A mother, a daughter, a sister, a girlfriend, an ex-wife...... rehabs, mental hospitals, psychologists, AA and a few beautiful years into my sobriety. This is my life, my daily life.....

Tuesday, December 26, 2017

#16- A new birth....

I always felt like I had to prove myself. Even to this day I still feel as if my words have not gained their full potential. I lied so much and discredited promises so frequent, that at times, even I didn’t believe myself. Even if I were sober, which I was my entire pregnancy, family and friends would look at me just a little bit longer than usual, as if they were searching for signs that I was using. I am okay with that, I understand that and I’ll own that.

At 7:30 p.m. I called my doctor. I was undoubtedly having contractions and was told that if they came on more frequent, to go to the hospital. They did, so we went.

I had no birthing plan other than I would get an epidural. I knew they offered pain medication to women in labor, the pre-epidural pains, however I opted out. Not out of a display of strength, but merely out of the worry of being ridiculed. After all the nurses had my chart, they could see I was an alcoholic and drug addict and they probably thought I was actively using. They also probably thought I would give birth to a drug addicted baby.

I never cared too much about what other people thought about me. Honestly I could care less, I could care less because I could care less about myself. I did not have the time or the will to care, I had bigger problems.

Things, however, started to change throughout my pregnancy. It seemed the universe was forcing me to adjust, I was becoming a mother and whether or not I felt it initially, my mind had accepted and adapted to my new role in this life.  My new role as a protector, a provider and a teacher. Along with this new position came a newfound reason for my beating heart to thrive,  a heart that would fiercely radiate with love for my son. I could never intentionally harm him and I would show my commitment to him by staying sober as long as he was feeding and growing from me.

Nineteen hours later at 1:16 p.m., I gave birth to a little baby boy weighing in at 6pds., 10ozs, whom we would name Cameron. The nurse laid him on my chest, I gave hime a quick kiss and a smile and he was taken away.

I assumed this was formality. I assumed they had to bathe him and make sure all his vitals were strong, that he has ten fingers and ten toes, eyes and ears etc. etc. However as time passed the nurse came back with the news that he was healthy, however my son was not with her.

I was told they are “monitoring him.” Every time the nurse came back I was told, yet again, that they were “monitoring him.” Over an hour later, or possibly more, the nurse came into my room with Cameron, he was crying, he was hungry and he wanted his mother. It was then that I was told that I could feed him but that they would need to take him back to the nursery. They explained to me that they needed a urine sample from him, they essentially needed to drug test him. These words hit me like a freight train. The nurse gestured to me to pull his blanket back, it was then that I saw a little bag had been taped around him. They were holding him because they were waiting for a urine sample. I did not hear much after that. Any sense of normality I had felt within those nine months of abstinence from drugs and alcohol had vanished. I became again the person I was deep down inside, an alcoholic and a drug addict. The depth of my fears of being a terrible mother that kept me awake for those nine months, had come true. I would be haunted by visions of my son, a grown boy, being taken from me and it felt as if in that moment it happened. I was not allowed to be alone with him. The baby that I had just given birth to, a baby I carried with me for nine months, a baby I patiently waited to meet.

I felt my heart break open and burst within my chest unable to withstand the power of the pain it had just been met with. My addiction, without disappointment, robbed me of all these precious moments, never missing the prime fucking opportunity to rear its ugly head to shame me, to label me, and to expose me. All the “firsts” I would have with my son, his first feeding, his first diaper change, our first monumental moment of eye contact was taken away from me. I had no one else to blame. I was the reason he had a bag taped around him. I was the reason he would not feel the safety and warmth of his own mother for the first hour of his life. Shattered and ashamed, I felt failure as a mother and I had barely held him. I laid there in that hospital waiting for him to come back to me. I needed to look at him, I needed to talk to him and I needed to kiss him.

I needed him, just as he needed me.

Finally my moment had arrived and he was given to me. All of the tests came back negative which, of course, I already knew would.


  1. What a hard experience. To not be believed, to not hold your newborn for awhile.
    I am really sorry.
    Cameron is a beautiful name!

  2. All the things taken away from me because of my addictions. Nothing good ever comes of it. Lesson learned! Xoxo

    1. This was so beautiful.was this the start of your journey? Couldn't see if this was the end of the story

    2. Unfortunately no, but it is coming to end soon :-)