Tracy Engelbrecht's Blog, page 2

In my own voice: The Story of Ms S.

 I fell pregnant in 2011 when I was 18 years old and doing my first year in Varsity.

Unfortunately I found out I was also HIV positive. At first my baby daddy was supportive but as time went on (when he stated working) it became clear that he was not the guy I had thought he was. I was not good enough for him anymore, his cousins started insulting me telling I should leave him alone he has a girl that he loves and that he’s going to marry (At that moment I didn’t even know we had broken up).

Thanks to my parents who kept on supporting me. I thank God for everything that happened because I have become a strong woman, my child is growing and I am back at varsity But I just cannot forgive him my baby’s father. 

Ohhh being a mother is the best thing that ever happened to me, I am sooooooo in love with my boy I just would not trade him for anything.
Currently am not staying with him because I’m still studying but every chance I get I try to be the best mom to him.

I want him to be proud of me one day.

Being HIV and pregnant I had to take tablets for pregnant mothers and the pregnancy vitamins (they help the child grow healthy). I led a healthy lifestyle (took a walk at least once a week because I was lazy, condomised when having sex, drank a lot of water, tried to eat as many fruits as I could and I ate food cooked at home-I avoided fast food).

After giving birth I had a cd4 count of 1000 all because of the healthy life I led. I continued leading a healthy lifestyle but my cd4 count dropped because of some stress later. But now I’m fine –  I drink my multivitamins, I avoid fizzy drinks instead I drink water.

My parents have been very supportive I couldn’t ask for better parents.

 

I think we all need someone to support us but they should not treat us different.

In my own voice: Ravonne’s Story

Hi. My name is Ravonne. And I am a teen mom. I fell pregnant in my matric year(2013). I was 17.

The only 2 people working in my household were my older sister and my dad. My sister has a 1 year old daughter herself.

My boyfriend and I use to talk about having a baby ONE DAY. That’s a HUGE one day. So when it actually happened, actually I already was pregnant when we started talking about it.

So, in February 2013, my period disappeared. I thought my cycle was changing. The next few months went by and I started to believe something serious was wrong.

August 29th,my mom took me to the hospital and that’s when we found out that I was 7 months pregnant.  I was shocked and so was my mom. She was really disappointed. The rest of my family as well. My boyfriend did not expect it at all. It took him almost 3 days to tell his dad. I had no symptoms. None. So it never crossed my mind that I could be.

October came and I was about to write my finals. I only got to write the first paper though☹.

The principal called my mom in to tell her I won’t be able to write further for just in case. I was so sad and so disappointed in myself. I was excited to write my finals,to see my name in the newspaper.

 I gave birth on October 29 at 15h55. My boyfriend was with me every step of the way. He drove me back and forth. Rubbed my back, fed me when I couldn’t eat. He was there.  And I thought “oh,well I’m writing the next day so if I go home at 22h00 I can still continue writing.”

Wrong. I tore. I had a 3rd degree tear and had to stay in hospital the whole week.
A few months went by and February 2014,I wrote the supplementary exam.

I am now waiting to get my results. Hopefully I passed. I gave it my best.

Today I can honestly say that GOD is real. HE does exist. And I’m so honoured and privileged to have HIM in my life and to worship him. If it was not for him, heaven knows what could have happened seeing that I did not know I was expecting, I drank and smoked a lot as well.

For that I named my daughter Naveah,which is heaven spelt backwards. I just replaced the “e” with an “a”.

I love my mom. She’s been there for me throughout the whole pregnancy. My boyfriend as well. We are still together and happy as ever.

The past year has been really difficult on the both of us but we love each other dearly and we adore our baby girl. She is now 6 months old.

 

Ravonne and Naveah

4 easy steps to preventing teen pregnancy

Teen Pregnancy Prevention. I’m going to talk about it. You might want to stand back.

