I was 15 years old at the time. I was in a relationship with an abuser. He abused me mentally, physically, sexually. I was in love with him, always was. My parents didn’t know about anything other than the mental abuse. They tried to keep me away from him. Of course, I didn’t listen.
I had ovarian surgery on October 10, 2016. Every pregnancy test I had taken was negative. Even the hospital tests where negative. I didn’t have a period because my doctor gave me a type of birth control to make me stop bleeding and ovulating. Well, I bled once and ovulated, I had sex with protection. I woke up in recovery to see my doctor instead of my mom. He told me that I had a miscarriage and asked me if I wanted my parents to know. I said no, I didn’t want anyone to know. They gave me medicine and sent me on my way. I was 16 weeks pregnant.
A couple months passed, it’s almost Christmas. I needed to tell the dad. He broke up with me, and said I never gave him anything to love. That’s when I brought up our child. I told him everything. We decided to name him Oliver. Of course Oliver is a guess on a gender, but it gives my baby a name. On January 7 we had a small memorial for our child. I was shattered and he was my rock.
A couple weeks later I get calls from his girlfriend saying I killed his kid. The whole school was told I had an abortion. They said I told the dad if he left me I would kill it. I was devastated. He did this to me. He said he called my doctor and got my medical files. He stated that I lied for attention. I knew that was a lie, you can’t get medical files unless they are yours, our your child. Oliver was not the patient, I was. My records, my miscarriage was now seen as a cold blooded murder.
I’m now 16, my due date would’ve been the 15th of May. I still struggle with my loss and the abusive father. He has a restraining order served on him since he is 19 and threatened to hurt me again. My parents now know, we keep it a family secret. I am the only one who doesn’t want to pretend it never happened. I’m finishing my sophomore year in fear and sadness because my loss and my abuse.
I kept one onesie I bought after I found out. It has ducks on it, it has little booties and the cutest hat and mittens. I keep all of his things in a little box in my room. No one is supporting me with grieving. I never got help, my parents just tell me to get over it and move on. My friends said I was never a mom anyway.
I’m alone. I’m alone, 16, damaged beyond repair. I have developed PTSD from my miscarriage and abuse. Sometimes I wake up and I can hear my doctor’s voice telling me he’s gone. Over and over again.
I hope no one lives through what I did.
-L.L.
Kentucky
Published 6/22/17