Page 83 of Give My Everything
I laugh at Melody’s words, feeling thankful once again that I was lucky enough to be assigned to her when I enrolled at Alta Mesa.
Melody Cohen’s focus as an academic advisor and part-time instructor is to assimilate transfer students to campus culture. As a person who was going through a lot when I started there, it made all the difference in making me feel like I belonged.
She has also been the most vocal advocate for me continuing my studies, encouraging me to look into graduate school when I was only a junior.
It was alsobecauseof her that I was first introduced to art therapy, a type of counseling graduate degree I’ve considered applying for over the past year and a half.
“I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I’m just not ready,” I say, smiling at her face on the screen of my phone. “But when I am, you’ll be the first person I call. I promise.”
My freshman year of college was mostly a wash, though I was able to transfer a few credits from that first semester over to Alta Mesa. When I started my program, a bachelor’s in art education, it was like someone had taken my body and hooked me up to a battery, to a life source that pumped my blood through my veins and made me believe I could have a purpose.
I never really planned to become a teacher. I just wanted a chance to explore art in a way that would take me back to a place my mind rarely had a chance to go.
I was seriously considering her suggestion that I apply to a graduate program, though I knew I wanted to take at least a semester, maybe a year off from school before going back.
I never realized I would find that chance to go back a dwindling option with a pregnancy looming.
Now, I’m wishing I had made different choices, wishing I’d continued to follow my heart instead of going with my family on a trip to Colombia in May when I finished my final semester. I wish I’d been brave enough to tell them about my graduation from Alta Mesa instead of pretending I finally decided to drop out of college without a degree and move home.
My life would be so different if I’d just decided to do what felt right to me instead of going along with what my parents wanted.
But fighting against expectations is a hard thing to do.
“You know I’m here for you, whatever you need!”
I grin at her, feeling truly thankful that there is a woman in my life who wants the best for me for no other reason than because she thinks I deserve it.
Even if she doesn’t know the real me.
Even if she might be wrong.
“Thanks, Melody. I’ve gotta get going, but I’ll call you again once I’ve decided.”
Once I’m finally off the phone, I stretch out on my bed, my hand falling to rest on my stomach.
It’s hard to believe there’s a living thing in there.
Apart from the morning sickness, I don’t really feel any different at all. Maybe a bit like I’m on my period all the time, minus the tampons. Weird cramps, sore boobs, tired body.
No, that part is different.
I’m tired all the time. All. The. Time.
Logically, I realize my body is like, creating an eyeball right now or something magical like that, so it makes sense that I’m always exhausted, but it still sucks.
I reach out and open the drawer of my nightstand, fishing around until I find what I’m looking for.
And then I just stare at it, my nerves a constant, steady strum through my body.
The grainy picture doesn’t look like much.
I found out I was pregnant after my missed period. I’ve always been irregular, so I didn’t think much about it until I thought I had a stomach flu that never felt like it was going away.
So when a doctor at a small private practice unaffiliated with my parents’ insurance confirmed what an at-home test had already told me, I threw up on the floor of the exam room I was in.
She scheduled my first ultrasound for just a few days later, and I went alone, having the conversation with myself about whether or not I wanted to terminate the pregnancy or give it up for adoption or…I don’t know. I never imagined I would want to keep it.
Especially when I think about how it happened.
