Not Afraid of Life Page 9

  But first, she decided to have fun with them.

  “Hey, we’re expanding,” she said.

  They were confused. Expanding government? That didn’t sound like my Republican mother.

  “No, the First Family is expanding . . . I’m pregnant. I’m having a baby in two months!”

  The whole state was in shock—Mom didn’t look seven months pregnant. However, the people of Alaska didn’t respond as negatively as Mom feared they would.

  KTVA11 did a news report on its six o’clock news, explaining how some people worried she wouldn’t be able to fulfill her duties as governor. Reporters went to the street and asked people what they thought. The way they set it up, you’d think there would be angry voters shaking their fists in the air. So when they showed people from the street, it was almost comical. Every single person reporters interviewed said they believed it was great news. (One woman said, “If she can handle a state, she can handle a baby.”)

  It was only a few weeks later, however, that my aunt Heather got a call late at night. Mom had gone into labor early.

  This didn’t give me a lot of time to process all that was going on. On the drive to Mat-Su Regional Medical Center, I was almost overcome with worry about my new brother. Would the delivery be dangerous?

  Dad, Willow, and I were in the room as Trig was born on April 18, 2008. When I saw his tiny body, I immediately knew that this little boy was perfect. As I held him, I noticed he didn’t look like the rest of us. His neck seemed thicker than those of other babies I’d held. About thirty minutes later, Dr. Catherine Baldwin-Johnson came into the room. She was a longtime family friend, and we called her Dr. CBJ. She was the same doctor who delivered Piper years before and had made her a Noah’s ark quilt.

  When she came back into the room, Mom said, “Show the girls that line on his hand.”

  Dr. CBJ opened Trig’s hand and said, “Now this deeper line is a characteristic of Down syndrome.”

  That was the first time we heard his diagnosis.

  Down syndrome, I’d later learn, is a condition caused when a baby has an extra chromosome. This causes delays in mental and physical development. Although some kids need a lot of extra medical attention, others lead healthy lives. The miraculous thing about these babies—and children and adults—is that they see the world with delight and bless their families with unconditional affection. Even though Trig was just a few minutes old, I felt like he’d already changed me.

  Dr. CBJ opened his tiny little palm and showed us a crease that ran horizontal on his hand. As we admired this new addition to the family, all of my cares and concerns evaporated. He was absolutely perfect, pure, and beautiful.

  Which brings me to his name.

  Believe it or not, Mom threatened to name him Trig Zamboni—after the ice resurfacers that clean and smooth the surface of a hockey rink. Thankfully (surprisingly), she chickened out. Like the other kids, his name is chock-full of personal meaning.

  Trig is Norse for “strength” or “true,” and Paxson is for one of Mom’s favorite snowmachine areas in Alaska. Plus, my dad has an uncle named Trig. However, Mom did make good on a promise to make his middle name “Van.” Get it? Van Palin, like Van Halen?

  She even sent out birth announcements that looked like the cover of a Van Halen album, but instead of the iconic VH against the ring of fire, her girlfriend designed a VP. Seriously, you cannot make this stuff up!

  The arrival of Trig confirmed to me that God knows what he’s doing—he blessed us with a “perfect” child, allowing us to see firsthand that every baby is worth protecting and worthy of respect. Trig changed all of our lives for the better and solidified my pro-life stance. I also would like to share with others that you don’t need to fear the news that you might have a special-needs child. It’s a tragic fact that 85 to 90 percent of Down syndrome babies are aborted, and I have to assume it’s because of fear of the unknown. If you could experience the joy we’ve found in Trig, that joy would erase any fear. In fact, we’re proud that Trig is different and embrace and enjoy him so much more! We even have a bumper sticker that reads MY KID HAS MORE CHROMOSOMES THAN YOUR KIDS!

  As I sat there looking at my new baby brother in the hospital, I’d never been more emotional or joyful in my life. Little did I know that in eight short months, I’d be lying in the same hospital room, in the same hospital bed, delivering my own baby boy.

