Where the Fuck Is That Guy with the Drugs?

I’m feeling the way I always do when I’m out and about doing drugs and drinking alcohol.  I’m swaying back and forth. I’m feeling awkward because that last line of cocaine I did is starting to wear off and there’s no more alcohol in the house.  “I need something,” I think to myself.  Where the fuck is that guy with more coke?  He said he’d be back soon with more drugs. My heart is beating with the music, fast and upbeat.  I look around the party and there’s all sorts of colorful people.  There’s a girl with red hair, a black guy with no lenses in his glasses, and a tall skinny awkward guy trying to dance.  I’m trying to enjoy myself, like I always do, but something doesn’t feel right. I feel this gnawing in my stomach. I need more drugs.  That’s it, I just need more drugs.  Where the fuck is that guy with the drugs?  

Just when I feel like I’m about to explode with impatience, the guy with the drugs finally returns.  We all gather around to grab our confidence boosters and break off into pairs locking ourselves safely away into each room of the house.  My friend and I end up in the bathroom, my favorite place to hide away, because there are mirrors to check and reapply my makeup. I pull out the little baggie, stick my finger nail into the opening and try my best to open the bag without ripping it and spilling cocaine everywhere.  I drop a little powder onto the mirror I carry in my purse, take out a credit card and press the edge of the card onto the powder, but not too hard so it doesn’t go flying off the counter, then cut the powder into neat little lines, all while simultaneously talking about the hot guy at the party and who so and so fucked last night and how that girl is way too drunk and asking my friend if I look fucked up.  “You look hot,” my friend reassured me. I pull out the straw I cut into a couple inch length. It’s the perfect tool to get that gold up my nose and straight to my brain. I bend over and cover one nostril with one finger and inhale until my neat little line has disappeared up my nose and into my already toxic body. I’ve done this hundreds of times before throughout my life. I remember one of the first times I snorted drugs up my nose, it burned so bad I wanted to die.  Here I am 15 years later, it goes down much smoother. I’m probably considered a professional by now. You learn to love the burn, you learn to be the burn.  Because after the burn, comes the numb, and with the numb there is no pain and with no pain, there is the purest form of nothingness.      

This time is different.  There’s that feeling again, something doesn’t feel right.  Like my body is rejecting it. I feel really sick. Maybe this is a bad batch of drugs?  No, it’s the same stuff I’ve been doing the past two years. I mean, it’s not the best, but it’s never made me feel like this.  Maybe I just need to do one more line.  I bend over and inhale again until my second line has disappeared up my nose.  I should be feeling better by now. I’m starting to get really frustrated. WHAT THE FUCK?  Why do I feel like there is something inside of me telling me not to do this? No, it’s not my inner voice of reason telling me to stop being such a piece of shit and to stop doing drugs.  No. This is something entirely different. This is something foreign. I need to get out of this bathroom.  I need some fresh air.  

I step outside and there is this angel, this angel with brown hair and fair skin holding a bottle of my favorite tequila.  She must’ve seen my eyes light up because she offered me some immediately. Of course I obliged, I didn’t want to be rude. As soon as that first gulp went down my throat, I could feel the warmth of the tequila lining my empty stomach.  I guess I had forgotten to eat that day, this was a common occurrence at the time. We took a few more shots together and my nerves finally started to calm down a little. The alcohol was helping tame the wild beast I had snorted up my nose just moments before.  I considered myself a master of finding the perfect cocktail of drugs and alcohol to keep me right on the cusp of feeling too nauseous and blacking out. However, I blacked out every time I drank. Looking back it’s easy to see that I was far from a master of this art form.  I’ve since learned that it is not normal to black out every time you drink alcohol. “Well duh”, you might be thinking. When you’re a “professional” drug user, your life becomes a series of stories you tell yourself about being “functional”. “I’m not that bad and I still work 5 days a week, “ I convinced myself that my behavior was totally acceptable and totally normal. I created my world by surrounding myself with like minded people and getting others to join in on my drug binges, which perpetuated my unhealthy lifestyle.

Speaking of an unhealthy lifestyle, let’s circle back to that night. I started joking around with my new friend, the angel with brown hair and my favorite tequila, about how I might be pregnant.  She laughed because she also thought she might be pregnant. We had both missed our periods. What’s even more funny (sarcasm) is how we were both joking about bearing children while simultaneously chugging a bottle of tequila and taking cocaine breaks in the bathroom every hour; a camaraderie among two strangers, swaying side by side and claiming to be pregnant.   