Step 1 – a million, recurring

Make sure every child – boy & girl – gets accurate, ongoing sex education from long before they’ll be sexually active. Including issues of their physical development and the development of the opposite sex, all manner of details about sex itself, masturbation, contraceptive information, pregnancy information including all options such as abortion, adoption, parenting.  STI & HIV information, porn, consent, healthy RELATIONSHIPS – sexual and non-sexual. Talk about how sex of any kind is not a requirement of a relationship and that their worth is not measured by their sexual activity. Their worth is immeasurable. Make a world where this is true.

Talk. Constantly, all the time. At home, at school. Everywhere. Be the first to explain, be the most reliable source of information, be the most trustworthy person to talk to. Be the place they know they’ll get the answers they need. Don’t make them scared to open their mouths and talk. Sex ed based on scare tactics does not work. Threats of damnation and shame for even considering sex, ever, will keep those mouths shut and those questions unasked, until it’s too late.

Demolish any obstacle – cultural, religious, institutional – that gets in the way of young people accessing the information and services they require. Do this every time and every place you see it.

Step 2a

Don’t want teenagers to only live in the moment? Want them to look ahead and consider consequences of their actions? Give them something to look forward to. Give them the chance at some kind of future. Meaning, jobs. Real ones, that pay real money that you can live on. Education that means something. A real chance at a life different to the one they might have now. Remove the need for transactional sex with adult men. Because if the only way you’re going to eat tonight is to have sex with that slobbery dude round the corner – who wouldn’t do it? Who wouldn’t?

Step 2b

And then, once you’ve eradicated poverty, removed the obstacles stacked up against the chances of anyone actually getting that life, and ensured opportunities for every person who may be willing to take them up:  sit a minute and remember all the times you have made a simple, once-off stupid decision which may or may not have had consequences that could change your life. If there were no consequences, you were lucky that time. Just for e.g: have you run any red lights this week?

Step 3

Related to step 1 but different. Make sure girls and boys know what a healthy relationship looks like, what love is and ISN’T. Actually, scratch that. It’s not about relationships. It’s the simple idea that one human = the same as another human, so behave accordingly.

Remove every patriarchal structure in place that teaches that girls should not have bodily, emotional, sexual or intellectual autonomy. Teach the boys that girls do not exist for their convenience. The go back and teach the adults. Round up all the slobbery old men and make sure they hear you.  Create the world that’s safe for your daughters and sons.

And then, when you’re finished, talk to the girls. And they’ll be like “Duh. We were wondering when you’d all catch on to this”.

Step 4

So. Patriarchy removed. The pants of adult men remain resolutely ON. Poverty eradicated. All the sex education ever, provided. Ditto all contraceptive services. Condoms raining from the skies.

Now you have to remember this – and you won’t like it (maybe)

Sometimes girls and boys of a similar age, in a healthy and not-unequal relationship, fully informed of all the facts, have sex because they want to.  Because human biology. Because feelings. Because normal. Do you remember?

And sometimes, when they do this, despite every precaution taken – pregnancy still occurs.

Because, again, human biology.

We CAN do something about steps 1-3. Step 4? This one has always been here, and won’t be shifted without lobotomies.

Once pregnancy does occur – there’s a whole other conversation that has to happen (again, because obviously if you followed step 1 you’ve discussed this eventuality already). Questions of choices and feelings and future and what you’re willing / not willing to do. While remembering, of course, that this does not have to be the end of everything.

Are you still here? Exhausted yet? Seems like a lot of work, doesn’t it?

That’s because it is. That’s because we should only, really, be having to deal with the occasional Number 4 situation. But we’re not. We’re dealing with Steps 1 – 3, mostly.

None of which, incidentally, the young girls and boys of today had ANYTHING to do with putting in place, and cannot change by themselves.

So that’s my easy 4 step guide to teen pregnancy prevention.

Easy to fit on a t-shirt? Snappy enough for ya? No?

Or – you could do what we’ve been doing since forever and simply tell girls to close their legs or else. Yeah, that’ll work.

 

 

Happy Mother’s Day

My first Mother’s Day happened when my son was about a month old. I was 15. I will always remember the special card my mom and dad gave me, on behalf of my little boy. It meant a lot, to be seen as a “real” mother, deserving of recognition and celebration and even breakfast in bed.