  I was more than a month pregnant, and I didn’t know it.

  My back was killing me. I was sitting in the coffee stand, and I thought I was going to die.

  Maybe I’m pregnant, I thought to myself, though it was hardly a real possibility in my mind.

  Then the next morning, Lauden and I went off campus for lunch, and I told her how weird I was feeling.

  “I thought you were on the pill now,” she said. “Isn’t it taking care of your cramping?”

  “I don’t think it’s working,” I said, as I tried to calculate how long it had been since my last period and that day in the bear stand.

  “I have ibuprofen,” she offered, digging in her purse.

  “No, I mean I’m afraid the pill isn’t working,” I said again, and then more slowly, “I mean, that it really isn’t working.”

  She looked at me sideways. “No way.”

  “Let’s go buy some pregnancy tests.”

  We bought a pack of two and went back to Lauden’s house.

  The first one showed that I was pregnant. I thought it was probably a fluke.

  The second one showed even more prominent pluses. But two tests aren’t proof of anything.

  I went to work after lunch, and on the way home, I bought a lot more tests . . . all different kinds.

  We went back to Lauden’s house, and I ran to the bathroom.

  I went out to my cousin while we waited for the results. Two minutes never felt longer.

  We looked at it. Another plus sign.

  “Oh, my gosh, Bristol,” she said. The news immediately sank into her.

  It can’t be right, I thought. I’ve been careful. Maybe I didn’t do the test right.

  With each new test, my heart got heavier and heavier.

  And, by the eighth test, I was positively snapped out of my denial.

  Two days later was Levi’s eighteenth birthday, so I drove to Wasilla to see him. I was pretty nervous to tell him, because I didn’t know what kind of response he would have. After a few minutes of trying to get my nerve up, I finally just blurted it out.

  “I have something to tell you,” I said. “Don’t freak out.”

  Then I showed him the test.

  He looked up in disbelief. For a woman not in my circumstance that day, I can imagine that telling a husband he’s about to be a father would be a rather emotional and amazing experience. Women think of all kinds of creative ways to reveal the secret. Some wrap up a baby bottle and give it as a present; others buy baby clothes and sneak them into their husband’s bureau. Because this was definitely not a festive occasion, I didn’t expect tears of joy. Which is good. Because this is what I got:

  “Better be a f—king boy.”

  That’s it. That’s what he said. And the weird thing about it, I was glad his response was so favorable. He could’ve been angry, he could’ve demanded I have an abortion, he could’ve denied it was his baby. Instead, he seemed to see something good coming out of this less-than-ideal situation. He seemed to actually want a son.

  I knew Levi wasn’t the man he needed to be. He treated me terribly, he cheated on me all the time, he didn’t work, and he didn’t go to school. However, I felt this was the kick in the pants that would cause him to be different. Now he had no choice but to clean himself up and start providing for me and our baby.

  Baby. Just the thought of it was so staggering. I wasn’t afraid of taking care of one, because I’d taken care of Willow, Piper, and my
cousins for years. The scary part was being a teen mom. Being alone. Being a disappointment to my family.

  I took one look at Levi, on his eighteenth birthday, and I thought, This baby and I are going to change this man. I hoped one day I’d lead him to God, show him how to be a part of a family, and settle into some sort of family life together.

  “I’ll get a job,” he said. “We can make this work.”

  So I nestled into his chest and willed myself to believe him.

  My mother’s baby shower for Trig should’ve been a time of celebration for me as we welcomed my new adorable little brother. Fifty of our closest friends gathered at our friend Barb’s house to eat a potluck meal and a large sheet cake. It was white, decorated with blue icing in the shape of blue booties and a bib with a teddy bear’s face on it.

  Because Trig arrived so early, he was actually there, sleeping in my mother’s arms, while she and my dad opened handmade quilts and tiny onesies. As they opened each present and passed them around for people to admire, everyone oohed and aahed. There’s something wonderful about baby clothes and gear, how they conjure the idea of new life and starting out fresh in the world.

