Vicky's Story

"The Beginning"

Where does one start, at the beginning? Where was the "beginning?" Does this all begin when I birthed my baby and gave her away or was there a "beginning" long before that day?
How do I share pain that is so deep, bliss that is so grand and a healing that is so all encompassing?
How do I put into words feelings that are indescribable?
I guess that I simply need to begin...begin to write this as the saga that it was and continues to be. I will give you the pieces as my memory and heart allow them to surface.
If I stop or start at unusual or uncomfortable places, I apologize. As I go along, I will be telling this story to myself as well as to you and if I am stopped by feelings and emotions coming up, I will quit and begin again when I am able.
My name is Vicky and I am a birth mother. Until three months ago, I didn't even have those words together in my vocabulary.
Three months ago, my daughter found me. Three months ago, 30 years of denial ended. Three months ago, my life began anew.
I will try to guide you through the "facts" as my story twists and winds through the years, but primary and foremost to me in telling this story is that I let my feelings pour out on these pages, my truth ooze from my being, my heartache and my healing be felt and conveyed.
My principle desire here is that good and God be served.
I will begin...
They were stabbing me in the back with a needle. I wasn't prepared. Suddenly my legs went numb and they tipped me back on the operating table. Someone put a mask over my mouth and directed me to start counting backwards from 100.
I was scared. I was cold. I couldn't feel my legs. I started counting...
It had been a cesarean delivery. My baby had been several weeks overdue. I woke up alone, in a cold, dark room filled with stainless steel. I was trying to think. I was trying to lift my head. I was trying to feel my body. I lost consciousness.
I woke up again. This time the room was white. This time there was light...but...I couldn't lift my head and I couldn't feel the lower half of my body. I panicked. I started screaming. "What's wrong? What's going on? I can't feel my legs. Help me...please, somebody, help me!"
During the whole pregnancy I had felt like a shadow; there, but somehow invisible to everyone.
I wasn't treated like a woman doing one of the most sacred things we can do on this planet. I was treated like a mistake that didn’t even deserve recognition.
I say this now because I can see it. At the time, at 19 years old in 1966, I too, thought I was a "mistake" and believed everyones' cruelty, lack of compassion and caring was warranted.
I had been programmed and I had been programmed well. Our society said we were sluts and that our children were "illegitimate." They even included that word on the birth certificate forms to describe our babies.
From my thesaurus; illegitimate; unlawful, criminal, illegal, illicit, lawless, wrongful.
We were wrong. We were bad. Our children were mistakes, too. We were nothing...we deserved nothing...and we got nothing.
I must stop.

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