My regular phone was triggering. Memories and daily photos titled “On This Day” would pop up of Katie and I, or Kenna and I, and the anxiety would suffocate me. It got so bad I was having daily panic attacks before I started coping with Adderall and alcohol.
I pray to a god I’m not sure I believe in that tomorrow will be better. Maybe these changes I’m making will make me want to wake up tomorrow morning instead of wishing I don’t.
McKenna
The minute the wheels touched down again in Minneapolis, I scheduled a meeting with my advisor to set up online classes for the spring semester. The doctor had told me the due date was May 18th, so I could potentially go to in-person classes, but I’m not sure I want to deal with the pitying looks and questions I’ll be bombarded with.
I then set up a meeting with my coach and told him about my pregnancy.
My coach told me that even though I won’t be able to participate in spring training, I will be expected to attend summer training sessions with the team if I want to keep my spot next season. I’m not sure how that will look with a newborn, but I want to try.
Thankfully, both my coach and adviser have been really supportive. To say I’m shocked that Coach didn’t take my spot away is an understatement.
My parents and Carson helped me move out of my dorm room after I got back from Boston. I’m going to be living with my parents and taking the short drive to campus from their house come the fall. For now, I’ll be taking my online classes while living here and getting ready to have a baby.
My mom has graciously offered to watch the baby while I’m at school or practice. I feel like such an imposition on my parents. They finally became empty nesters, my dad is set to retire in a few years, and I know they were looking forward to traveling more as he lessens his caseload to prepare for retirement.
I’ve looked at the adoption pamphlet from Dr. Bahati’s office dozens of times since I returned from Boston—since I realized I was going to be a single mom. Being a young mother is going to be challenging enough, but knowing I’m going to be doing it on my own—well, without a partner to lean on—is something that scares the shit out of me.
Sure, I’ll have the support of my family, but I won’t have a teammate to lean on for the next eighteen-plus years of this little baby’s life.
I feel like I can barely keep my head above water right now. Each day, when I wake up, grief and guilt threaten to pull me under. I can’t imagine how I’m going to have a newborn and tackle these feelings of helplessness and sorrow.
But if there’s one thing I know Katie would say to me in this moment, it’d probably be something sassy like, “Perk those swollen tits up and get to fucking work, blondie.” She was the yin to my yang. Most of the time, she knew what was wrong with me without me even having to say a word.
Goddammit, I miss my person. She would tell me I’ve got this.
Now, I’ve just got to believe in myself.
I’ve got this.
19
March
Idon’t have this.
Holy fucking shit, I don’t have this at all.
Why in the fuck did I think I could do this?
I always imagined having my first baby with my husband by my side. Holding my hand. Feeding me ice chips and telling me I look beautiful even though I look like a hot mess.
Instead, I have a panicked Carson stuck to my side like glue. He keeps telling me to breathe through the pain, trying to coach me through the breathing techniques I learned in my online birthing classes last week. But I don’t give a flying fuck about breathing techniques when I feel like someone has lit me on fire from the inside out.
Because of my shortened cervix and, up until I was hospitalized a week ago, unknown placenta previa, the nurses are prepping me for an emergency C-section.
This isn’t supposed to be happening yet—I’m only thirty-three weeks along. I’m supposed to have at least another month, if not two.
Taking a deep breath through my nose, I try to breathe through the pain. But that isn’t doing jack shit.
“Can I get the epidural yet?” I scream at the nurse, who has been nothing but nice. Shit. I’m being a massive bitch.
“I’m sorry, McKenna, not yet. Once you’re in the OR, the anesthesiologist will be giving you a spinal block. After that’s in, it will help alleviate the pain you’re feeling.”
“I can’t do this.” I look to Carson, shaking my head. The same panic on his face is mirrored on mine.
He takes the hand I’m not gripping and rubs the back of his head. “It’s uh—a little too late for that, Mack. Besides, nurse Jacqueline said I could be right there with you. Isn’t that right, Jackie?”
