that night but I didn’t know that I could be worthy of such love in a physical and emotional way. I believe that we experience God through the connections we make and that day I saw God in you. 

I had bad things happen to before that moment and bad things happen after that moment but somehow that moment gave me a promise of what life could be like. It was times in my life when I was in my lowest that I pulled up the memory of that one night and used it to get me through. It gave me hope and showed me that I could be loved.

The connections and impact we make in life live long after us. That moment in time will continue to live on in the daughter that I raised, the friends that I have helped, and the inner city school children that I will soon be teaching because I know how important it is to just sit next to someone and  love them. I know what a difference that can make. One of my most important life lessons I learned from you. Thank you for the difference you made in my life.

Love Always,

Kim