The line to the clinic rang twice. I hung up. I needed a plan. Like, what the hell was I going to do now. The perfect job, my plan A, to get me out of this mess was GONE. I needed a minute to process. Processing meant, smoking cigarettes, eating crappy ass cheap food and watching my DVD Box set of Sex in the City. For those short 27 min intervals, I didn't have to live in my world. I could let the glitz and glam of Carrie’s outfits and Samantha’s sexual conquest, Miranda’s boss moves at the firm and Charlotte’s money swallow me whole and live vicariously through them. I was one episode into season 4 and it hit me. Plan B! Get an abortion, pack up and store my apartment, take a one way flgiht to Thailand to help out after the tsunami and return when it felt right. A plan of escape but that also had purpose. I thought, maybe I can find myself there. Helping people makes me feel right with the world. The woman on the phone at the clinic asked if I had had my first ultrasound yet. No. She told me for the procedure their clinic does I have to be between a certain amount of weeks, so that was step #1. As we talked further she informed me that I would need to be off my feet, taking it easy for a while after the procedure and there would be no traveling, especially to a foreign country until I made a full recovery. Well that didn't work with my time frame. In my best Doofenshmirtz voice…
Back Story Time!!!!
When I was in the darkness I was getting eviction notices in the mail and was in housing court trying to ask for more time to pay. This process went on for a couple of months because I somehow would never have the money no matter how much time they gave me. But they always tried to give me more time because for the past 4 years and up til then I had been a great tenant who paid on time or even early or months in advance. And I was making money, but never had money. I would come home with an amount of money and when I went to deposit it in the bank in the morning it would always be $70-$150 less. I lived with no one. I counted my money before I went to sleep. There was this basket of scarves I had in the closet and I would put the money down in there every night. I figured if my apt ever got robbed, no one would think to check in there. Insert side eye. I went straight to the bank when I woke up. No where else in between. Where did it go?!?!? I honestly can't tell you. I don't know. Besides the eviction notices, there were ALL my bills. My lights were on the verge of being shut off. I owed ConEd over $600. My cell phone was actually shut off every 2 week, because I could only pay like $75. But once the new cycle hit and the amount of the bill went back up to my max line of credit limit amount: $300, it was shut off again. My cable service had been disconnected for well over 7 months. I watched VHS of Friends episodes and DVD’s of old Rom Coms and the entire series of Sex and the City, over and over and over and over and OVA’ again. And the only other bill would have been groceries. But I had stopped buying those when the depression set in. I already did not like the kitchen in my apt. It was small, cramped, dark, with one window that looked out to another wall 20 feet away. The overhead light gave the room this yellowish feel, and no matter how much I cleaned it, that light and its smallness never made it feel like it was clean enough. There was no joy in cooking anyways. I was too tired. I would just buy 50 cent bags of chips, fruit snacks, Honeybuns, an occasional slice of pizza and cigarettes. I usually didn’t have money to spend to buy myself dinner, so I tried to have customers order and pay for me some wings off the menu at the club. We had really good wings. Or I’d try to split a meal with another dancer. Mostly I just smoked to pass the time, or have one of the bags of fruit snacks that were shoved down in my purse. As I sit here writing about it, I’m remembering how skinny I was then. I was a cute size 8! I usually live between a 10 and a 12. But I digress. And besides the bills, there were customers, weekly, daily, asking me “why did you work here? You seem like you could get any job in the world you wanted. Why are you here?” To which I would normally grab my drink, give a side eye and walk away. Stop trying to make me face the truth DAMMIT! I was there to forget about my real life. Andt how it was all falling to shit. And how lost I felt. My biggest cheerleader to leave the club was the customer, who was average looking, had beautiful locks, never wanted a lap dance, champagne room visit, not even for me to rub my breast across his back. (Yes that was a thing. I don't know why. Don't ask.) He would just order us dinner, we’d watch the big screen and talk about politics, the economy, stories of growing up in different states, dating, whatever came up that night. And then he would give me a fist full of cash and say, “I don't want to see you in here next week.” But next week, I was up in there, and we would do that dance all over again. We probably did that dance about 3 times before I finally got the courage to quit. Yeah, I know I thought the same thing. Courage? To stop working a job that you had to be in an altered state to work? Why did you need courage? Quitting the strip club meant I had to go back to my reality. My disappointment. My shattered dreams. My loneliness. When I called to quit, of course it was “Fire Department” owner who answered.