It’s just one day, it’s heavily commercialised and we know that flowers and macaroni necklaces don’t come close to expressing what needs to be said. Yes, all of that cynicism (while not untrue) doesn’t mean anything when all you want is for someone to recognise your motherhood. To see you and all you do, and say “Yes, this IS for you too”.

So – to all our young moms – let me be the first to say Happy Mother’s Day to you. Because it IS a day for you as well.

Leave a comment below on our Facebook post to share with our moms. They need to hear it from us.

 

Post by Young Mom Support.

In My Own Voice: Minenhle’s Story

The first in our series of stories told by teen moms themselves. We want to hear from you! If you’d like to see your own story here, please email info@youngmomsupport.co.za

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I am Minenhle, I am 20years old and a teen mom. I got pregnant in 2012, when I was 18 years old in grade 11 at a secondary school in KZN.

When I first found out that I was pregnant I wanted to abort the child because I believed I wasn’t ready to be a mom and looking at my home situation which isn’t the best one. My mom earned R250 a week which she uses for groceries and my bus fare.  Bringing another life on earth wouldn’t be a smart choice but I decided to keep the baby and told myself everything will be fine there is always a solution to every problem.

At first my boyfriend was supportive but he suddenly changed and never had time for me and was always too busy to be with me.

I continued going to school because I wanted to achieve more, going whole day long without having a meal never stopped me. The stigma that other students had about me never kept me down but I continued to strive for the best.

When I was 7 months pregnant in August the principal said I must stay at home because at that stage of pregnancy its too risky to be in school, and if should anything happen the teachers are not nurses nor doctors to help me.  So I stayed at home. When I was 8 months pregnant my boyfriend dumped me and said I was boring and he wanted fun and active people around him.

When I was in labour the nurses told me that my baby is too stressed maybe he will not make it. Fortunately he survived and was well.

Minenhle & Asanda

In November I went back to school for my exams and pulled it through and passed my grade 11. I support my son through child  support grant and sometimes middle of the month it happens that we run out of nappies and milk. Then I have to use clothes as nappies and give him tea.

During my matric year(2013) i missed lot of days in school because I had to sometimes stay with the baby when there is no one to look after him because he didn’t have nappies and milk.

Through it all I still pulled it through and passed my matric. Now my son is 19 months and he’s growing and a happy child. He is one of the reasons I wake up every morning knowing that I can do anything, even though I am not currently working.

I have learned that in life God gives his toughest battles to his strongest soldiers and if I am not one of those soldiers he wasn’t gonna make me fight this battle.

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Alex is a 16 year old father

Let’s talk about Alex.

Alex is a 16 year old father. His girlfriend became pregnant after they had sex one time without a condom, which they don’t usually do.

Alex was scared and didn’t know where to turn. When he told his parents, they were angry and disappointed, but said they would support him no matter what happened. Alex’s girlfriend  decided to have the baby. Alex was there throughout the pregnancy, but the relationship eventually fell apart, although he tried hard to keep it together as he wanted his child to have both parents around.

Once baby Jade was born, Alex’s girlfriend’s parents had to take a lot of responsibility as she was not in a position to do so. Eventually they decided they would not be able to look after the baby anymore. Baby’s mom then decided she did not want to do it anymore and so dropped baby at Alex’s house saying it was his responsibility.

Alex was in shock but did not want his child to grow up in foster care or another family so he and his family said they would take baby Jade in. How was Alex going to manage going to school and being a parent? He didn’t know anything about looking after a newborn baby! Surely he was too young to learn how to change nappies or put her to sleep? What did he know about bottles and formula and baby development?

Dropping out of school was not an option for him. He also didn’t want all the responsibility for raising the child to fall on to his parents’ shoulders, even though he would, for a while, have to rely on them for financial support. He wanted to be Jade’s dad. Fortunately, his parents were there to teach him the basics of baby care. He read a lot about it, took her to the clinic religiously and asked the nurses when he was worried. He made a lot of mistakes at first but soon got the hang of it.