  With every new present, however, I felt worse. No one will throw me a baby shower, I thought. No one is going to be excited over my pregnancy. So I tried to look happy—like a sister should—hoping the dread in my heart wouldn’t come out on my face. I plastered on a fake smile, but every precious gift was like a stab in the gut.

  No one could tell I was pregnant at the time. Interestingly, I was following in my mother’s footsteps by hiding my pregnancy, but she had very different reasons. (While she was worried about maintaining her difficult job as the governor, I was worried about graduating from high school!) After all of her struggle with having a special-needs child, she finally came to terms with it all when Trig arrived. The baby shower was an opportunity to celebrate this new baby our friends only recently realized was on his way.

  “Who in this room has the perfect child?” my mother asked as Trig slept.

  Her question was rhetorical, a way of explaining that every kid has what the world might call imperfections. Truth be told, the Palin kids looked pretty together from the outside. Track was a well-respected hockey star, I was a good student, Willow was beautiful, and Piper was . . . well, everyone loved Piper. We all had a role to play, and I (the hardworking, no-nonsense oldest daughter) was about to add another descriptor to my reputation: unwed teen mom.

  On that day, however, I wasn’t worried about my reputation around Wasilla. I wasn’t even really worried about how I’d afford diapers (those fears would come later). I was mostly worried about telling my family, who were gathered there in the home of a friend having a sweet time together.

  Well, not all of us in Barb’s house were. Willow, who was there with her friend, wanted a stick of gum.

  Most people would’ve asked for gum, but my sisters are not “most people.” They don’t have what some psychologists describe as appropriate boundaries. They were forever grabbing my favorite pair of jeans, the best hairbrush, or nail polish or leaving the door to my room wide open. Willow and I were best friends 20 percent of the time, but the other 80 percent we fought like the worst enemies.

  Always “in my business”—it was hard to sneeze without them knowing it—Willow stepped outside of Barb’s house, went to my black VW, grabbed my bag, and plunged her hand into it.

  But instead of pulling out a sweet minty treat, she found a pregnancy test. Not one, but eight . . . and all of them showed two pink plus signs. Note I didn’t write “positive.” Because I could see nothing positive about my newfound situation.

  Willow’s reaction was not a good indicator that things would go smoothly.

  “What are you doing in my car?” I yelled as I came out of Barb’s house with my friend Sammy. We were loading up the trunks of our cars with Mom’s presents, and I was shocked when I saw Willow’s head stuck in my car. “Get away from there,” I yelled.

  I didn’t have to do an investigation to realize she’d found out my secret. The look on her face—of absolute shock—was enough to tell me all I needed to know.

  We honestly didn’t know how to break the news—we wanted to keep it that way at least until we figured out a game plan. We are a Bible-believing, Christian family. How would my parents react when they found out their seventeen-year-old daughter was sexually active? And, by the way, pregnant?

  Willow flipped over the pregnancy test and saw the two pink plus marks. How did she react to the news that she was about to become an aunt? Did she congratulate me? Did her eyes fill with tears, knowing what a rough road I’d have ahead?

  Hardly.

  “I’m going to tell Mom!” she said as I grabbed the test and my brown purse Levi had given me for Christmas from her hands.

  That’s when I knew I could no longer keep my secret from my mom and dad.

  “You might want to head over to the house,” I said to Levi over the phone on the way home. “And you better be ready for this, because after today I probably won’t have a place to live.”

  The drive, only about fifteen minutes, wasn’t long enough for the amount of procrastination I wanted to work into it. I took the long way home, and on the way I called my cousin in Seattle who’d also gotten pregnant out of wedlock when she was eighteen. The daughter she’d had from that pregnancy is a beautiful little girl, the light of her mom’s eye. I thought she might have some advice, so I dialed her number.