“Hey Jimmy, I’m sorry but, I need to quit. I’m not going to be able to work there anymore.”
“Why? What’s up? Is someone bothering you here? You need to work different hours, I can work with you on that.”
Was that all it took to not have to work Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday? No one goes to the stripclub on a cold rainy Tuesday night. I never made any money during the week once the winter came.
“No, no one is bothering me. I just have some family stuff I need to deal with a--”
“You can have time off if you need to deal with some shit and come back when you're ready.”
“Aww thanks Jimmy. But no, I’m sorry. I’m just going to need to quit. But I will come by and visit. Promise.”
“Okay. Well good. Don't be a stranger.”
“I won’t!”
“Aight, bye.”
“Bye.”
Whew, the largest weight was lifted off my shoulders. We are not going to talk about the fact that I was apologizing for quitting a stripclub. We’re going to sweep that under the rug for a different therapy day. Well, when I finally decided to quit the strip club and leave the darkness, all my bills magically were settled. No shit Sherlock, I’m not kidding you! Close your mouth. That was me too. But ConEd all of a sudden was like, “We’ve over charged you usage amount for the past 5 months. So with the adjustment and your payments, we owe you $128.” My cell phone was turned back on. I hadn't made a payment. We were still at the $375 mark. My phone should have still been off. But NOPE, I could make calls again. And the best of all… I was no longer getting evicted! They asked if I wanted to come to a middle ground. Yes you read that right. They asked ME if I wanted to come to a middle ground. They offered to give me 45 days to move out and I could take as long as I needed to pay back the money, as long as I paid small amounts every month. If you know New York, real estate and housing court your mind would be blown just as much as mine was. That’s why the cruise ship job was so PERFECT. My start date matched the 45 day timeline. But now I needed a NEW plan.
After searching to no end for a new apt or even a roommate situation, my friend MT came through with the hook up. As she always does. I would be subletting a house about 2 hours south of the city for a friend of a friend of hers from January to June. I packed up my whole apartment and put it in storage and lived out of 3 suitcases. The move was complicated, last minute and dramatic. The truck was too small, because of time I could only make 1 trip and the storage unit was way too big and expensive. But I didn’t have the time, bandwidth nor the funds to try to fix it, so it would have to do. The crazy part was that my ex-girlfriend helped me move because Sperm Donor couldn't. In fact, I don't even remember what his excuse was. You would think after I told him I was carrying his child, and he was so happy about that, that he wouldn’t want me lifting heavy furniture and things… But again...I digress.
My new friends via MT came and got me the same day as the move, hence the time crunch. 10 mins into our car ride, they did their usual, our usual, lit a cigarette. As they reached back to hand me one, part of me wanted to say nothing and just light it. I was almost up to a pack a day and had to quit cold turkey because of this thing growing inside me that I didn't even know if I wanted to keep. I really REALLY wanted one. I could have ONE right? I mean, I wasn't even going to keep this thing anyway. Was I? FUCK! I still didn't know. Out of fear that I might kill it with second hand smoke on top of the night of non stop drinking and smoking that happened at Sperm Donors’ when Baby Mama was in town-- Ah Hell! I forgot to tell this story earlier. In hindsight, it's the best version of payback Karma that came before the reason it was needed for. Does that make sense? I hope so, I don't know how else to say that. Anyway, Baby Mama had come to NYC for New Year’s. And while we did venture through the city doing all my pre- stripclub life activities, we did dip into that part of my life. It had been a month since I worked at the club. But we went and I introduced her to all my peoples. And even though she is as STRAIGHT as they come, even she admitted that Fantasy and her perfectly round, high ass made her doublethink which team she played for. Anyways she surprised me by planning this with my ex-girlfriend, who I wasn't really speaking to at the time. They had planned this whole little surprise of me going to my ex’s house and when I walked through the door, BabyMama jumped out the closet. It was super thoughtful since I hadn’t seen my Bestie in a few years. But then it turned into this intervention conversation of how my ex didn’t like how I was acting and talking. She wanted BabyMama to cosign on it, and I wasn't there for it. The phrase that started it all, “Do you Boo.” When we finally got back to my apt, BabyMama proceeded to tell me that I was being a bit bitchy. I told her Sperm Donor said the same thing 2 weeks ago. I chalked it up to my usual PMS. I am probably listed in the dictionary under the definition of PMS. Seven days out from my period, I get the mood swings, bloated, crazy body hair growth spurt, acne, tender/sensitive breast, etc. She interrupted,
“Two weeks ago?!? Are you pregnant?”