He found a way to stay in school after talking to his teachers, sometimes taking work home when Jade was sick or he was unable to find childcare for her that day. He got up in the middle of the night to feed her. He worried when she was sick. He got a part time job on the weekends to help pay for her food, nappies and formula – plus the extra childcare costs being away from her entailed.

Many of his friends were no longer interested in being around him – his priorities were different. He was not interested in drinking or partying, or even girls. Today, he’s sometimes lonely as he has little in common with any of his peers. He sometimes thinks about getting back together with Jade’s mom, but he knows that she’s not good for him or Jade. She comes around to visit Jade sometimes, but not reliably and although she’s said she will contribute financially, somehow that’s never happened. He doesn’t want to stop Jade from seeing her mom, because he knows that relationship is important. But he wishes that she would take more interest in Jade, even if she doesn’t want to be involved in the day to day raising of her. Even if she doesn’t pay any maintenance for Jade – Alex just wants his daughter to know her mother loves her. This worries him a lot, because Jade’s mother is not getting any better.

He tries hard to focus on his schoolwork because he knows how important his education was to both him AND Jade. He wants to be an engineer after school and is talking to his teachers about how to fund his studies.

Every morning he gets up at 5am, packs Jade’s bag for the day, makes her breakfast, tidies up the house, does a load of Jade’s washing then prepares for school. At 6am he wakes her, feeds her, dresses her and leaves home at 7 to drop her off at daycare. He then makes his way to school until 3pm. After school, he fetches her at 4pm and takes her home. He spends time with her playing and bonding – he knows how important it is to be the one special person in her life, and he worries sometimes that he doesn’t spend enough time with her. He wants to make their time together count. His parents do offer to help, but he is afraid to accept too much help because he doesn’t want them to think he’s taking advantage, and he has so little time with Jade he doesn’t want to share it, even if he feels exhausted.

Then it’s suppertime, bathtime and bedtime. Sometime around 8pm he can settle down to do his homework and study. Jade doesn’t really sleep well right now as she’s teething so he’s up with her a few times a night, and she usually ends up sleeping in his bed with him.

Next morning he gets up and does it all over again.

Alex is very young to have all this responsibility, and he knows it. However, he knows he’s doing his best. He knows Jade could not have a better father than him. He would not change it for anything, even though it’s hard sometimes. The challenges of being a parent are worth the reward to him and he’s happy. Tired, worried, stressed, but happy.

Other parents discuss Alex with their own sons – “If only you could be more like him! He’s a serious boy, with serious responsibilities and he’s doing so well! He’s not wasting time on drinking and getting into trouble!”

Alex knows that not all teenage dads are like him. He knows there are many who don’t do a good job and their children suffer. He doesn’t want that for Jade. He wants her to have a good life and he’s doing everything he can to give her that.

When Alex goes out to the mall with Jade, people smile at him. They are impressed with this young dad taking responsibility and obviously being a great father. You can see it in the way Jade is with him. Other mothers come up to talk to him and ask about Jade. He feels good being able to show her to the world. He is proud of her, and yes, he is proud of himself.

So that’s Alex’s story. There are many Alex’s in the world, doing their best against great odds. There are many Jades in the world, lucky to have parents who are as committed and responsible as he is.

Aren’t you proud of Alex? Don’t you think he’s awesome? Don’t you think we should hear more about people like him? To encourage them and to show other dads what they too can achieve? I think so.

 

Now.

Imagine Alex was a girl. 

What do you think now?

Would she also be getting those smiles in the mall?

 

When the answer is no

We’re called Young Mom Support, which often makes people think we’re only here for mothers – those teen girls who end up choosing to parent their children themselves. That’s not the whole story. Many of the pregnant teens we speak to haven’t yet made their final decision about what to do. Many choose abortion and to a lesser extent, adoption. Invariably, so far, once a girl comes to us with the idea of abortion at the forefront of her mind – that’s what she ends up doing. Because she’s already been thinking about it. She’s already been through all of this a million times by the time she speaks to us. Because she hasn’t been waiting for someone else to do her thinking for her: this is all she’s been thinking about, sometimes for weeks or months.

