I am currently in the process of trying to break down and subsequently work through the time frame of the birth of my lostnowfound son. Received information has brought about more questions than answers. One of the things that really, really bothers me is what happened in the 15 hours prior to arriving at the hospital for his birth?
In 2007, I received my son's OBC, a newborn hospital picture, and a small piece of paper with the pertinent birth information: weight, length, etc. The agency associated with the unwed mother's home gave it to me. It was really quite unremarkable until I read one line: Duration of Labor: 18 hours. Eighteen hours? Seriously? I remember only about 3 or 4 things about the entire birth process, and my labor lasted 18 hours? With my second child, I was in labor 7 hours. The third? 2 hours. I realize I was young and it was my first delivery, but 18 hours?
At that point in my life, I wasn't ready to dive into the whys and the what fors of what really happened. It was the fog with a twist. I knew I was wronged, I knew I was forced, but I tried to put it out of my mind. We all know the impossibility of that. But, in 2007, I was just beginning to admit to myself that I was lied to, it didn't get better, you didn't forget and you have to live with the decision forced upon you for the rest of your life. I was just admitting that my mother orchestrated the whole thing, that she DIDN'T have my best interest at heart, and that subconsciously she had made me pay for my "mistake" for as many years as I could remember. I was finally discovering that I wasn't a waste of air space on the planet. I was in college and actually was very smart, made very good grades, and enjoyed it tremendously. So, the worm had started to turn, but I still wouldn't have had the emotional stability to deal with that which I have dealt in the last 3 years. If you could call me stable. I stumbled and fell many times, but I'm stilling standing. But, I digress.
To say it bothered me that I could not remember my labor would be like saying that I was slightly annoyed for being attacked by hornets. I wanted to remember. Upon reunion, I hoped that the memories would come back and I could find some precious moment where I could find love, or pain, or anything really. It didn't happen and I chalked it up to "emotion blocking". I couldn't remember or I wouldn't remember, and there wasn't a thing I could do about it. I accepted it as what was and decided I might as well accept it.
My first stumble came when a psychologist described true emotional blocking. These aren't the exact words, but the conversation went something like this:
"So. You remember waking up in a room and having no idea why you were there, how you got there, or what was happening?"
Me: "That's right. I was in some room that kind of looked like a hospital room, but there was a desk with some chairs stacked on it, like it was being used for storage. I just remember waking up, looking around, and being afraid."
Him: "Then what happened?"
Me: "I don't know. I kind of feel like maybe I passed out? I just don't remember. Is that what emotional blocking is?"
He asked me about the other memories I had of labor and delivery. I told him what I could remember, and how I just felt like I was going in and out of consciousness. It was strange to have a very definite, prominent memory, then - blackness. It bothered me. I wanted to remember.
Me: "But, that's emotional blocking, right?"
He then asked what I remembered about the days following. Who visited me? How did I feel physically? How did I feel emotionally? What was I thinking? I told him that I didn't remember any visitors, or any feelings from that time. To be honest, I only remember one thing about it (which I told him) until the day I left the hospital and returned to the home. Most of that first day, and the 2 days following are just - blackness.
Me: "But that's normal, right? I'm hiding those feelings because it's too painful, right?"
Silence. Pen twirling. Note consulting. Pensive.
"Do you have your medical records from the hospital? Can you get them?"
Me: "I have tried twice, but never received anything."
Him: "You need to get those records. Go over them with a fine tooth comb. Look not only for what IS there, but for what's NOT there based on what little you remember."
Me: "So you think that will help me remember? Maybe shake it loose?"
Him: "Jackie, emotional blocking is when a person cannot admit an event happened. You not only admit it, you want to know exactly what happened complete with emotions and a time frame. That isn't the sign of someone refusing to acknowledge the situation. Have you ever considered that you might have been drugged? What you describe sounds more like a person who was heavily drugged and less like a person who just refuses to remember and is in denial."
If he had slapped me in the face, I wouldn't have been more surprised. And yet, I always wondered if that was a possibility. They wouldn't actually do something like that, would they? They don't really treat people like that, do they?
Shaking and nauseous, I thanked him. I'm not sure what for. Time was up. My head was pounding. I was sweating. I wasn't sure I could stand without assistance, but I did. I walked out of the office, zombie like, and got in my car. Even though it was summer and well into the 90's, I sat in my car with the windows rolled up and stared ahead. Then the tears came. I knew he was probably right. I didn't know how I knew, but I knew it. One thing I knew for sure - I had a lot of work to do. And I wasn't sure I was strong enough to survive it. And I needed a cigarette.
Looking forward to part two
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