A bit unsure… “NOooooooo?!?!”
“Take a test! Let’s see.”
(SpongeBob Narrator Voice) 20 minutes, a trip to the store, and a forced pee on a stick later…
“NOPE! Told you I wasn't pregnant. I just don't like certain people at certain times! Let's figure out what we are doing for New Year’s Eve!”
We went to a party in Sperm Donors neck of the woods. I don’t even know whose house it was, nor where we were. All I know is that there was A LOT of liquor there, light and dark, you could freely smoke whatever you wanted wherever you wanted, and the music that was blasting was AH-MAZING! BabyMama and I danced to every one of our jams, spilling drinks, laughing, smoking. Well I was smoking and BabyMama was drunk and trying to smoke one of my cigarettes. She was basically wasting it since she didn't understand the “pull and blow” method. I hardly remember seeing, talking to, nor dancing with Sperm Donor. I don't even remember counting in the New Year. There was a lot of mixing liquor that night. We all know that you don't mix light and dark liquor on the same day. It’s a recipe for disaster. But I can hold my liquor pretty well. Others… well, they can NOT! As we walked back to Sperm Donor’s house with his cousins, it was VERY apparent that BabyMama had WAY more than she could handle. Mid sentences, she fell backwards onto the sidewalk as if she had slipped on a banana peel. Like literally legs flying up in the air fell backwards. We must have laughed for like 5 minutes between the fall and Sperm Donor’s cousins trying to lift her back up. I almost pissed myself, we laughed so hard. We finally made it to the house. Everyone knocked out. We gave BabyMama his bed and Sperm Donor and I slept on the floor. At 5am, I wake to find BabyMama sleepwalking, talking about finding the bathroom. I tried to jump up as fast as I could, explaining to her as she tried to pull her pants down, that the bathroom was downstairs. But I was too late. She yanked her pants down and sat at the foot of Sperm Donor’s bed and peed! Peed a good long while. TMI coming atcha’! You know that long “I broke the seal” pee that happens when you drink? That bed was SOAKED. She must have spent the better part of the next day apologizing. Because we were all STILL drunk probably well into that evening, he brushed it off. But I’m pretty sure he needed to get a new mattress. I hope he did. I slept on that thing again, once, like 2 months later!
Back to the car ride south of the city.
The homies had just picked me up, they were doing the usge and lighting cigarettes and asked if I needed a light...
But I declined the cigarette and asked them to refrain as well. When they asked why, I found myself blurting out almost joyously with a smile, “I’m pregnant!”
The second it came out I regretted it. They were so happy for me. But what would they think of me after I got an abortion?! Well too late to think about that now dumbass! By the time we got to our destination, they had already figured out names, matching dance outfits, and made future plans for this thing. This baby. That I STILL didn’t even know if I wanted.
Finally, I made it to a clinic. A very nice, sun-drenched-waiting-room-super-friendly-non-judgemental-staff-basically-holding-your-hand-through-the-whole-visit clinic. I felt safe there. As relaxed as one can be finding out you're pregnant with a kid you might not keep. Found out I was about 6 weeks pregnant. 6 weeks?!?! If I do my calculations correctly, New Year’s Eve drunkenness was week 3. Crap! I’ve already killed the baby that I don't think I want. The thing inside me could not have possibly survived that night without serious complications. The doctor made us (one of the few doctor visits he actually came to) watch a video about our options. I still was unclear.
