It was the spring of 1996. I was working as a paralegal in Coral Gables. Poppa and I were raising our little Alexandra who was 4 and the princess of not only our home but that of every home she knew of since none of our friends had any children of their own. I was all of 24 years.
Poppa and I had a small but cute and cozy two story home in South Miami, very south. Our lives consisted of work, play, Alexandra and our ambitions. To think back now, it was a very simple time. Meals for three, walks in the park across the street from our house and lots of friends to party with when we wanted to escape the domestic life for a little while. We planned to work hard and upgrade homes, cars and lifestyles as time went by and we planned to have one child. Actually, planned would be a wrong term to use. We were told we would have one child as Poppa was told in the military that he could have no more children. We were OK with that. We had our perfect little blond haired, blue eyed baby and we could do whatever we liked in our life. To say that thoughts of all those babies we would never have haunted me, well no.
I worked. I loved to work. It seems though that my body did not love it as much as I did because earlier that year I began having terrible heartburn, and wrenching stomach pains quite often. After a few trips to the emergency room in the most pain I have ever experienced (and asking some poor doctor to marry me after having some opiates via an IV for the pain) I was told that I might have an ulcer and I should see a gastroenterologist. An ulcer at the ripe old age of 24. That would be me, of course because I was a Cuban coffee junky who did not eat well, partied a little too much and lived for the next big thing.
I went to the gastro and had a whole battery of tests done, meanwhile being given the instructions to stop drinking coffee, alcohol or anything spicy or with tomato. Ok, so I was going to eat mush for a living? I mean seriously, I’m Cuban, I like food! After a whole stomach x-ray panel, barium test and some other tests, I was told that I had a duodenal ulcer. Lovely! The pain though that I had been experiencing was enough to halt me in my tracks and so I was a good patient and followed orders.
A month later, Poppa and I were catching a plane the next morning to his cousins wedding in Tennessee. Sometime after Poppa had gone to bed, I had started up with some stomach flu symptoms which quite worried me as my ulcer could not handle any aggravation. After a night sleeping with my head practically in the toilet, I woke up Poppa and told him where I had spent the night. I remember asking him “we are sure that we can’t have any more babies aren’t we, because I kind of remember this feeling”. We both laughed it off and caught a plane. Another month went by and life was pretty much back to normal.
One morning as I prepared for a big case that I was working on with my boss and a deposition that afternoon, one of the girls that answered the phone was looking a bit sad. Knowing her to be so peppy, I asked her what was wrong and she immediately fell apart into a puddle at my feet. She was engaged to be married and almost in law school… and she suspected she might be pregnant. Oh dear, we really didn’t have time for this and so I told her to quickly run across the street to the pharmacy and get a test. That way, if she was pregnant she could go home and figure out how to tell her fiance and if she was not we could get on with the rest of our day. She took the test and came back from the bathroom telling me it was negative but she was sure it was wrong. I was at this point, a bit aggravated. We had so much to do that day. I offered to take the second test so she could see that they work. As I type this, my heart is racing.
I went into the bathroom and did what you do with a pregnancy test. As I washed my hands, I could see the stick there on top of a tissue paper next to the sink area. Oh. my. goodness. What? But how could this be? I walked back in feeling my knees too weak and not really remembering what was going on with the receptionist, just feeling numb. She looked and me and looked at the stick in my hand and immediately, she forgot what she had been worrying about. I felt apart in my chair. Feeling full of despair, I thought of my life, my life with Poppa, our plans, Alexandra. I felt like I was spiraling. And oh, how to tell Poppa.
In what seemed like that very moment, he called. I could not speak to him and he picked up right away that something was wrong with me. My bosses had arrived, perfect timing. I told him that we had to talk, later. He asked me what was wrong but I couldn’t tell him, I just kept saying “we will talk later”. Filled with despair he said “Trish, please tell me what I have done, please, I love you”. What he had done? He went on, “Trish, we can fix whatever is wrong just give me a chance”. Did he think I wanted to leave him or something? I was so confused by his reaction that I just blurted it out, “no, I’m not leaving you… I’m pregnant!”
A second went by and he said “Ok, we will talk at home” and then he said “hey, I love you”. I was no good to anyone, my boss found out what was going on and sent me home. Just where I wanted to be… What was Poppa going to say to me? I drove home and honestly, I don’t remember how the heck I got there but I remember opening the door to find Poppa standing there holding a huge bouquet of roses and I fell apart in his arms. I remember feeling safe at that moment, scared but safe.
I called my Gastro to find our what kind of antacid I could take now that I was expecting and he asked me to come in to see him. The next day I went to see first the Ob/Gyn to find out that I was really pregnant and about 8 weeks and then to see the Gastro which was not as nice. He sat me down and explained to me that with all the stomach x-rays I had a few weeks earlier I would have a problem. Stomach x-rays??? That was when it all came back to me. Did no one even think to ask me if I could be pregnant? Would I have answered a resounding no either way?
The doctor told me he recommended an abortion. Um, excuse me? That was when I realized that I was in love. I was fully in love with this little person, even though it was a shock, even though we thought we could not afford it, even though this doctor was telling me to do something I could not possibly fathom.
This is where I should stop and tell you that I was raised as a Catholic but left the church and would not return until Alexandra was nearly 12, so my Catholic faith had little to do with my decision. How could this doctor possibly know what he was asking me to do? I flat out to him that I would not do it. He told me to go home and speak with my husband (Poppa and I did not believe in marriage at this point in our lives). I assured him there was nothing to discuss and that Poppa would feel the same was as I did. I called him from my 1 pound, bigger than my head cell phone on the way home.
We were both in agreement. Come what may, we would face it together. Our family was going to be a little bigger. The weeks went by and we began to plan all sorts of things, baby rooms, baby names, how to tell my mother in law. My parents were happy though we never told anyone about the xrays or the doctors and come to think about it, there may not be many people who have ever heard this whole story. My parents know now but back then we just wanted to be happy with our baby. The day we found out the baby was a boy was so exciting. Poppa would have a buddy to watch soccer with, someone to teach and play football with, a boy!
We decided on Nicholas. It was a good strong name and for a middle name we picked Rolando after Poppa’s grandfather who passed away during the whole x-ray and find out I was pregnant commotion. My belly grew each day and so did my heart. The day came that I went into labor and since we had not even told our OB that there might be a problem, we happily went along to the hospital. Me with Nicholas’ future god parents, who were much more nervous that I having never had any children yet of their own, and Poppa who met us after work at the hospital. After a grueling 19 hours, I met my boy.
He was perfect. In every way. He still is. Nicholas is probably one of my children who is most like me. He can make me laugh in a second and un-nerve me in the next. I would not want to live in a world that he never knew. We are intertwined him and I. He taught me to really love. A love that is bigger than ambition or fear. My true love.
And so you might already know the rest of the story. We went on to have many more babies and now Nicholas is all of 16 years old. I have not shared this story with many people but I think it is important to see that with God all things are possible and even though we didn’t consult with him at the time, he was holding our hands and carrying us through, just as he is today. 
I hope to see you tomorrow here for Real Food on a Real Budget which will be hosted by Emily of Front Forty Farm. See you then!
