elishevasworld's Blog

“How long have you been married?” someone asked me. With pride I answered, “20 years married and 22 years together.”
“Damn! I feel for you. That’s a long prison sentence.” they shook their head and replied. Looking at me with sympathy. They began to go down a list of things that would make sense in their head of reasons why I “had” to get married. When none of those reasons were mine, they finally came to the conclusion that I married for love and labeled me a rarity. In a world full of reality shows that don’t put marriage in a good spotlight, I suppose we are a rarity, that’s the sad part.
Why should marriage be viewed as a prison sentence? As if being with one person as long as I have is not a beautiful thing? Like  I’m missing out on something by being in a committed relationship? There is nothing wrong with being single, but do not get it twisted, single people yearn for relationships that will blossom into marriage one day. Who doesn’t want someone in their corner who knows what you want out of life and will go to hell and back to make sure you get it? I married my friend so it doesn’t feel like 20 years. We still enjoy each others company, laugh and talk just like we did when we 1st started dating, we still hold hands in the car, still say ‘I love you’ everyday, we still are attracted to each other, but most importantly we still have God involved in our marriage.
Does that mean we don’t have arguments, disagreements and time spent on the couch at night (him, not me, LOL)? Oh we have our moments, but the good outweighs the bad and we keep pressing forward. With the younger generations overly exposed to Reality Shows that depict marriage in a bad light and under exposed to Real Life, we have to shed light on the this thing called Love & Marriage. I tell young people all the time that marriage is harrrd work but anything worth having is worth working for. The rewards are plentiful! So yes, I’ve been with the same man for 22years, yes, we’ve been married for 20 years this year, and yes, we get on each others nerves sometimes, but we wouldn’t have it any other way. If 20 years of marriage seems like a prison sentence….GIVE ME LIFE…DOUBLE LIFE…WITH NO POSSIBILITY OF PAROLE!!!

I came from a two parent home. My parents had a whirlwind love story. My young mother, a model and airline stewardess, saw my father in his Army uniform oneday in California and said, “He was so fine! He looked like a black Elvis Presley.” They were married and had 6 beautiful  children, 1 son and 5 daughters. My parents took pride in their beautiful brood. Life was good in The Cole Family.

But in 1984, my father lost his job that supported us and allowed us to live as a middle-class black family. It allowed my Mother to stay at home and raise us, it allowed us to go on family vacations every summer. We were doing just fine. The adults called it “Reganomics”, said the President was sending middle-class black mens jobs oversees and flooding our streets with drugs.  I remember looking out the window at the streets. I didn’t see any drugs, but I was only 9 and didn’t know what to look for anyway.

With money becoming an issue, things at home got different. My parents argued a lot, summer came and there was no vacation, school was starting and new clothes and shoes were low on the priority list. There was no fun trip into downtown Chicago to shop at Carson Pierre Scott or Marshall Fields then go out to dinner.  All the things that we thought were normal, we thought that’s how everyone else lived too.  We soon would find out that was not true.

Life got really crazy for us, my parents were together one minute and the next minute we were taking a long cab ride up North to stay with my Grandmother. But one night, September 20, 1984 to be exact, our lives came to a halt. Everything we were dealing with got pushed to the backburner, for 30 minutes. That night at 8:00pm on NBC, my father surrounded us all in front of the new 32inch color TV that he bought with his winnings at the races. We had fresh popped popcorn that my Mother so lovingly made for the occasion.

That night we watched Heathcliff and Claire Huxtable take care of their family that was very similar to mine. 1 son and 4 daughters. We all joked around that Terry was Theo, I was Denise, Bekah was Saundra, Sarah was Vanessa and Rachel was Rudy (Jenn was only a baby at the time). We laughed and laughed at these characters and that night we all became lifelong fans. Thursday night was family night, a night with the Huxtables.

Over the next year, we had great Thrusday night memories but the rest of the week…not so much. Eventually my father left the house, breaking up our Cosby Show like home. We had all the kids,even our Claire, but where was our Cliff? So, Cliff Huxtable became my Dad. Every week I listened to him and took his advice. Made decisions on my life based on what Cliff and Claire said. I wasn’t the only one now either. The Divorce rate had risen during this time leaving a lot of black families fatherless with only Cliff to bare the load of raising so many children.

From the time I was 10 til their farewell episode in April of 1992 when I was 16, Cliff was the male role model in my life. He taught me right along with his kids the value of Faith, Family and Education. If you did what you were supposed to do and worked hard you could have a good life. I learned so many life lessons from Cliff but the main one was how a man should treat a woman. Cliff looooved Claire! I would make sure my husband would treat me like that too.