I finally started to feel that perfect mix of drugs and alcohol, aka my happy place.  The cocaine helping me feel completely numb and the alcohol giving me permission to say and do anything I want. Not only was there a funny feeling in my stomach, there was another issue that I kept bringing up in conversation. I was gathering the courage to leave my unhealthy relationship I had been in for only a couple months; I knew it wasn’t a good fit, I knew I had to get out. I end up talking about it all night surrounded by the support of my fellow drunks slurring words about how I deserve better and how I deserve to be happy.  We all laughed, played, danced and sang. But there it is again, that feeling in my stomach.  

I break away from the conversation and dancing by stepping outside into the dark, lonely night. The cold air felt amazing against my overheated body. The jokes and the laughter fade into the background. I need a moment of solitude to try and figure out what this feeling is.  I take a deep inhale and I have a moment of clarity. This voice, this imposter, yells into my soul, “You’re pregnant!” “I’m fucking pregnant” I whisper to myself.  I swear. I can feel it inside of me. There is literally something in my lower belly that wasn’t there before. Strange how I could be so far from this planet in this moment in time and yet so connected to my insides all at once.  I try to calm myself by creating a game plan for the following day. “I will take a pregnancy test when I wake up, then I will talk to my partner about not wanting to be together anymore.” Okay, good plan team. So I let it be. I let the feeling fade away into the beat of the music and I let my heart flutter along.  I let the alcohol fill my veins until my blood is so pickled with alcohol that there is only liquid courage left floating inside of me and that gnawing in my stomach turns into a dull ache.  

I’ve made plenty of jokes about how I’m so pickled with alcohol that no virus can affect me.  The proof is that I’ve never once had food poisoning. Even while traveling all around Southeast Asia and eating street food, not once did I get sick.  That’s why this foreign feeling in my stomach is so concerning. This thing is penetrating my iron stomach. I’m able to feel this sensation in my stomach through the numbness of the cocaine and the black out from the alcohol.  This is real. It literally feels like there is a pebble in my uterus pushing against my urethra.  

When I learned that I was in fact pregnant the next day, I immediately went to the doctor to find out how pregnant I was.  It turned out I was a little over 4 weeks pregnant. My body was now starting to make the pregnancy hormone hCG. This hormone tells the ovaries to stop releasing every month and my body is now using all its energy to start increasing other hormones like estrogen and progesterone and my baby is literally the size of a poppy seed.  I can feel that little seed already sprouting inside of me. I’m sitting on the medical exam table in an ugly hospital gown with my butt hanging out the back feeling so nervous and hung over that my eye is twitching. The nurse who’s taking my vitals looks tense. She’s not making eye contact with me which is making me even more nervous.  Does she know I’m a drug addict crazy person? Then finally, what felt like an hour, she asks me a question, “Do you plan to keep the baby?” The words cut through my heart like a knife. I wanted an abortion initially, but had decided against it after much deliberation. I tell her, “Yes, I’m going to keep it.” The nurse’s eyes shoot up from her paperwork and she’s now wearing a huge smile on her face.  I couldn’t help but think she was scared that I was going to tell her that I wanted an abortion. What if I had said I wanted an abortion? How would she have reacted? I guess I’ll never know. She’s ecstatic and talking about what the next steps are. She starts talking about how I need to start taking prenatal vitamins, I can’t miss any scheduled appointments with my doctor, I can’t smoke or drink or do drugs, I have to make sure I’m taking really good care of myself and not stressing out too much, and what classes do I plan to take like breastfeeding or lamaze, the list goes on and on.  My nausea is really starting to kick in, but now it’s coupled with light headedness. I hadn’t eaten much and I was still coming down from all the drugs and alcohol I had been doing for the past 15 years. Everything is starting to feel a little more real in this moment. “I’m pregnant, I’m pregnant, I’m pregnant,” I’m repeating over and over to myself, trying to fully understand what this all means.

I forgot to mention, remember that unhealthy relationship I was talking about ending?  Yes, you guessed it, I didn’t end it and of course he’s not here with me for my first doctor's visit being pregnant.  Finally the doctor walks in and the smiley nurse backs down into the corner of the room. The doctor is tall and beautiful with dark hair and dark eyes.  She’s young and I feel safe with her. I confess and tell her that I had been doing a lot of drugs and drinking the past 4 weeks and if this would somehow affect the babies health.  She reassures me that the baby will be fine as long as I stop all substances immediately. This marks one of my first days of sobriety and my first day as a true child bearing woman.  This day is filled with the most anxious feeling I have ever felt. I feel like I’m floating above myself. I’m handed a huge folder filled with articles and papers about becoming a new mom, a new me, and I’m ordered to go down to the basement of the hospital so they can take my blood.  

