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I already had three babies born by Caesarean Section and on July 17, 1989, I was about to have my fourth. Needless to say, I was scared, because all I had ever heard was that a woman was not supposed to have more than three for her health's sake. The problems it would cause me, I never knew exactly, but it was enough for me to deny the fact that I was pregnant to everyone I knew, even my dad. On top of that, I had to deal with my one year old's medical condition.

I had just started working in August of 1988, and this was a chance for me and my family to break free of the cycle of dependent' living. I was not trying to have another child and so I faithfully took my birth control pills. I did not miss a day, but the months of October and December, Mother Nature decided that she would miss her monthly visits. So, I went to the doctor later in December just knowing that my period was going to show up any minute, but I found out otherwise. After the doctor did his initial exam he informed me that I was six weeks pregnant, and to prove it to me, he allowed me to hear through his stethoscope the baby's heartbeat. I could not believe it; I was just starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel, what else could happen?

Then I noticed that there was something wrong with my then one year old. He was jumping and shaking uncontrollably and his eyes were rolling up into his head. I knew this was not normal so I took him to different children's doctors and then I found out that he was having seizure disorders, (something called, Lennox-Gault syndrome). In the meanwhile, I chose not to go back to my doctor, and I made the decision to keep working. I had to stay busy, as if taking my one year old to different hospitals for treatment to find out the cause of his seizures was not enough, but it did begin to take its toll on me. So in March, I took a leave of absence from my job, because my baby boy was getting worse and had to be at the hospital almost on a weekly basis. Dealing with this, it definitely kept my mind off what was going on inside my body.

I was getting bigger and bigger in the stomach and every time someone would ask if I was pregnant, I would just tell them that I was getting fat. There was no way I was going to admit to being pregnant. I had denied my pregnancy for so long that I began to believe it myself, that there was no bun in the oven. Whenever my dad would come to visit me, I would be wearing big shirts that hid my stomach, to a certain degree. I

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