Weighing the options:
If I have the baby, I guess he and I could work out, though there were serious problems in the relationship. Me, being the problem. I wasn't who he met. There were aspects of me in that life but that woman wasn’t me. This pregnancy sobered me up from the dark haze I was living in. If I was going to keep it, this was NOT the lifeI was trying to give it. This was not the life I wanted to be pregnant in. I always saw my pregnancy as a pinterest board. I would be in really cute outfits, I would have multiple baby dance shoes and outfits to match. The nursery would have a cute theme. Shit, just the idea that there would be a nursery in the first place. But he hadn’t changed. He didn’t want more. He was comfortable where he was, and my aspirations for something better and wanting him to do the same, became the problem. After I found out I was pregnant I got 3 jobs. He had none. Let him tell ya, it was because “the MAN is trying to hold me down.” I’m sorry, what year are we in!?!?! 1970!?!?! People still talk like that?!?! Seriously!?!
Or, I could have an abortion, disappear into the darkness again. Just let it swallow me up, and try to get my life back on track some other time. At least this way I could go back to smoking my Parliaments. Mmmmm, that sounded nice. What to do, what to do?
Between dealing with the idiocy of Sperm Donor and the continuous disapproval questioning of my decisions from my ex, I wish I had jumped on a one way flight to Thailand and figured it out over there. I was so angry that it was becoming about everybody else BUT me. I just wanted to do what I felt like doing and not really give a shit about anyone else’s feelings about what I did with MY body. But I didn't have the balls. So I dealt with it. The next couple of months were stressful and dramatic with short lived moments of peace. I was living far from my friends. I couldn’t hop the subway and meet them somewhere to talk, get a woman's perspective, laugh, eat, people watch, just be. But I also didn't have to answer the phone when either one of them called me if I didn’t want to. And I also got to teach A LOT of dance, which put me in my happy place when I wasn't nauseated at the sight of air. All the while, I never fully committed to a decision. My 2nd doctor’s appointment leaned me more towards an abortion. I was sent to a different clinic once I had to apply for Medicaid. I was a performing artist, I didn't have insurance. I was sent to a clinic that wasn’t so sun drenched. More of the faded-mustard-yellow-walls-with-lots-of-fluorescent-lights-above. The staff was okay. Much better here than later when I was back in the city. But the tone was different. Immediately it was a bit more judgemental. A rush to answer any questions, vaguely and a bit nonchalant. And every single visit til birth, there was an STD test and a HIV test followed by a lot of questions that hinted towards maybe I was sleeping with an entire football team. And the wait was forever. Your appointment would be at 9:30am and you would still be waiting at 11am to be seen. But they had classes you could take while you wait. You know the classes, put a diaper on a baby class, 10970’s video of some woman giving birth through a forest of pubic hair. My gosh, my eyes! My eyes! Could we get a real class, like how to calm a colic baby, why breastfeeding can be hard, etc. To the Mamas of 2023, I got you. You will have much better classes. Anyways, I kept going back and forth. Have it? Don't have it? There were several moments when I would think about getting an abortion and going back to stripping. But some new strange body deformation would pop up; black stretch marks across my breast, zigzag brown spots across my belly. At 16 weeks, I took a trip up to the city to visit Sperm Donor. He was supposed to meet me and his cousin Dante at Cityscapes. I arrived to find Dante doing his usual buying drinks for the dancers and talking their ears off. I called Sperm Donors phone and he didn't answer. Now usually I’ma let people live their best life, but I was pregnant with your child, you told me to take the train 2 hours up here, and I’m paying the damn cell phone bill to the phone you are not answering, so Imma need you to answer after the 3rd call. I gave the benefit of doubt that maybe he was on the subway and didn’t have reception. But after an hour and a half, that was no longer an option. Dante gave me a ride to Sperm Donors' house, where he lived with his mother. Both his mother and sister were unaware that he was supposed to meet me. And they were unaware that I was pregnant. With his child. They hadn't seen him in over a week and he never mentioned anything about the pregnancy. Where the fuck is this dude at?! And why has he not told his family?!?! Now I look like some desperate ass woman who dated a guy for a few months and now I’m “claiming” he's the father of my unborn child. I tried calling again. Then his sister goes on about how she can’t believe he stood me up, especially since he knew the crap she went through with her baby’s father, and how he was being so protective of her during that time. And then she mentions that the last she spoke to him, he was going to his play brother’s house. Flag on the play! RED FLAG! I know that his play brother lives in the same building as his ex. AND his play brother and ex are still good friends. So automatically, in my head, I’m like, “This muthafuka is chilling with his ex. Okay, I see how we gon’ do this. That's why you’re not answering the phone? I REFUSE to be mad at another woman over some guy. So she can HAVE you. I’m OUT!” As soon as I went to call a cab to get to the train, guess who walks in the door? He’s met with a barrage of questions from his mother and sister. I stayed sitting on the couch so that I could watch his mannerism, facial expressions to get a clue as to what he’s been doing for the past week. He comes over and tries to hug me and rub my belly. The hug was slightly deflected, the belly rub was allowed. That’s your child in there too. Make whatever connections you want. He was trying to explain why he stood me up, and where he's been the past week. Clearly it read on my face that I didn’t give a shit. So he changes to asking how I’m feeling? How’s the baby? My answers are dry and short. I let him know, I’m heading out. They all try to convince me to stay. But I only agree to hang for another hour or so.