An unplanned pregnancy is a time for reflection and questioning yourself – for most of us, this decision is the biggest one we’ll ever make and could change the course of our lives forever. Sometimes, the answer to “Can I be a mother now” – is simply no.

There are a million reasons why someone would choose abortion – and guess what – it’s not our place to question that. It’s not our place to “talk her out of it” or convince her to do anything else. Just as if she’s leaning towards parenting, it’s not our place to dissuade her from that either. All we’re here to do is to ask:

What do you WANT? Your first choice, your gut reaction, before you overthink it. Yes or no to being a mother, right now, in this time and place in your life? That’s it. That’s all we do. Ask the question that allows her to express her feelings, blurt them out, no judgment, no expectations, nobody’s preferences to consider. Then we go from there. What CAN you do?

We have only one agenda – her happiness and well-being, today, tomorrow – the rest of her life.

ALL choices are valid. Parenting, abortion, adoption: she knows her own life best. She knows what she’s capable of and willing to do. She knows the right answer. It might take a little time to get to it, there might well be practical or logistical challenges in the way – for example, if she would prefer abortion but has passed the cut-off point, she has to rethink her options. Likewise, if she wants to parent her child but knows she will have zero support, she’ll have to figure a plan to make it work – or rethink her choice again.

We call ourselves prochoice, and we are, in the truest sense of the word. There is no right answer – there is only the answer that’s right for her.

So when the answer is “I really can’t”  or “I don’t want to”  - that is fine, no explanation required. We’ll be with her, taking our cues for what she needs from her – because there is no blueprint for how everybody experiences abortion. What she needs, we’ll try to provide. And we’ll never ever say that she could have, should have, if only she would have – chosen something else.

Because all choices are valid. And because women know their own minds best, and that is all.

How to talk about teen pregnancy

I used to get excited when I saw a conversation in the media or public about teen pregnancy.  I always thought “Maybe someone out there will hear this and find out what they need to know” or that someone would hear / see their experiences reflected and be able to say “Yes, I get what they’re talking about”. At a push, I’d hope that people who’ve never been there would be able to walk away having learned something. Anything.

I don’t get excited anymore. In fact, to save my sanity, I tend to switch off, close the browser or walk away when the topic comes up. It’s seldom that you come across the conversation where the people involved are asking the right questions, have an understanding of who they are talking to, or what they are trying to achieve. Instead we hear about prevention (a valid conversation, but a separate one), and we hear the same statistics drawn from the same sources and very very seldom from a pregnant teenager or teen parent themselves.

We need to be more clear about what we’re trying to do.

Are you trying to encourage sexually active non-pregnant teens to use contraception by telling them how hard it is to be a teen mom?
Are you trying to tell pregnant teens what their options are?
What are you saying to teen parents? *Are* they included in this conversation? (If not, perhaps you could ask yourself *why* not)
Or are you talking to the general public and not to those affected (or potentially affected) at all?

It’s a complex conversation with many different areas to focus on. They cannot be lumped together and think that covers it. Someone out there will be missing out.  Someone looking for information, ideas on where to get help, a reason to reach out, a reason to feel brave – will not be wasting their time listening to a Minister discussing stats and condoms again.

There’s no harm in picking one at a time to discuss. But don’t neglect the others.

I think it’s a simple idea, so logical it’s laughable. Just ask – why are we talking about this? What are we trying to achieve? Who should be hearing this? And once you’ve answered those questions – you might be prompted to ask yourself why the conversation was framed in that way. (click the pic to enlarge)

Guest Post from across the sea: @Bang2Write speaks to us

Very lucky to have scriptwriter, novelist and all-round awesome human Lucy V. Hay providing a guest post for us today.

