Lucy Irving’s Story

Hi! My name is Lucy. I lived a very hard life as a child and eventually found myself amazed by a charming, handsome, older man who took my heart at seventeen years old. I was just a baby, and I wanted love like I had never felt before, and even though he wasn’t always nice to me, he managed to have a hold on me and I began to think that abuse was normal so I never did anything to change it. Soon as I was eighteen and married to this man while discovering I was pregnant with his child. So no matter what he did, or said to me I couldn’t stop the feeling of happiness that I felt for my precious baby. I had conquered cervical cancer at seventeen and was told I would never carry a baby, so when I became pregnant I already knew that this was a miracle. God had blessed me and I refused to ignore that. The first time he hit me was the night of our wedding and I assumed this was love. I became that woman who thought love hurt. But I did everything in my power to keep my baby safe until the night he lost it. To this day I have no idea what set him off but he beat me into labor but as I told him I needed help, and needed to get to the hospital he got in the car and left me all alone, without a phone or any other way to get help. I was in pain, I was scared, I was confused wondering why I was treated this way.

By morning I was able to borrow a vehicle and make my way to the hospital, still praying that my baby would be ok. I was wrong. They told me that as long as my little girl stayed inside of me she would live. So, I crossed my legs and refused to push! Soon her father was by my side begging me for forgiveness telling me that he loved me, and that he never meant to hurt me or our baby. I was so damaged by this time and all I knew was that I needed the closest thing to my daughter and that was her father. Soon they told me that an infection was building inside of my body and that no matter what my child would die, but if I didn’t deliver her quickly I would also lose my life. He promised we would have another baby, and told me that If I lost my life he would never have the chance to prove to me that he did love me, and he would never have the chance to show me. He cried along with his attempts to comfort me and before I knew it, and after already begging God for the life of my child I decided to say “get the doctor in here before I change my mind”. Through the tears, and the screams, and begging God for her life, I delivered my beautiful Kendal and she died before I could hold her.

The next week was a blur. I barely remember buying the dress to bury her in. Her father was kind to me, he was sweet and that was what I needed. My family accused him of her death, but I was mentally confused, and I truly had no idea what to do. My head was spinning and my heart was broken, and then weeks later he changed. He actually accused me of her death. He told me that if I hadn’t made him mad enough to hit me, then she would still be alive, and even though the autopsy proved his fault of her death I refused to believe it. I couldn’t make myself believe that the man I loved with all of my heart was the reason my daughter was gone. The abuse got worse and worse. He began to hit me more and more, and when I finally began to realize the reality around me and began to think I could leave I found out that I was pregnant again.

I knew that there was no way that this could happen again, and I promised him that if he laid a hand on me with this pregnancy I would bring the attention of our daughters death to the right people and he promised he would never hurt me again, and then he did. This time was worse than before. This time he choked me blue, he kicked me in my stomach, he through my head into walls and windows, he tried to kill me all because the eggs I was making him that morning made me physically sick. I remember making it to the hospital when I went into labor, remembering that I had buried my daughter only eight months before, and having flashbacks as I entered the hospital and they rushed me into a room and put me upside down to keep my son inside of me. I stayed that way for almost two weeks, and even though it was hard, and extremely uncomfortable I was willing to do whatever I had to in order to save my baby’s life. That night they told me that in four days they were going to transfer me to another high risk hospital and my baby had a huge chance of life. I was so excited. My son was going to live, and I was thanking God for this gift. I already knew that no matter what there was no way that God would allow another child to die. And I knew that I would leave “him” and he would never hurt me or my child again. I would never allow him to get away with hurting me again, but for now, my son was what I had to focus on. That very night the nightmare began. All of a sudden I went into full blown labor and they could not stop it.

My Son was born, and as I held his little body screaming for his life, I kissed his beautiful face, and prayed that God would spare his life, but he had a bigger plan that I thought I would never comprehend. The hospital I was in had no way to save a premature child and they weren’t able to do anything to save him. I screamed for mercy and held my baby close to me, until his heart stopped, and at that very moment, something inside of me died. A piece of my heart that hadn’t already died when my Kendal died, as soon as Robbie’s heart stopped what was left of me died that day. This was not possible, there was no way that I was about to bury my second child within a year and only nineteen years old. Planning Robbie’s funeral we found out that his body was literally lost, and I truly lost it. It took all day before they found my babies body. Then the day of the funeral was exactly the same a Kendal’s funeral. The only difference was a blue bow instead of pink. So many horrible things happened during this day, and I still don’t know how I lived through it. Everything about both of their death’s are still a fog, but soon, he beat me again. This time I left.

