Tina Jensen

Driving down 21st street in Astoria, I switched the static radio station to Z100.  Daya's "Hide Away" began to play and by the time it hit the lyrics "to be fly as a mother", I was in tears.  I had my full beat on, contour, lashes-the whole kit n' caboodle.  A tear fell and I quickly snatched it up with an old napkin I found in the cup holder.  As I collected one tear, another fell and another, and so on.  The floodgates opened.  I don't know what I was more upset about-sobbing uncontrollably at a stoplight all alone or that I was putting my full face of make-up in jeopardy.  I decided to pull over, get my shit together, grab a decaf coffee from the D and D and a sausage egg and cheese.  On a croissant.  

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In the parking lot, I couldn't figure out why I was crying.  Was it the song?  That lonely hoe was singing about where the good boys go to hide away.  Hide away.  Looking high and low.  Someone let her know.   Heart wrenching, I know, but nope, that wasn't it.  Was it because I was nervous?  I was on my way to perform for the LGBT Expo at the Jacob Javits Center.  But I am never nervous!  Tired maybe.  I couldn't sleep all night.  The baby.  It's the baby.  My baby Boy.  Well, shit there the floodgates go again. 

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A couple days prior, I had my 20 week sonogram.  This is a huge milestone.  You discover the baby's sex and really get an in depth view of what the heck is going on inside that kangaroo pouch.  Beaming, while tears fell down the side of my face, my husband and I let out a cheer as we found out we were having a boy.  My husband had the best seat in the house watching our boy dance and wave his hands in the air like he just didn't care.  The appointment seemed to go on for quite a bit longer than I had anticipated.  The technician started asking me questions like, "have you had any bleeding?" and seemed surprised that I hadn't.  Upon completion, I was told that although our boy was in perfect health, his placenta was covering my cervix, so If I have any bleeding whatsoever I need to come to the ER immediately.  Stunned, confused and speechless, I slowly wondered what the fuck?  

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Apparently I have a form of Placenta Previa, which at it's worst can cause internal bleeding, premature birth, hysterectomy, and in few cases death to either mother, child, or both.  At it's best, after modified bed rest, the placenta will move and the chances of a cesarian section are lowered.  

After talking to the nurses and googling like a mother fucker, I was advised to slow down, take it easy, and wait for my next doctor's appointment (in a week) where my situation will be assessed at length and an official diagnosis will be made.  I was thrown into a neurotic fit of emotions.  I was so happy and excited to learn that we were having a boy!  I was devastated that something might be wrong and cause him harm.  I was pissed the fuck off that I may have to go on bed rest.  I really thought I could "do it all", but what the fuck does that even mean?!  I felt like a pussy.  I felt like I was letting everyone down.  I felt like holy fucking shit I am carrying a little boy inside me!

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I alerted my family and co-workers of the situation.  I was stung by some of the responses.  After telling a friend there was a chance I couldn't go and support her at one of her shows, she replied that I would probably just blame it on bed rest anyway because I really didn't want to go.  I wanted to scream.  The idea of bed rest isn't an "off the hook" pass for me...it makes me feel like a failure and terrifies me that my body can't provide for this little boy.  I wanted to scream, ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!  Why would I use that as an excuse?!  This is a potentially fatal situation I am dealing with and you're going to make me feel like I am the selfish one?!  Of course I didn't say any of that.  She didn't mean what she said, and I knew that, but nonetheless, it hurt.  My brother tried to cheer me on and said, "Hey, Heather [his wife] tackled a guy when she was pregnant...you'll be fine!"  He was trying to make me feel better, but it only made me mad.  What if I am not okay?  

What if I am not okay?  

Today, after the longest fucking week agonizing in anticipation, I finally got to chat with my doctor.  There was good news and bad news.  The good news is I only have Marginal Placenta Previa which means the placenta is within 2 centimeters of my cervix and there is a possibility it will move.  The bad news is I have to go on modified bed rest for the next 2 months.  No sex, no over exertion, don't be on my feet for too long, if I feel a cramp-lay the fuck down, listen to my body, drink as much water, and pee as much as possible, don't lift anything heavier than 10 pounds, no jumping, basically chill the fuck out, and wait for my next sonogram to see if the placenta moves.

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I was oddly relieved.  For so long I have felt the weight of the world trying to juggle work and a plethora of projects, always trying to make everyone happy, manage careers and hustle like a mother fucker toward a goal of "success".  It's exhausting.  Since I have been pregnant, after a day at work, or a show, or a rehearsal, or a photoshoot, or fuck even a stressful meeting, I have been in physical pain-cramps to the point where it has been difficult to walk.  And every time I pushed through it, usually keeping a poker face because I...well, I didn't want to let anyone down.  And perhaps I didn't want to let myself down and admit that, hey girl, maybe you just can't do it all.   And that has been heart breaking.  

But then I have to remind myself, wait a hot second-I am doing so much more.  I am growing a little nino inside my body.  And right now it's my earthly duty to protect him at all costs.  So, maybe I can't work.  And maybe I can't perform.  It doesn't make me a failure.  It makes me a good Mother.  

Accepting that may be my greatest challenge.