When I Learned to Feel Nothing
I drop the kids of at school.
I am a nanny - one year in my new life in Florida.
Nick, Kayla, and Megan … I drop them off, I come home to their huge house. I park the car that was given to me to take care of them. Who gets a work car? A fucking nanny in Odessa, Florida.
I clean their rooms, strip the sheets from their beds, gather their laundry, and place all the toys in the appropriate toy bins.
Now I am prepping their snacks.
I pick up the Publix deli meat and it makes me sick to my stomach. I know I’m vegan but it’s even worse today. I run to the bathroom and I’m throwing up. What is wrong?! I smell it again, nauseous. This will pass.
I continue my daily routine before I pick up the kids, soccer, snacks, dinner and now it’s time for me to do this all over again at my house - home to my fiancé and his daughter.
I’m walking up the drive way and my fiancé tells me my boobs look good today ... umm, that’s not normal. They’re too small for him to notice.
SHIT! Fucking shit! I’m pregnant.
I mean, we’ve talked about it but we haven’t talked about it becoming a reality. We’ve only talked about ‘one day’ when we are ready - like anyone’s ready to have a kid? We warm our hearts with conversation about what his or her name will be, but not right now.
I hear his comment ...
I say nothing, I smile and walk upstairs.
The next day I am back to my routine at work with the kids and as soon as I get back to the house I run to the bathroom with a test.
I set it on the bathroom counter - it’s positive. ITS FUCKING POSITIVE!
I’m 22 - I am a nanny- I am a week away from finals, and I am pregnant!!
I look at my phone, no Mariah. You can’t tell him in text. You can wait until you get home. Okay, no I can’t do that either. So I call him and after a long pause I tell him I’m pregnant.
Really? Wow okay.. are you sure? That’s what he says ... yes I’m sure. I’m looking at it now.
I manage to get through the evening and when I get home it’s okay, he’s okay. I didn’t expect him to be okay but he really wasn’t.
This is the beginning of when he shifted. He said we can’t do this ... the next day he was holding me, smiling, and preparing a game plan.
Now it’s my first ultrasound that he refused to go to because on that day he decided we will not do this.
My heart is racing, I’m sweating, clinching to the table - my little sister is sitting next to me, and the nurse is prepping me for the ultrasound.
Isn’t this supposed to be the most exciting part for a woman - to transform and create a human.
Shouldn’t my fiancé be here eager to catch a glance at what we created?
I rest my head back and wonder what he’s thinking right now, does he feel bad?
The nurse doesn’t say anything - she tells me she needs to get the doctor. I start to cry, my baby is dead, there’s no heart beat.
My little sister is holding my hand, telling me it’s okay, I can’t breathe, I’m crying harder than I ever have before, she grabs her phone to google what this could mean. “It’s okay sissy, it could be in one of the tubes” she said.
My little sister is here trying to comfort me knowing damn well she doesn’t know how to right now.
It should be him.
The doctor comes in and I don’t remember one thing he said - I’m walking down the isle to the front desk. The lady is smiling and I’m told to sign the documents. I see Tuesday 9am DNC and I drop to the floor. My sister lowers herself to tell me it’s going to be okay.
I don’t remember the drive to her house but I drop her off at home even though she wants to stay with me.
I drive myself to the beach, I’m sitting in the parking lot, and I call him. Trying to understand me through my tears and trying to catch my breath I tell him the baby is dead.
I’m sorry Mariah, he said. What did he say next? He said, “I told Megan I hoped he baby was dead because I’m not ready to be a dad again”
I hang up.
Megan is a girl he had an online relationship with through Facebook the first year of our relationship that I found out about days after this.
I am twenty two and I’ve experienced my first miscarriage with more heartbreak than I asked for.
What did I do? I did what any woman is expected to do, get over it. I continue my life. I continue my relationship with him. I put this in my box - my mental box where I store trauma and pretend these things never happened so I can smile, and get over it.
like I am told to.
The morning of my DNC he wakes me, we get in the car and drive to the hospital.
We have to wait a few more hours because I had a snack on the way over and I wasn’t supposed to eat.
Today he decided he would be with me - we’re laying in the hospital bed and he wants to have sex. So I lift my hospital gown over, laying on my side, as he’s inside of me and I’m looking at the machine in front of me that’s keeping track of my heart rate - wondering what it would be like if the lines went flat and I didn’t have a heart beat at all.