Sorry I missed chatting yesterday. I spent part of the day at the Emergency Room and the rest of the day in bed. I passed out at work. Scott was there and he carried me over to the ER. I’ve been sick and he didn’t believe me. I’ve been vomiting and exhausted ever since we got up here. Oh, yeah—I went off on him a couple of times and he divorced me when I slugged him. I suppose I don’t blame him. But when I was sick, he didn’t believe me. It wasn’t my fault I couldn’t keep my meds down. I thought I was space sick, but I’m not. I’m pregnant.
Now he wants me back. I don’t know if he wants me or the baby. My bosses said he doesn’t need to remarry me to get the baby. Unless I have the surgery, he can take the baby because I won’t be a fit mother. Boy, I know that. I don’t want my baby to have the kind of mother I had. I agreed to have the surgery as soon as I heard I was having a baby—the one where they put the chip in my brain to regulate the enzymes that control my bi-polar disorder. But Doc Watkins says I can’t have the surgery until after I have the baby. And I have to go off my meds during my pregnancy, too.
My bosses are really nice people. They gave me this job with the promise I’d take my meds. They’ll let me work as long as I can. I’ll try not to go off on any customers, but it’ll be hard. Oh, damn… I’m crying again. I don’t know whether that’s the hormones or the bi-polar disease. At least Doc Watkins was able to give me something for the nausea that won’t hurt the baby.
Rock Crazy by Rochelle Weber, October 2011 http://tinyurl.com/RockCrazy