The Cosby Show helped raise several generations of fatherless households. We were blessed to have them. Now here I am at 40, with a loving Cliff and 2 little Theo’s. My children love watching the Cosby show. The difference is that for them its just entertainment because they have a Father in their home. For me, I watched for entertainment and life lessons that only a Father can give you.

I’m not clueless to what is going on in the news with Bill Cosby. I don’t know what happened because I wasn’t there but I do know this, taking the Cosby Show re-runs off the air was the wrong decision to make. Heathcliff Huxtable is needed today more than ever. The number of black TV Dads that can stand next to Cliff are scarce.

I’m thankful for Cliff Huxtable. He gave me a look at everything I wanted to be and have oneday. I hope I made him proud!

Love,

Elisheva-aka “Denise”

Sitting on my couch folding cloths and in walks my 6 year-old son Evan, who is a mini replica of myself. With his big brown eyes he looks at me and asks…”Mommy what number son am I?” Anyone listening in on this conversation probably wouldn’t have a clue as to what he meant, but I knew. I knew because I never shied away from the topic of my multiple losses with anyone, not even my children. They knew of every Angel Sibling that was watching over them. I replied back to my son, “You are my 6th son.”

How befitting a question since October is the Pregnancy and Infant Loss awareness month. I love telling the world my beautiful story of how God blessed us after all the years of loss and heartache with 2 Miracle babies. It’s no secret in my family and circle of friends that my husband and I suffered many losses over the years. When we first got married in 1996 we made a choice to put off starting a family for 2 years so that we could build our relationship as husband and wife before we added the title “Mommy and Daddy”.  We were young and felt like we had plenty of time. In October of 1998 just before my 23rd birthday, we found out we were pregnant! We were bubbling over with joy! We told everyone that same day! I remember going to the store and looking at all the baby products I would soon be buying for my little one. I was in love with this little person already. As the weeks turned into months I was plagued with all day sickness ( just having morning sickness would’ve been a treat), constant cramping and spotting, which the doctors said was normal for some women in the 1st trimester. One afternoon while grocery shopping, the pain became unbearable so I called my doctor and he put me on bed rest.  I was in the beginning of my 2nd trimester and we would be finding out the sex of the baby at my next appointment. But that appointment never came for me. The thought that something could go wrong never entered my mind. In our families, pregnancy meant in 9 months a baby would be born. I was cramping and bleeding non-stop and was rushed to the ER. Everything was moving so fast and I remember thinking what is happening to me? The pain was so intense I lost consciousness a few times. I remember the nurse telling us that I was in labor. It still did not register that this was it for me, that my baby was too small to survive if it were born now…that I was not going to be a mother after all.

The nurse told me not to push and she would be right back. I remember feeling the urge to push and not being able to control it. My body had a mind of its own and there was nothing I could do to stop the process. One second I was pregnant and the next second I pushed and then…I wasn’t. I looked down and there still inside the water bag was my perfect baby. Tiny but perfect. 10 fingers, 10 toes, eyes, ears, nose…my baby. I couldn’t cry, I couldn’t move. I was in a state of shock. The nurse came in with a bedpan and saw the baby on the cot beneath me and I will never forget what she said…:”Oh sweetheart, I’m sorry, but you are young. In 3 months you can try again. You can have another one.” I could only blink over and over. I just couldn’t cry. I felt like this was a movie and soon it would end and I would still be pregnant. She put on gloves, picked up the “contents”  and put it in the bedpan. She tried to take it away but I told her to let me see what it was. I wanted to know if I was right. I said it was a boy from the moment I found out and I was right, it was a boy. Just as she was covering him up to take him away, my husband came in the room. I sent him away to the cafeteria just before I gave birth, not wanting him to see. I’m guessing what he walked in on looked like a bloody massacre, he had the look of horror on his face. I told him it was over, we had a son. That was the worst day of my 23 year-old life and I would never be the same.

The experience of having a miscarriage was so horrific to me that I did not try to start a family again for 5 years. I could not bear the thought of going thru that again, but I was getting older and I did want to have children so we tried again but this time nothing happened. In 2003 after 6 months of trying we saw a Fertility specialist who diagnosed me with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS) and said I would need some medicinal assistance to get pregnant again. After taking medication and monitoring my ovaries, I was pregnant again, but I couldn’t get excited. I was terrified. I went in for my ultrasound at 14 weeks and the baby had no heartbeat. I suffered another loss and had to have surgery to remove the baby. I was devastated. The U/S Tech said that this baby looked like a boy too. I felt like a failure. What was wrong with me? I couldn’t give my husband the son he always wanted. Everyone around me was having babies, some were on baby #3 and #4. I was so angry at God, at just about everything. But that anger pushed me to try even harder.

