It was mid 1939 when my mother suspected she might be pregnant with her second child. Her first child, a daughter, was only eighteen months old and mother was not excited about the prospects of another baby. One day as she stood at the ironing board, a huge gush of blood ran down her legs and to the floor. Startled by all the blood, but relieved her menstrual period had come, she cleaned up the mess and continued her chores. She did not consult a doctor, figuring the lateness of her period had been the cause of the excess blood.
A few weeks later, she and Dad and my sister went to a local carnival. Just as they stepped inside the gate, my mother hemorrhaged again. They fled home and again didn't consult a doctor. Mother just figured she'd miscarried. A few weeks later, however, Mother realized that she hadn't lost the baby--that she was pregnant after all.
As the due date arrived and Mother went into labor, the doctor came to the house only to discover the baby was coming breech. "Get this woman to the hospital," he said. "This baby will never be born alive here at home."
My father was out of town, so my aunt took Mother to the hospital. Later, in full blown labor, my mother felt something between her legs and asked my aunt to check.
A tiny leg, already turning blue, stuck out of my mother's body. I was entering the world not only breech, but a footling-breech--the most dangerous and most painful birth a woman can experience--and all without anesthetics.
I've since wondered if my leg got caught, or if I'd planted it there.
Loneliness has nothing to do with being alone, and feelings have little to do with facts. I grew up left-handed, and feeling isolated and shut out. No one would ever love me because I was unworthy. I internalized everyone's actions as rejection of me. I spent a lifetime drowning in my own Catch-22.
Nights were worse. For there in the blackness, silent voices roared in my head as I lay beside my sister, crying my heart out, with no idea why I cried, puzzling her, puzzling my mother.
Expanding my Catch-22 at seventeen, I married a good man, thinking now I would be important to someone, now I would be cherished. But the morning after the wedding he told me I would always come second in his life. That God would be first. That didn't make sense to me. Over time, I realized what he meant was that his denomination would come first--but it didn't matter, the results were the same. I came second.
I spent the next seven years crying myself to sleep every night. Only after the birth of my first child did the crying stop. Then, seven years after that, I joined a T-Group and learned my sense of slight by others was a feeling, not a fact. Aha! A clue!
We divorced after 28 years of marriage, and later I remarried, but I still didn't understand why I had always felt so lonely, so unloved, so unworthy--like a vital part of me was missing, until I came across a discussion on the web about the Vanishing Twin Syndrome. My world suddenly made sense. Instantly I knew that was why. That I, too, had a vanishing twin, or perhaps a triplet. That my mother's hemorrhages were indeed miscarriages. I called my sister and described VTW to her and she said, "On, absolutely, that makes sense. That's why you always acted the way you did--crying every night."
At long last, I can acknowledge the void I felt, and name it, knowing the void had a name. Sally--the name I gave every doll I owned. A child, or children, lost before anyone even knew they were there. Finally I understood my grief--my sense of unworthiness because I survived and she/they didn't. Now I can claim my twin/triplet, and honor their presence in my life before birth.
How about you? Feel free to comment--sharing your story with others. It indeed helps us all.
What a tale! Blood and a footling breech - a true survivor. I hope your story will inspire others. I was a breech birth too and it's a wonder my mother and I made it though. It seems that breech births often happen when one twin dies before birth.
ReplyDeleteThat makes sense, doesn't it! Yes, my mother talked about the pain of the birth all the rest of her life. I told her once, I'll bet she had difficulty bonding with me because of the horrible birth process. She denied it, but my symptoms give hint. Thanks for the comment!
ReplyDeleteWow, that's really amazing. I wasn't breech, but I was born two weeks early and got stuck on the way out - then when I came out, the doctor's almost dropped me but I grabbed a nurse's nametag and ripped it right off her, giving them time to catch me! I also had 2 holes in my heart and had to be in an incubator for a little bit - I'm not sure how long, but it wasn't more than a few weeks before it healed on it's own. I just posted my story to another post, but I'll post it on this one too - hopefully shorter! Oh, I should start by saying that I'm only 15 - I was born February 25, 1995.
ReplyDeleteAnyway, I was originally a triplet. There were three of us, my two brothers and myself (a girl), all of us fraternal. Xander (his full name was Alexander but we called him Xander) passed quite early in the pregnancy - probably before our mom even knew she was pregnant (I think it was around 6-8 weeks). His death was quite peaceful, as if we knew from the start he wasn't meant to live - none of us were upset by it - in fact, I remember him smiling as he passed. (I also seem to know that he has - or would have had - brown hair and green eyes, which is strange as neither of these things would have shown at this point). But it was different with Xavier. Xavier looked almost identical to me in every way (brown hair, brown eyes and even the same facial features). In fact, we seemed to be identical in every way except that he was a boy. He passed around 22-24 weeks, and this was anything but peaceful. I don't think he felt much pain, which is comforting, but I remember watching him the moment he passed, and I got a huge, sharp, heavy pain in my chest that moment - the worst pain I've ever felt. When Xander passed, it didn't really bother me - it's to the point where I most often call myself a twin just because I know he was never meant for this Earth, and I'm at peace with that. But Xavier was supposed to stay. He's supposed to be here, but he's not. I don't know what went wrong or why he passed - my parents refuse to talk about him or even acknowledge him (though we have an ultrasound of me from around then and you can see his arm [I know it had to be his, since I could see my hands and feet, and I don't have 3 arms!]) so it's really quite difficult. Only late last year I found out about wombtwin survivors - I'd always thought I'd had a twin, but tried not to believe it, thinking there'd be "proof", but now I know I'm not alone, so it's a lot easier.
Sorry for the super long post! ^^;