La ruptura/ Final break-up

Como les decía en el post anterior, los dos meses siguientes realmente fueron perfectos... logramos volver a encender la llama, estábamos felices, y éramos una familia perfecta. O por lo menos eso era lo que había pensado.

Una tarde de agosto, cuando fui a la ginecóloga para hacerme un chequeo, ya que el cáncer de mamá exigía que fuera más que cuidadosa con mi salud, durante la revisación le comenté a la doctora el motivo de mi visita al igual que decirle que había tenido una falta en la menstruación... pero que ya me había ocurrido anteriormente cuando había vivido una situación de estrés extrema.

La médica, ante la duda, me revisó con mucho cuidado, y confirmó lo que en realidad yo no estaba lista para escuchar... que estaba embarazada, y que por lo que podía calcular por los días, de no más de seis semanas. Así que ahí se fue por la borda todo el chequeo que tanto necesitaba realizarme. Me mandó a hacer unos estudios de rutina y una ecografía mamaria, como para por lo menos descartar la posibilidad de algo que no debía estar ahí.

Me hice todos los estudios, y el ecógrafo que me atendió hasta me hizo una ecografía del abdomen, donde pude ver a mi pequeña Sofi con apenas 7 semanas de gestación.

Ahora era el momento de decirle a P. la buena noticia... y naturalmente, por el espectacular momento que estábamos pasando, estaba segura que no me iba a preguntar, como lo había hecho cuando le dije que estaba embarazada la primera vez, quién era el padre...

Pero me equivoqué. Al decirle que estábamos esperando un bebé, su reacción realmente fue la de un desconocido! Lo primero que me dijo fue que era imposible. Después se puso como loco, y empezó a decir que él estaba mal emocionalmente, afectivamente, económicamente (sin trabajo desde... uuuff, desde que lo conocí??), y todas las razones finalizadas en mente que se les puedan ocurrir!

Honestamente me sorprendió la persona que tenía frente mío... porque no lo reconocí como el hombre con quién había estado conviviendo por unos 15 años... éste no era más P. sino un absoluto desconocido, más aún luego de la charla que siguió.

Cuando logró tranquilizarse un poco, me dijo que esto no estaba bien... y me preguntó qué pensaba hacer. Podrán imaginarse mi cara de espanto mezclada con sorpresa ante esta pregunta. Cómo qué pensaba hacer???

Y muy fríamente, como jamás antes lo había visto pararse ni lo había escuchado hablar, me preguntó qué pensaba hacer con el bebé. Esas palabras resonaron dentro de mi cabeza por lo que parecían siglos, mientras que trataba de volver a encontrar la respiración después de semejante patada en la boca del estómago. De qué estaba hablando???? Estaba loco???

Cuando pude recuperarme de este shock inicial, traté de hablarle con la mayor calma posible. Y le expliqué que lo que le iba a decir era hablando hipotéticamente, ya que la decisión la tenía más que tomada. Y le dije que si, supongamos, decidiera no tener mi bebé (lo cual naturalmente NI se me había cruzado por la cabeza!!!), al poco tiempo le pediría a él que se fuera, porque no toleraría mirarlo a la cara por haberme sugerido no tenerlo. Y que si, por el otro lado, decidiera tener a mi bebé, eso implicaría que él se iría. O sea que de una forma o de otra, él (P.) no estaría más en mi vida. Naturalmente, le expliqué, no había que ser muy inteligente para saber cuál era la opción que yo había elegido: quedarme con mi bebé.

Ahí sin más me dijo que me iba a arrepentir por la elección que había hecho, y nos llevó tan sólo dos semanas hacer todos los trámites necesarios (no sin algunas discusiones de quién se quedaba con qué, aunque la que siempre había trabajado había sido yo), para que luego se fuera de casa para siempre el martes 1ero de octubre del 2002 (bah... casi para siempre... pero eso es tema de otro post!)

As I was telling you in my previous post, the two months that followed were really perfect... we were able to light the flame of love again, we were happy and were the perfect family. Or at least, that is what I thought.

One afternoon in August, when I went to the gynechologist for a check-up, as my mother's cancer made it a must for me to be more careful as regarded my health, while she was getting ready to start with it, I explained to the doctor why I was there as well as telling her that I had not had my period a few days back but that it didn't surprise me, as it had happened once before when I had been through an extremely stressful situation.

Just in casem the doctor was extremely careful and soon confirmed what I was not at all ready to hear... that i was pregnant, and that according to the days, she could calculate the pregnancy to be of about six weeks. Then and there all the studies I should have had made could not be carried out, but instead she sent me to have the tests that are normally carried out plus a breast ecography, so that we could be sure that there were no bad surprises there awaiting.

I had all the etsts run, and the technician who did the breast scan also did one of my abdomen, and I could see my little Sophie for the first time, when she was just 7 weeks old.

Now was the time to tell P. about the good news.. and naturally, because of the great moment we were going through, I was absolutely certain that he would not ask, as he had when I had broken the news of the first pregnancy, who the father was...

But I was SO wrong!! When I told him that we were expecting a baby, the way in which he reacted was that of a total stranger to me! The first thing he said was that it was impossible. After that, he went nuts, and started saying that he was unwell emotinally, physically, economically (without a job since... uufff, since I had met him??), and all the other "ly"'s that you can think of!

Honestly, I was flabbesghasted at the sight of the person who was standing in front of me... because I couldn't recognize him as the man with whom I had shared my life for the past 15 years... this was P. no longer but an absolute stranger, more still after the chat that followed.

When he had finally calmed down, he told me that this was not right... and he asked me what I was going to do. I guess you will be able to imagine my face of horror mixed with surprise when he asked this. What was I going to do???

And with a voice and manner as cold as he could have, as I had never ever seen him before, he asked me what I was going to do with the baby. Those words echoed inside my head for what seemed ages, while I was trying to get my breath back after such sudden and unexpected blow. What was he talking about???? Was he crazy???

When I was able to come back from the initial shock, I tried talking to him with as much calm as possible. And I explained to him that what I was about to say was always speaking hypothetically, as I had a decision taken already. So I went on to telling him that, supposing I decided not to have my baby (which naturally was completely out of the question as it had NEVER even crossed my mind!!!), very little time after I would be asking him to leave, as I would not be able to bare the sight of him for having suggested I didn't carry on with my pregnancy. And that if, on the other hand, I decided to have my baby, that would mean that he would leave. So that one way or the other, he (P.) would not be in my life any longer. Naturally, I explained, one did not have to be too smart to know what option I had chosen: I was keeping my baby.

And right them and there he told me that I would regret the choice I had made, and it took us only two weeks to do all the necessary paperwork (not without a few bad moments of quarrels in which we talked about who kept what although the bread bearer had always been me), and he finally left home forever on October 1st, 2002 (well... almost forever... but that is material for some other post!)