I fell into addiction and mental illness, and on Robbie’s first birthday I overdosed. Soon I was clean and prepared to deal with their death’s all over again. I even gave him another chance when he beat me with a golf club and I was finally able to completely leave him for good. I chose to take my life back, and move forward even though their death’s were never far from my thoughts when a new man came into my life. He was different, kind, loving, and I was constantly waiting for the day that he would hit me too. But after years, it never happened. He talked about my children with me, and held me when I cried, and loved me when I wasn’t sure what love really was. He told me that he wanted to marry me, and he wasn’t marrying me to have children, and that he was marrying me for me.

Life was better than I had ever dreamed, and soon I had four miscarriages, and then I got the news, I was about to fight and conquer cervical cancer for the second time. Once I did, I became pregnant and scared and prepared for everything that I had already been through to happen all over again. But it didn’t. I was given a stitch in my cervix and flat on my back for eight months and even though almost two months premature, I had my baby. I finally had a healthy marriage, a healthy child, and God was good. Life was wonderful for almost five years, and when we decided to put an end to ever getting pregnant again, I found out suddenly that I was pregnant.

I felt like everything was going to be ok, my Ronnie was healthy and I knew that this was what God wanted, when suddenly I miscarried. I tried to be ok, and I took the day to emotionally get through it, when the doctor called and informed us that I had been pregnant with twins, and had only miscarried one. I was still pregnant, and we were in a confusion, and complete shock! I went through the same thing I did with my Ronnie, they stitched me up, and complete bed rest, and with a young child, it was hard but I’m a survivor, and my determination was at an all time high. Something inside of me told me that something wasn’t right. I felt in my heart that something was wrong, but I couldn’t place what it was. At roughly seven months, I began to bleed heavily and the hospital told me everything was ok. They thought there was a tiny rip in my placenta but that I would be fine. But that night the pain was unbearable, and I knew It felt like labor, but just the night before they said we were ok. But at 4 am the next morning I was in the bathroom and a pain hit me so hard it felt as I was ripping apart inside. One scream and one involuntary push and my son Ryan was born. There I sat in shock, screaming to my husband, as he rushed to get dressed and to get me into the car. Ryan was still born in my bathroom. My placenta had ripped and I went into full labor, the stitch in my cervix had ripped enough to allow his body through while tearing my cervix, his wrist was broken, and because of the stitch I was not able to deliver the umbilical cord. Because of this I wrapped my son Ryan in a towel and with him still connected to me I held him and his lifeless body all the way to the hospital. They rushed me to surgery, and for the next year, I was in a fog still trying to put my living son first, but I was diagnosed with ptsd and my anxiety was worse than ever before. I was lost, and scared of my thoughts.

I didn’t know who I was, or what I was doing, and being determined to still be a good mother to my Ronnie, I couldn’t be a good wife and almost lost my marriage. But soon, We allowed God into our marriage like never before, and after so many stressful situations that happened during Ryan’s death, our determination to save our marriage, and our family worked, and even though it wasn’t easy, we are now closer in every way! I soon was treated properly and began to focus on finding my smile again. I’m thirty eight years old, and I’ve been through severe child and spousal abuse, I’ve buried three children, I’ve had five miscarriages, I’ve conquered cervical cancer twice, addiction, and mental illness, but I never lost my faith no matter the pain and heartache. Today I am an author of “My Cry to God” the true story about my life and of course my children under the pen name “Olivia Johnson” and I focus on reaching out to other women and showing them that there is support and love out there. I chose to use my pain to help other women and teach them that there is happiness after trauma! Never does a moment go by that I don’t wish my babies were all here with me, but I have to force myself to remember that they are waiting on me, and I want to make my babies proud of their mama. I choose to move forward and uplift, encourage, and empower women with my story. And I support any other women who also finds the strength to use their own pain to help change the world!

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