The year I turned 17 felt miraculous. For some reason, 17 felt so much older than 16. It was senior year and I felt like so many things were finally going right.
I was still in contact with Carla & Grant, but it was strained. I was still having difficulty making decisions that I knew would go against them and their wishes. From simple things like what I would wear to heavier things like dating and how far is "too far." I can't even remember what all I had trouble deciding, but I just know I held them STILL in such high regard that I couldn't go against anything they had taught me.
I think--if I can wax philosophical for a minute--that I was so starved for someone to love me since I just had my heart ripped out, that in walked Doug-a great guy who I knew from church and had known as a friend first--and I fell head over heels in an effort to fill the hole that was now in my heart.
I was smarting against a lot of things: specifically Grant, but I was also suddenly questioning the foundation of what I had been taught the past several years. I didn't blame God. I don't think I was angry with Him either. But I was more wounded and confused and...annoyed.
I just let loose.
August is when we always went to camp. Doug and I went as usual. This time as a couple.
Everything was going along swimmingly...until I realized I was late.
And I don't mean late to dinner.
I must have gone to the bathroom 800 times that week.
Nothing.
Of course, we panicked. That week was hardly spent communing with nature and singing camp songs. Instead, we planned how we were going to run away and get married.
I had been accepted to a prestigious Christian college and was due to leave in a couple of weeks.
I knew I couldn't go because once the school found out I was pregnant, I would be sent home immediately. And have a lot of explaining to do.
So, we hastily discussed how we would run away.
In was the weeks after camp that we spent fine tuning our plan. It was all so surreal.
We decided that we would run away to Tennessee, elope, and then move to Arkansas where we could both go to school (the same school Doug had gone to previously).
We both wrote notes to our families. Explaining how we had decided to leave and get married. I even went so far as to say that I was NOT pregnant since that's what everyone would automatically (and rightfully) jump to the conclusion of.
I was more scared of telling my family that I was no longer a virgin that I was of moving 1000 miles away with this boy and living a new, strange life. You see, sex before marriage was likend to killing someone in my teenage mind.
I think we thought that we could just let everyone believe that we got pregnant the microsecond after we married and that would explain the timing.
There was a bonfire planned for us and some friends (Katherine included) at Doug's aunt and uncle's house. I was very close to his aunt and uncle (Roy & Connie). The day of the bonfire, I told my mom that we were moving away. She said, "So are you going to shack up?" Blunt. Just like that.
I did what was becoming so natural...I lied.
"Of course not. We'll be staying with Doug's friends until after we get married..."
We told Katherine the day we were leaving. She was sad. I lied through my teeth to her too. She didn't want us to go, but we felt like we had no alternative.
NOW...at 34...I can see SO MANY alternatives. But being 17 and scared to death because, as a teen active in church, I had pre-marital sex, I truly felt horrified at the idea of admitting to people that I was sexually active.
So we set out. In the world's smallest car. I packed 2 suitcases and that was it.
We drove until about Memphis, I think and stayed in a hotel. Some seedy, run down wood paneling hotel.
The next day we rolled into Arkansas and sat at a McDonalds with a newspaper looking for jobs. We had about $1000 to our names, the clothes in our suitcases, and the clown car.
Luckily (?) we were so naive and stupid we didn't fully realize just how ridiculous and dangerous that was.
We ended up finding a trailor to rent. (Yes, another trailer in my life). It was a 2 bedroom number off campus.
I got a job at Wal Mart making $5 an hour and served as the bread winner. Doug got a job delivering pizzas and we both registered for school.
I was miserable. I was homesick and lonely because Doug ended up spending a lot of time with his college friends (from before), playing basketball and I stayed at home since I didn't know any of them. We didn't have cable or a phone.
I was freaked out about being pegnant, since I had never experienced that before and had absolutely no one to talk to about it. You see, this college town goes beyond conservative. They are right smack in the middle of the Bible belt. If I were even to confide in anyone about our situation, we would be scourged.
Doug kept saying he wished that it would "all just go away." He used to say all the time, "Can't you just take a pill?" I don't think he was referring to something like RU486 or whatever, since I'm pretty sure that didn't really exist back then. But he did just want to be done with the whole thing.
We eventually came around to the subject of adoption. I could not imagine giving up my baby to strangers, but I was also terrified of the alternative (actually raising a child when I was a child myself) and abortion was absolutely out of the question.
I started feeling sick. I just didn't feel right. At about 10 or 11 weeks I started spotting.
I called the nurse at the OB office I had just started going to (where they confirmed that I was indeed pregnant) and the nurse asked me all kinds of questions about color, texture, etc etc and told me to just "watch it."
I was so afraid. My sister had a history of miscarriages and I was so scared that was what was happening to me. I felt helpless just staying home. I kept telling Doug that I wanted to go to the doctor. He kept discouraging me (why I don't know.)
This nurse who told me to "watch it" was also the one who spoke with me about adoption at my first appointment. She said she had a family who she thought would be interested, but she needed my decision soon.
I couldn't give her a straight answer. I just couldn't commit to anything, and there was a nagging feeling in the back of my mind that I wouldn't have to make a decision.
The nurse called me at work one day to ask me if I had given it anymore thought. I remember very clearly taking the call in the break room. I stumbled over my words telling her how I just hadn't made a decision yet.
I can't believe she called me at work. That didn't even upset me until just this very moment as I remember. Talk about being forward and pushy.
All this time I continued to work. I stocked shelves at Wal Mart. It was strenuous labor and involved a lot of lifting and hauling. Naturally, that made me bleed heavier. Finally, one day at work, I bled so heavily that I left work early and raced home. I remember running in the front door and seeing Doug sitting on the couch. He was obviously surprised to see me home early. I dropped my weight belt (that you have to wear for proper back support while lifting) and ran to the bathroom yelling, "NOW will you take me to the hospital?!" Doug's eyes were as big as silver dollars.
I explained that I was bleeding badly, so we headed to the ER.
That was one of the most humiliating experiences in my life.
As a barely 18 year old girl, I had never before been to a gynecologist. When I got to the ER, I had to explain what happened to the nurses at the ER desk. Then, one of them took me into a room and had me strip down and put a gown on.
I laid on the table for eternity. The nurse asked me if I wanted her to go get my husband. I said yes. She brought Doug in a few minutes later. He was visibly uncomfortable. He fidgeted the entire time. Finally, I said, "Would you rather wait in the waiting room?" And I barely had the entire sentence out when he blurted, "yes!" And out he went.
I cramped while I waited for the doctor. He finally came in and did the exam. It was humiliating,
Finally, they let me go home.
I laid on the bed in the back bedroom of our trailer and thought I was dying. The cramping (which I now know is contractions) was the most painful thing ever. I couldn't talk, but I remember clearly hoping Doug would come in the room and check on me because I figured that was the last time he would see me alive.
Some undetermined time later, the cramping ended and I was able to breathe again. The bleeding went on for awhile after that. And we tried to go on with our lives and act normal--whatever that was.