I’m now on the lowest floor of the hospital.  There are no windows anywhere and it feels like there is hardly any oxygen down here.  I pull number 42 and continue to the desk to check in. “That’ll be $15” the woman says not looking up from her computer screen.  I hand her a $20 and she hands be $5 back. “Go take a seat and they’ll call your number” not once making eye contact. I’m sitting there under the most unflattering fluorescent lights in a stiff plastic chair that hospitals usually have.  There is an older woman facing me to my right in a wheelchair hooked up to an oxygen tank. I can feel her eyes glaring at me. I can’t help but want to ask her if I could use her oxygen tank. I look at her and try to smile, but I’m so distracted that I can’t remember how to smile.  I feel so lonely in this room. The AC is turned up way too high and I’m starting to shiver.  “I should’ve eaten this morning,” scolding myself like the mother I’ve become.  “42!” I jump out of my seat and back into reality.  I literally skipped over to the phlebotomist, trying to convince myself that I was okay and that I am still the same old happy go lucky Molly.  

We start making small talk.  The phlebotomist is a middle aged asian man with kind eyes.  He’s asking me if this is my first baby and congratulating me on the news.  I try to smile again, but it feels forced. My arm is now propped up on the table.  I notice something like 10-12 little bottles sitting next to my arm. “That’s a lot of bottles,'' I thought to myself.  The man with kind eyes must’ve seen the worry on my face because he said this will be the only time they’ll have to take this much blood.  So I try and sit my butt deep into the chair and get comfortable. He puts the needle in my arm and the first stream of blood starts filling up bottle number 1.  

We continue our surface level conversation about my becoming a mom and I’m trying not to watch the blood being drained from my arm.  He starts asking about my “husband” and asking why he isn’t here with me. I make up some sorry excuse for why he’s not here and the man nods and smiles at me.  We get to about bottle number 8 and I start to feel really light headed. I try taking a deep breath in, but I’ve forgotten how to breathe and there is no fucking oxygen in this room.  The man with kind eyes is now on the second to last bottle and my head starts dropping towards the table. Just as he’s finishing the last bottle I was able to whisper, “I’m seeing stars.”  “Code blue!” I hear off in the distance. I feel someone turn me around and lay me on my back and prop my feet up on the wall. “Molly, Molly, stay with us, you're okay.” I feel a wet washcloth on my forehead.  I’m again floating above my body looking down at myself. I’m wearing all black and my face looks white as a ghost. What feels like seconds later, I have an urge to get up and walk out of the room. The nurses tell me to sit down and I politely tell them that I’m totally fine.  One of the nurses gives me some apple juice and a cookie and tells me to take it easy.  

I remember being guided out of the blood work room with a cookie and a box of apple juice in my hand feeling like a little kid who just gave blood for the first time.  I felt so weak in that moment. I was at my first doctors appointment as a new mom, all by myself, having not eaten anything and feeling so vulnerable. Of course I fainted.  That was such a stressful day. I can’t believe I convinced myself that it was okay to go alone. This day marked the first of many lonely, tough days to come. I spent a lot of my pregnancy floating above my body, not wanting to see the cold hard truth that my situation was not a good one and that I was far from ready to be a parent.  My body and my mind were in complete shock for those 9 months. It’s hard to tell how much of my morning sickness was the pregnancy and how much of it was detoxing from the years of drug and alcohol abuse. It’s hard to know how much of my emotional pain was from the hormones or from the life that I was surrounded by.  It was most likely a combination of it all.

The start of my journey to healing has not been easy and it’s been far from “perfect”. It’s filled with waiting for the guy with the drugs and alcohol binges followed by the most intense loneliness and guilt. It’s filled with fear and not being ready for what life has given me. There is no perfect story. Life is far from perfect. When I think of perfection I think of neat and orderly. Perfection feels predictable. I think I have to change my idea of perfection. I love saying that my life has been perfectly imperfect. Without all of the chaos and the madness and the confusion, I never would have been sitting here writing all of this and feeling so good while doing it.       

The night I felt that little poppy seed in my belly was the first night I felt my truth growing inside of me.  This truth pushed aside all the bullshit I was filling myself with and showing me the way to a much brighter and healthier life. I can’t believe I’m still here. I’m not floating above my body anymore watching it happen to someone else, I’m fully present.  In those 9 months I felt my daughter spreading her wings and kicking her feet, stomping on my insides and dancing while I tried to sleep. She was a constant reminder why I had to stay healthy and substance free.  My blood needed to be blood again, not pickled into oblivion. She was this little compass stroking and pulling on my insides, constantly nudging me in the right direction. When I pushed her out I thought she’d take all of her with her, but she left something behind just for me.  She left me with this strength I never knew I had. She’s taught me that I can do things I never thought I could or would do. She’s taught me to love my insides. She’s taught me to love every part of me.