Lucy’s from the UK – so it’s especially interesting to compare sex ed and teen pregnancy attitudes between SA and the rest of the world. Truth is, we’re all just as bad as each other at dealing with it. Here’s what Lucy has to say

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Sex Ed by Lucy V aka @Bang2write

Here’s what I remember of my sex education at school: a video about rape prevention that implored young girls never hitch hike; a nurse coming to talk to us about periods and pregnancy (the boys chucked her free samples all around the classroom); and a greying, middle-aged teacher gathering us all round the top table in the classroom whilst she struggled to pull a condom over a cucumber.

That’s. It.

Happily, it was the 90s, not the Dark Ages, so I was able to get information elsewhere. Various NHS campaigns, especially posters and leaflets, caught my eye; there were also some good books on the market, both fiction and fact, which helped fill in any gaps. Also, as the eldest of five children, I had seen my mother’s belly grow big more than once, plus she was more than happy to answer my (many) questions.

In short, when it came to the biology of it all, I was good to go. Sex = babies. Got that. Use a condom. Yep, got that too.

But I still got pregnant.

It was not even a case of “It will never happen to me”: I had seen this with many of my peers, who reported with wide eyes they’d started having sex and then OMG A CONDOM BROKE NOW WHAT. But I never used condoms, generally. I didn’t want to. I was also allergic to them and didn’t have enough money to buy the non-latex ones. I made a few lacklustre enquiries about getting some from a family planning clinic only to be told, “They’re too expensive”. So I carried on being reckless and my boyfriend of the time participated (willingly, I might add).

So, why would a young woman, a grade A student no less, who knew all about the birds and the bees do such a thing?

Because I wanted to.

This took me a long time to understand. Back then, I didn’t realise my motive. When I actually was pregnant, I was shocked. But now I know what I was doing

Attention seeking.

You see, as a teenager, I had many self esteem issues. I was also depressed. It would take many years for this to be diagnosed, especially because on the outside I looked like a normal girl. You might even say I was the life and soul of the party, in fact. I did well in college, went out with friends, joked around – the usual.

But underneath, it was a different story. I wrote long diary entries, filled with self loathing; I was prone to outbursts of spontaneous crying and self harming in the privacy of my bedroom. Maybe if such a thing as the internet and Tumblr had been around back then, I would have been one of those so-called “pale girls”, but without an outlet and with no one able to read my mind, I felt as if I was about to explode.

So I kind of did … voila: a baby.

I recognise now my pregnancy for what it was: a cry for help. It was a call of, “Look at me, help me, I’m drowning”. The issue was with me on that; no one else. I know now that had I asked, help would have been given. But being a teenager, I was also proud. Because I felt I couldn’t ask for that help: I needed “a reason”. (Like being depressed was not reason enough!).

So, next time you see a young woman pushing a baby in a buggy, don’t assume you know her story. You don’t.

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BIO: Lucy V Hay (http://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B00EZ45CIC) is a novelist, script editor and blogger who helps writers via Bang2write (http://www.bang2write.com).

She’s one of the organisers of London Screenwriters’ Festival and associate producer of the Brit Thrillers DEVIATION (2012) and ASSASSIN (2014), both starring Danny Dyer.

To keep up with LIZZIE’S DIARY, “Like” the Facebook page (http://www.facebook.com/TheDecisionBookSeries).

 

“Oh yes, you. You’re pregnant.”

For some light relief – here’s the story of the day I found out I was pregnant at almost-15. An August day in 1993 at the bottom of the world – a lifetime and world away from where I am now. If this story sounds like you – know that no matter what happens, no matter what you choose tomorrow – in 21 years time, you can be looking back on your own life and feel proud of you. From The Girl Who Couldn’t Say No: memoir of a teenage mom.

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I knew I was pregnant even before my period was late, in the way you do. When I was about a week or so late, I decided it was time to get real and find out for sure. I rounded up two of my best friends after school and off we went to the local hospital. The waiting room at Casualty was crowded – lots of sick, wounded, tired people. People far worse off than me, most of them through no fault of their own. Unlike me, the foolish clichéd statistic that I was.

