I live in a small town in southwest Virginia. Me and my son's father met in high school our senior year, and it all seemed picture perfect. I moved in with him two weeks after we started dating and we almost never fought. Two years into our relationship we took a six week break and got back together. Things were not as smooth our second go around, but we still loved each other and wanted to make things work.
The Real Story:
As I'm writing this, I'm currently 18 weeks pregnant with my son. I've struggled for many years with depression, bipolar, and anxiety, which typically does take a toll on your relationships. I've always had trouble forming close relationships and once I'm committed to something I have a very hard time walking away.
It's January, so I've been pregnant since August. I, however, did not find out about my son until December 24th of 2020 and it was 2 AM. As I said before, I've struggled for years with my mental health, so when my off and on boyfriend of 3 years told me he thought it best for me to move out I was heart broken, I felt defeated, I was suicidal.
He drove me to the hospital in out tiny town, and set me out at the Emergency Department on December 23 at around 9:30 PM. I went in told them that I was suicidal and after triage I was taken to an exam room and simply sat there for hours. They did all the normal stuff for behavioral health intake: urine tests and blood work. I spent these hours crying, wondering what the hell I was going to do with my life at this point, and pondering the idea that they would send me off to another facility.
Finally, a nurse came back to tell me that I had a UTI, which I hadn't had symptoms of. She promptly left to get me an antibiotic. When she came back she handed me a paper cup with my antibiotic in it and another cup with some water. What came next, I was not prepared for. She looked at me and in a very cheerful voice she asked "Do you know that you're pregnant?"
I nearly spit my mouthful of water at her. "What?!?" I replied in complete disbelief. She just stared at me for a moment, "Yeah, you're pregnant." All I could do was sob, I begged them to let me call the baby's father, they had taken my phone when I came in and changed into scrubs, they, of course, refused to allow me to do such a thing. I continued through the night to have spells where I slept and spells where I cried hysterically.
Eventually, I spoke to a mental health screener who determined it was in my best interest to be committed. When I refused to commit myself voluntarily, I was served with what in Virginia is called a TDO (Temporary Detainment Order). After that the hospital had to find a facility that had a bed for me. It took until after 12 PM on December 24th for them to find a bed for me, and then my hour long transport was spent 15 weeks pregnant, in hand cuffs, in a police car.