45 minutes later the phone rings. His mother asked me to answer as no one was around to get it.
“Hello, Johnson residence.”
“uh, uh, is ‘___ ‘ there?”
“Yes, let me get him. ‘____‘ phones for you!”
The call was for Sperm Donor. And I can tell by the way the woman on the other end sounded surprised to hear an unfamiliar woman answer the house phone, that it was his ex. I over hear him tell her,
“Yes, I told you about her... Because she’s here...Why are you trippin?... I dont have the money right now... Next week possibly… Oh for real, that’s how it is? … Fine! Send them ALL over here then!” He slams the phone down.
Now my observing skills and detective like reflexes for the whole truth conclude that, he’s been chilling with her for some time, he borrowed money from her, now that she realizes he went back home and I’m here (the other woman in her eyes), she's about to send her brothers/friends over here to beat his ass for playing her for a fool. DING DING DING! I’m correct! What does Sperm Donor do, grabs his knife and goes to wait for them on the porch. Immediately his mother tries to stop him. He’s not listening. His sister jumps in and tries to grab him. Does Not work. I then try to talk some sense into him and let him know that he has a baby on the way, and decisions like these are no longer an option. You have to think about the life of your unborn child. We are all basically yelling and pleading with him to stop. He didn’t want to hear any of it. As we all tried pulling him away from the door, we got shoved back. Well that was it for me, I shoved back. Hard. They all paused for a second. I told him, he could do what he wants, I’m OUT! That brought him back to reality. Back from whatever game he was playing. I mean it went from “I’m bringing a knife to gun show” standoff, to 1 phone call to his play brother and his ex’s houligans werent coming. That was a bit suspect for me. He put his knife away and tried to talk me into staying the night.
“Nah. I’m going to head back.”
“It's late, the trains may not be running til morning. Just stay til then.”
“I’ll wait at PENN station.”
“You don't like public restrooms.”
Crap! He was right. I absolutely hated public restrooms. Especially pregnant. I stopped drinking water so that I wouldn't have to use the restroom when I was away from the house. Basically made myself prediabetic while pregnant because of it.
“Fine. But I’m leaving 1st thing in the morning. You obviously are okay living this kind of life. I am not. That is not who I am.”
That was the night I felt the first flutter of movement in my belly. I cried. It was the middle of the night, I was lying right next to him and didn't say a word. I wanted the moment for myself. I know, that was very selfish of me. But after what I had witnessed earlier, I wanted to do this on my own. I didn’t want that kind of energy around me and my baby. Wait? MY baby?!? Was I keeping it? CRAP! I still wasn't sure.
After we passed the abortion time limitations, it became a flip flop of keeping it or giving it up for adoption. My cousin, who I regard very highly, was a lawyer in the city, and told me the long process of adoption along with some of the horror stories. She said that she felt in her heart that I didn't really want to give the baby up, she thought I would be a good mom. Coming from her that meant a lot. So I found myself 4 months pregnant, trying to get the sperm donor to be a part of things. But he had gone psychotic and was admitted to the mental ward of the veteran hospital.
