the one about my marriage (pt 2)

(These next bits are not for the faint of heart. They are not easy to write about. They are intensely personal. Please forgive me if I do not respond to any comments. I will not elaborate on any more than what is written. Thank you for understanding.)

You never really know someone until you live under the same roof.

March 1985. Five years after he died. I discovered I was pregnant. Somehow I knew the child would be a boy I would name Robert in memory of him. I wished he would have blue eyes and blond hair, secretly thinking it would never happen because we have brown eyes and brown hair. But a girl can dream, right?

May 1985. I graduated from college. I quickly packed up my life, moved to Dover, Delaware into a tiny trailer with the man I married the previous year, only visiting him on weekends up until this point.

The verbal sword matches began immediately. Oh I’m great with a sword of sarcasm, accusation, nagging. He was skilled in telling me how stupid, awful, useless I was.

June 1985. The trailer was too tiny. We found a small house to rent on the other side of town.

He played in a dart league on the USAF base. We’d go. I’d watch. He’d get drunk. I’d drive home. Repeat.

Accept this one time while I was driving us home, he didn’t like my skills. He took it upon himself to bend over, push the gas peddle to the floor as I screamed for him to stop, somehow keeping that car from careening off the road or into other cars. This is when the real terror began. I was 4 months pregnant?

November 1985. 8 months pregnant. A card game with the neighbors ends. He’s drunk. Really drunk. I’m not throwing the right cards. Suddenly, he goes berserk. Starts screaming at me. I scream back. Next thing I know he picks me up off the floor, throws me into the wall, and I crash to the floor (he is 6 ft 2, 210lbs. I am 5 ft 0, 8 months pregnant).

Terrified, I run to the back of the house. Why I didn’t run for the front door I’ll never know. It didn’t take long for him to find me in the dark back room, to rape me, to pull me up off the floor and violently shove me out the front door.

Crying hysterically, I climbed into our only car. I told myself I couldn’t leave. How would he get to work the next day? He would get into so much trouble if he didn’t show up for work. I replayed the scene over and over. It must have been my fault. I was too demanding, too nagging, too unsupportive. I hoped my child wasn’t dead. He didn’t move for a very long time, obviously stunned into a fearful stillness of his own.

I went back into the house after spending the night in that car. He acted like nothing ever happened, no remorse, no apology, only silence as he dressed in his uniform, went out the front door.

December 1985. The boy I wished for was born on Christmas Eve. He had blond peach fuzzy hair, blue eyes, a gift from the God I was refused to believe existed, who never left me even in my anger, protected me, my unborn child because of His goodness, mercy, and grace for a lost soul.

To be continued…

His… Michelle

A beautiful disaster

It was tattooed on her side.

She came to the OR for a hysterotomy. A what?

I’ve been doing this job for more than 21 years and I still haven’t seen it all.

A hysterotomy is basically a c-section for fetal demise, death of an infant. Nobody wants to do the case. Everybody wants to do the case. The air is filled with a strange mixture of shock, sadness, and shameful curiosity. Like a car wreck we just can’t turn away from.

I volunteer to help, offer encouragement to the team. I’ve been around the tragedy block more than some, having a huge number of years of experience doing trauma surgery. I don’t panic when the entire blood volume of a patient ends up on the floor. God made me hard as nails for trauma.

And so she arrives to the OR. The story is just tragic. Young girl. Addicted to crack cocaine since the age of 14. 14! Inconsistent stories about what happened in the middle of the night. Mom having a seizure. Dad calling 9-1-1. Mom saying she fell on dad after seizure. Dad saying he found mom having seizure. Blood pressure of 50. It’s all too sketchy, too shady.

Mom refuses to be induced. She can’t face the death. She’s in too much pain. She doesn’t want to see her infant. Dad won’t let mom out of his sight. Dad doesn’t want to see his infant either. So the hysterotomy.

That’s when it gets worse. Mom has a belly full of blood clots. There has been trauma. The uterus was intact. The amniotic sac was intact. A perfect, beautiful baby girl was delivered to be given to the medical examiner. Ten fingers. Ten toes. No reason to die except for the lack of blood flow caused by hypovolemic shock.

As I run in and out of the room to grab supplies, test tubes for bloodwork, to send for blood, I cry out God! Please RESCUE this girl! Open her eyes to her self destruction! Set her free from this prison of drug addiction, abuse, slow suicide! Thank you for bringing your sweet baby princess home!

At one point I stop to hug the nurse I’m helping. She’s younger than myself. Not used to trauma. Trying not to let the tears overtake her. This is why I hate working with babies, she says. You can’t let the tears overtake you. If you do, you could drown.

In the end, the surgeons weren’t sure where all the blood came from? They suspect a fractured spleen. The only One who knows completely what happened is God. And he must have some amazing plan for this girl because If she had gone into labor, it would have killed her!

Please pray with me for this situation. Let’s pray this beautiful disaster becomes beautiful restoration! Nothing is impossible for God!

His… Michelle

Light Shines in the Darkness

I wanted to thank you for taking the time to reach out to me in this battle. Something my friend DM said has really struck me and I think may even be the key to getting beyond this problem. He said “I know this much, Satan loves to beat the crap out of me when I keep quiet and not let others into my life..but the moment I bring it out into the light, Satan is like a cockroach..he hates the light.” I am really starting to think this is the key to why I’ve been tormented for so long. I just refused to think about what happened and talk about it for fear people would hate me for it. But I’ve gotten so much positive feedback I clearly fell for another lie from you know who ( I call him that because he doesn’t even deserve a name or reference that gives him any satisfaction whatsoever). Anyway, I’m not exactly sure who or where to begin. I think writing about it is definitely a good start as it is taking away that fear I’ve had for forever. But I don’t know if that’s enough. I think I need to speak about it out loud with someone. The problem is I am traveling and can’t see getting involved with therapy as I move around too much for consistency. Someone at work today suggested phone therapy. I think this may be a feasible option because it can be done from anywhere. I even found Christian/Biblical counselors who offer their services in this manner. So I just want to say thanks again to all of you who have been so kind, compassionate, and encouraging. I know this is the beginning of great healing and restoration. God is good! Jehovah-Rapha lives!

The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of the shadow of death a light has dawned. Isaiah 9:2

His coming out of the land of the shadow of death… Michelle