I went to the next level with my infertility treatments. I went from oral medication to injections and inseminations. The nurses told me that the chances of getting pregnant on the 1st try was nil to none. They didn’t want me to get my hopes up, but I just knew that it was going to work…and it did. Finally on January 14, 2004 I was pregnant again. We played it safe and only told our immediate families and I took it very easy at work. I would not rejoice in this pregnancy at all, not until they were in my arms. Because of my multiple losses they had to monitor me closely. I was able to get an ultrasound at 6 weeks this time. The technician took one look at the monitor and her eyes lit up! She said  “Come here Dad, I want to show you something.” He looked confused and then he started smiling. I was feeling left out so I yelled, “What is it? I wanna see too.” She turned the screen to me and said “Congrats Lil Momma, you have TWO babies!’  IT WAS TWINS!!

I was doing great, lots of sickness but no bleeding so I was on cloud 9. Plus I got an u/s every week and I got to see my little ones getting bigger and bigger. When I made it past 14 weeks, we told everyone, we were over joyed. I made it to 17 weeks! The furthest I’d ever been, then 18 and 19!! But as I approached 20 weeks I started to feel so much pressure. I called my doctor and she said it was normal. I was carrying twins! Then one day I was feeling poorly so I went  to bed early. I got up to use the bathroom at 3am, nothing unusual for a 5 month pregnant woman. I went to wipe myself and I felt the water bag bulging . I freaked out. Hollering and screaming to my husband to take me to the hospital. It was happening again!!

At 20weeks and 4 days on 7/7/2004 at 6:38am I delivered my son Ennis Renardo Turner Jr. stillborn, weighing in at 1lb 1oz. At 20 weeks and 4 days on 7/7/2004 at 12:36pm I delivered my 2nd son Elijah Reginald Turner weighing in just under 1lb. That was the worst day of my entire life…devastated can barely describe how I felt. I was 28 years old going on 29 and had lost 4 boys…what was wrong with me? Why was God punishing me? I thought I couldn’t get any lower, but it did, on 7/11/04, the day I had the funeral and burial. They were in a beautiful, white coffin together, just as they’d been in my stomach. Watching that tiny coffin go in the ground was the hardest part of it all. I wanted to die too.

6 months went by and my husband asks the unthinkable of me…to try one more time! NO!! I’m done, it was not meant for me to be a parent. I was too afraid. I couldn’t take another loss. But I told a good friend of mine from church who was a Nurse, Audrey Taylor, God rest her soul, and she told me to get checked for incompetent cervix. She said she thought that was my problem and if it was it could be easily fixed with sutures to keep it closed. So I got all new doctors and sure enough Audrey was right!  All I needed was a stitch and I could sustain a pregnancy. So I took the leap of faith and tried to get pregnant with the injections and insemination again and on the 1st try, I was pregnant. At 12 weeks they placed the stitch and I was fine. At 20 weeks,  I rejoiced that I made it past that point of when I lost the twins. At 24 weeks, I rejoiced that my baby was considered viable so if it were born now, it could survive. Finally at 25 weeks he was positioned just right and we could see…IT WAS A BOY!! Little Ethan Levi Turner was on his way. At 28 weeks things took a turn for the worse or so I thought at the time, but later found it was God’s way of restoring what I lost just a year before. I developed severe preeclampsia and Ethan had to be born so that we both could survive. So on 7/11/05 at 7:07pm (notice the numbers) Ethan was born weighing 1lb 12oz’s and 14 inches long. Our little miracle was alive and doing well. After 67 days in the NICU, they sent him home. We were finally parents!! What a long journey, but we survived it.

The doctors told us when Ethan was 18 months-old that I could not have anymore babies. I was saddened by this because I wanted my son to have a sibling but I was thankful to have Ethan. So imagine our surprise one cold morning in February of 2009 when a + sign popped up on the pregnancy test that I took simply to rule it out. I thought it was the flu and my husband said “check and see if you are pregnant”. I never imagined it would be +. At 33weeks and 3days our bouncing baby boy Evan Rhys Turner came into this world on 10/1/2009 at 1:43am weighing in at a hefty 7lbs 12oz’s! Pretty big for a preemie born 7 weeks early huh?

So this is how Evan came to be my 6th Son! What a story right? It’s my miracle story and I wouldn’t have it any other way! I will never forget my 4 Angel sons who are looking over us all the time. This blog is dedicated to you…Mommy will always love you….