I didn’t know where to go, unsure how to go about this whole pregnancy-testing thing. I went up to a harassed and stern-looking nurse (they all looked harassed and stern).

“Excuse me,” I whispered in my best Good Girl voice. No answer. She didn’t even look at me. Perhaps she didn’t hear me, I thought. I tried again. Cleared my throat this time, as it seemed to have become afflicted by a plague of frogs. “Excuse me, can you tell me where I should go for a pregnancy test?”

This time she did look at me and I know what she saw. She saw a kid in a school uniform (with a bright yellow name badge; we hadn’t thought to take them off) playing at being grown-ups with her kiddy friends. She looked bored, irritated, pissed off. With me. Not used to being in trouble, I was a little taken aback. Then I realised that from now on, everybody was going to be looking at me that way – I’d damn well better get used to it.

“A what?” she boomed, louder than I thought necessary. Nothing for it, I’d have to announce it to the entire waiting room.

“A pregnancy test, please.” I was beginning to get pissed off myself, but Good Girls don’t show it, oh no. Especially not when they deserve all the trouble they’re in.

“See the sister down the passage, second door to the right,” she snapped. She turned away, and I imagined that she couldn’t stand to look at me any longer. A little melodramatic perhaps, but that’s how I felt then.

Everyone turned to look at me – I felt the weight of their judgement on my back as I walked down the passage to the sister’s office. Or imagined I did. Same thing, really, when you’re fourteen and high on progesterone.

The same routine played out at the sister’s office: “A what? Really? Ag sies, man. Sister Du Preez! This girlie wants a pregnancy test. Give her the cup, would you?” And so on.

I was sure they were doing the whole scandalised, astonished thing on purpose. They must have seen hundreds of girls like me, many of them dodgier than me – but their job was to let me know what a fuck-up I was. What a failure. What a Bad Girl. As if I didn’t know already.

Sister Du Preez handed me “the cup”, a giant plastic funnel-shaped thing that looked like a tacky picnic wineglass circa 1983. I stared at it dumbstruck, thinking, “Where the hell does she want me to put this?”

“Shame, girlie”, she said, not entirely nasty. “Don’t worry, man. It’s only to wee in. So we can test, you know? The bathroom is next door.”

The blush started somewhere around my knees and crept on up towards my face. This was the first time I’d felt stupid as a mother, but it sure as heck wasn’t the last. I felt tears prickling behind my eyelids, but I kept them in. There’s that, at least. I didn’t cry.

I made my way back past my friends towards the bathroom. I saw them eyeing “the cup” with trepidation and more than a little awe.

“Yes, look at me. Aren’t I clever? I know what this is for. And I’m not a bit scared,” I thought. I tried to convey all of this to them with a knowing and superior look as I passed.

Any sense of superiority I may have felt vanished as soon as I tried to wee in the cup. Only people who have done it would know how tricky this is. That glass was surely too tall for the job. I practically had to stand up to get it to fit under me. I obviously didn’t line it up correctly because somehow hand, sleeve and floor got soaked. Yuck. Nevertheless, after a small yelp and a bit of jiggling I got it right and continued, stoic and resolved.

I was proud of myself, but my pride deflated a bit when I noticed my wet shoes and how little had actually landed in the cup. I spent the next few minutes trying to mop up the floor with six squares of government issue one-ply toilet paper (you just try it sometime). I may have been a disappointment to my family, a tragic example of wobbly morals and elastic virtue – but I’d be damned if I was going to leave a mess on the floor. I was still a Good Girl.

I carried the enormous plastic thing at arm’s length in front of me, as you would the Holy Grail – or a giant cup of wee, for that matter. My future was in there, and I knew it. Quite a bit of my future was also squelching inside my damp school socks.