  “Willow found a pregnancy test in my purse. And she’s gonna tell my mom.”

  “I don’t get it,” she said.

  “Kandice,” I said with more than a whiff of impatience. “The test is positive.”

  “Oooohhhh,” she said. Kandice knew the challenges that lay ahead. “Well, you better tell your parents today before Willow does. But make Levi do it.”

  “I’m going to make Sammy go with me so my parents won’t yell at me,” I explained.

  “Smart,” she said. “But I did it, so you can do it, too.”

  Her advice wasn’t helping. My nerves were through the roof.

  When we finally pulled into the long gravel driveway, my mom was happily taking all of the sweet presents from the trunk of her vehicle. My dad began mowing the lawn.

  I sent Willow and Piper upstairs, took a deep breath, and—finally—began what was undoubtedly the worst moment of my life.

  “Mom, get Dad,” I said. “We need to talk.”

  We were sitting on a red leather couch. I was in the middle, between Levi and Sammy, and we looked like children who’d just gotten sent to the principal’s office. Willow was upstairs, pressing her face against the railing, trying to eavesdrop.

  “What do you want?” She laughed, assuming I was trying to pitch the idea of them buying a truck.

  “Mom, this is serious,” I said. “It’s not a joke.” When I spoke, my voice cracked a bit, and she knew something was wrong. “You’re not going to be laughing and joking around after I tell you this,” I said.

  “Todd!” she yelled out the door. “Come in here!” He’d been mowing the yard, so it took him a bit before he came in the front door.

  “What’s going on?” he said.

  By this time, I was sobbing.

  Dad walked in and sat in the recliner. Mom sat on another couch.

  “Well, you’ve got our attention,” Mom said.

  I tried to open my mouth to tell her, but it seemed that I physically couldn’t. Tears ran down my face, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

  “Bristol, just tell me what’s wrong,” she said. “I can take it. Don’t let us sit here guessing.”

  I had no idea what my parents would do when they heard the news, but I was less worried about their reaction than I was worried about disappointing them.

  I tried to tell them once again, but the words got caug
ht in my throat.

  Sammy, seeing my parents’ look of concern, put her hand on my knee as a signal that she was taking over the proceedings. Then, in one short sentence, my family found out.

  “Bristol’s pregnant.”

  “You’re joking?” Mom said. It was a knee-jerk reaction to a totally dumbfounding statement.

  “Would I be crying if I was joking?” I said through my tears.

  They were completely and utterly shocked. I figured they’d never talk to me again. I figured I’d have to live in Grandma’s basement or find a place with Levi. But instead of shame or blame, they immediately started asking me questions about my future.

  “Okay,” Mom said. “Let’s figure this out.”

  By this time, Levi and I been together for two and a half years. “Well, I think we should get married,” I said. Levi still hadn’t spoken.

  Mom nodded at this, but Dad—ever protective—wasn’t about to let me settle.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he said, with his hand in the air. “Let’s don’t rush into things.”

  I was shocked that they didn’t kick me out, and I was even more shocked that Dad didn’t shoot Levi.

  “Let’s take things one at a time,” he said. “What are you going to do about school?”

  There in our living room, we talked about how on earth I’d be able to get my high school diploma while carrying, delivering, and taking care of a baby. We talked about Levi getting a job and how I’d deal with living arrangements.

  In other words, we talked about my future. They were going to be a part of it, whatever it looked like.

  And I was thankful.

  Immediately, I started taking charge of the whole situation. First, I enrolled myself in homeschool for the first semester of my senior year through an online course. I also started thinking about learning a trade, the fastest skill that would allow me to take care of a baby. Even though this was less than ideal, I wasn’t going to have my son bounced around without a stable family. I wanted him to have the kind of stability I had as a kid. I went to Walmart and bought a sweet crib, one that I had to assemble myself! As I put it together, I was overcome with anticipation about this baby. But I was also thinking that I’d just spent an entire week’s worth of salary from the coffee shop to purchase it.