Your concerned Father.
My stress levels were through the roof, and I could barely look after myself, so my dad was partially correct. Self-doubt was a constant mantra. I had only put on four kilograms for the whole pregnancy. I hadn’t even told work that I was pregnant and no one had guessed. These were the days when you were still criticised for being a teen mum and being a single mum was a fate reserved for the unwashed. My looks and physique had always been my crowning glory, and now I was scared—I had lost my firm dancer’s body, though my boobs were still defying gravity. My back had been giving me all matter of grief, so my doctor was concerned about giving me a shot in the back. He felt it was safer to book me in for a caesarean.
At two pm on a cool Thursday in late August, I caught a bus to a private hospital in Brisbane. I had just woken up because I had worked until six that morning. I was shown to my room, and after I unpacked the nurse came in and shaved me, gave me an enema then left. About twenty minutes later the anaesthetist came in and told me nothing more than ‘It’s time.’ I burst into tears, I was so frightened and overwhelmed.
I could see the last nineteen years of my life flash before my eyes. All of a sudden I felt like a prophet. I could see all my choices becoming very narrow. I could see all freedom being limited. I could see my finances depleting before my eyes. I could see men distancing themselves from me whereas before I had appeared to be quite the catch. My future seemed quite glum, but at least I was prepared.
At 3.07 am on 1 September, my daughter Poppy was born, weighing 6 pounds, 1 ounce. I didn’t get to see her straight away, the nurse came in and told me that she was very tiny and had been taken to intensive care. Apparently she had swallowed fluid on the way out and was struggling to breathe.
The pain in my bikini line was nothing compared to the pain in my heart at that moment.
Poppy was brought to my room so that I could see her in case she didn’t make it through the night. She was so tiny but, in my eyes, perfect. They wheeled her incubator out of the room, then I lost the plot. Mum and Norm held me while I sobbed for hours, and finally the nurse gave me a shot of pethidine, which sent me to sleep.
I woke up the next morning in a bright room all on my own. Why had no one woken me? I buzzed the nurse, who came in immediately.
‘Is my daughter still alive?’
The nurse came over and held my hand. ‘Yes, sweetie, but she is still in the incubator. The good news of the morning is she will survive but she has to stay where she is for a few days. She appears very premature.’ I was so excited I didn’t even argue that Poppy was only two weeks early.
Poppy was two days old when I finally got to hold her. I looked into her piercing eyes. They were the most iridescent blue I had ever seen. My only doubt was my new self. Just when I thought my boobs couldn’t get any bigger, my milk came in with a vengeance. With Poppy feeding from me, my nipples resembled bright red road cones—they were bloody enormous. I thought to myself, Who will ever find these monstrosities attractive again? My tears fell on my stretch mark-ridden breasts.
I took the baby home the following day, and Mum was there when I arrived. Mum nearly bowled me over at the front door trying to get a cuddle of little Poppy. She seemed different towards me now, and she was proud of Poppy and looked forward to loving her and watching her grow.
Poppy was six days old when I returned to work. The first comment I got was, ‘Annika, you have lost so much weight, we heard that you were in hospital but we didn’t know what was wrong.’
I raised Poppy’s capsule above the desk, and there was genuine disbelief on everyone’s faces. Once they were convinced she was mine they were thrilled for me. For nine months I had kept my condition a secret because I was single and young and I really didn’t need any additional negativity. But when you are confronted with a brand-new baby how can you criticise?
Poppy was a dream baby and only woke in commercial breaks. Finally, life was giving me some blessings.
24
Family Battles
Eighteen months flew by. I tried to maintain my role with Gala, but my heart just wasn’t in that scene anymore. I spent every spare minute with Poppy, and when I wasn’t with her Mum chipped in. But domestic life is rarely easy, and Mum and I had gotten to a point where talking was no longer possible. I hated even the smell of her, but how could I live without her? Who could I ask to come in to watch Poppy sleep every night? But as always happens, empty threats said in the heat of the moment quickly became reality. It was time for Mum and I to part ways again.
Mum began asking for money so that she could go on her own. ‘I’ve worked for you for over a year,’ she said.
‘You are kidding, aren’t you?’