I handed the sample to the sister and she told me to sit and wait – she’d call me once they’d tested it.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be negative,” twittered Amy, cheerily trying to be helpful. I gave her a look of utter disdain (probably unfairly), and she shut up pretty quick. I knew it would be positive. Of course it would be. My life was different from their’s now. It simply was. The look I gave her was the first sign of the separation to come. I should have felt sorry, I suppose. She was only trying to be nice. I just felt annoyed with her, as the horrible nurse had been with me. Annoyed at a silly child who just doesn’t get it.

We seemed to be sitting around for ages. People were coming and going, being called in to see doctors, getting bandaged up by the sister. New patients arrived and left again, hobbling, oozing, expectorating. And still we sat. Getting a little worried, I could wait no longer. I approached the nurse who’d sent me to the sister.

“Sorry, I know you’re busy. I was here for a pregnancy test and they told me to sit and wait. Are they finished? Where should I go now?” Ever so polite, I was. I should have taped a “kick me” sign to my back right then.

The nurse looked me up and down, her eyes lingering on my name badge, which I now realised I should have taken off. I pictured her phoning the school principal during her tea break. I pictured myself being frogmarched off the school premises carrying a cardboard box of my stuff like fired employees do in the movies, running the gauntlet of jeering schoolmates and tut-tutting teachers, my humiliated parents waiting at the gate with a suitcase and a one-way ticket to a home for unmarried mothers in Klerksdorp…

This was what raced through my head in the time it took for her to look at my badge and say, “Oh yes, you. You’re pregnant.”

Just like that. In front of everyone in the waiting room, and as loudly as she possibly could without shouting. An she was loving every moment of it. Heads snapped around to check me out – this being a government hospital, there was no TV in the waiting room. They had to take their entertainment where they could find it.

Well, then. That’s settled. I was calm, I think. Amy and Abigail were fussing and squeaking and doing those things that girls do. I didn’t hear them. I also didn’t hear Bitch Nurse From Hell when she told me to come back again the following week. Amy nudged me in the ribs and I woke up a little.

“Did you hear me, girlie?” grumbled Gestapo Nurse, now impatient. She’d had enough of me. “Sometimes it’s a false positive. You should come back next week and do the test again to be sure.”

I don’t think I answered her. I was in a daze, more than a little gobsmacked. My friends steered me out of the hospital like an invalid or a drunk. I remember giggling. It’s something I seem to do in times of extreme stress or shock. Giggle. No swooning, no violent tirades or even hysterical tears. Just daft giggles.

We walked back to the library, where my mother was due to fetch me. I’d told her I’d been doing research for a project on geomorphology. Ho-ho! There’s a laugh. We didn’t talk much on the way, we just giggled. Then Amy said, all concerned-like, “Don’t go doing anything stupid now…”

I looked at her puzzled, not sure what she meant. Then I got it. Oh, she thought I was going to jump off a bridge, or OD on Dynajets. Given my history, I suppose I couldn’t blame her. But suicide was the very last thing on my mind. My head was full of a million thoughts all twisted up together, pushing and shoving and fighting to be heard. How am I going to tell my parents-what about David-what about school-what about me-what do I do… What do I do…

Among the confused jumble of panic, one thought was still. Lying curled up tightly underneath all the others was a tiny, quiet pink blossom of a thought, waiting for the fright to subside, waiting until I was ready to hear it.

I did hear it, once my friends had left and I sat waiting on the grass. I wasn’t dazed anymore; everything seemed clearer, more real. The sky was brighter, the grass more prickly, the sounds around me sharper. More there, somehow. Like I was seeing everything for the first time. I watched ants marching up a lamppost for a while, and they were fascinating.

Slowly my head started to empty a little, and that’s when I heard it – just a whisper:

“This is it.”

This was what I’d been waiting to hear all my life. It was real. I hadn’t been crazy all these years. I’d known there was something else and now it seemed to have found me. Later, when everybody knew and there was so much unhappiness and recrimination, I began to doubt myself and nearly gave up. I almost believed that I’d been wrong. But just then, there on the grass, I knew. I remember feeling gratitude: faith that everything would be okay. And I remember strength in me that seemed to come from somewhere else.

“This is it.”

***