Lucky To Be Alive
Posted: Sunday, July 24, 2011
by Jessie I Snyder
TRUE INSPIRATIONS
As my story begins, my mother, Fredia and my foster brother Bobby and I were living in Sam Levy Projects in East Nashville. My mother had started doing washings and ironings out of our apartment, for people in the neighborhood. She was the best laundry lady in East Nashville. She knew how to starch a pair of jeans so stiff that they would stand up on their own, which is how all the guys liked them to be in the 1980s. Even the project manager brought his clothes to be cleaned.
The following day Friday April 4, 1986 the neighborhood church had found us somewhere to go. It was a women’s shelter a few blocks away. As we were moving some of our things to the women’s shelter; my brother Bobby and I were racing downhill, Bobby was on his tricycle and I was on my big wheel, when suddenly I hit a large crack in the sidewalk. I flipped three or four times, got up dusted myself off and we continued to the women’s shelter.
The following Monday morning, April 7, 1986, I woke up and I was paralyzed from my neck down to my waist. And because we didn’t have transportation, my mother, Bobby and I walked to Metro General Hospital some 20 miles away. When I got there they took x-rays of my head and neck, and discovered that I had broken my neck. The doctors told me that the bones in my neck were pinching a nerve in my spinal cord, that’s why I couldn’t move my arm. They also told me that if the bone had moved another millimeter it could have paralyzed me for life or in worst case scenario it could have killed me. I was very fortunate and very blessed. God was watching over me. They immediately admitted me into the hospital, where they put my neck in traction to relieve the swelling around my spine.
The night before I was to go in for surgery, a nurse that I knew from my church came into my room and we got on our knees and prayed for God to bring me through the surgery alright. About an hour later, as I was lying in my hospital bed, just staring at the wall, when suddenly this bright light appeared on the wall. It was like a movie projector was playing a movie. At the top of the screen was Jesus in a heavenly glow, he was dressed in a white satin robe, he had long curly brown hair and the most beautiful bright blue eyes you could ever imagine. He was standing beside a chalk board with a pointer stick in his hand, pointing to some words on the chalk board that were written in a language I didn’t even recognize.
At the bottom of the screen was the devil in a wall of flames. But he wasn’t the ugly creature that society portrayed him to be. Instead, he was very handsome with short black curly hair and two small horns sticking out of the top of his head. He was talking to Jesus. They were arguing over who was going to win my soul. Jesus told the devil that he could not have my soul because he had special plans for me. Then the devil told Jesus that he was going to make my life a living hell. That he was going to put me through many trials and tribulations to test my faith. Jesus agreed and the image disappeared.
It was then I knew I would have a rough life, but I would be able to overcome any obstacle that was put in my path. All I had to do was to keep my faith in God and trust in Jesus to set me free. After my surgery I went back to stay at the women’s shelter until my mother could find a job. We stayed there about two months and then the day finally came, my mother had found a job; she started working at the Double Tree Hotel in downtown Nashville in the laundry department, she was working full-time and wouldn’t get home until really late, meanwhile I was at home watching Bobby. When she got her first paycheck the shelter helped us move into our new apartment on McFerrin Avenue in East Nashville. It was a big apartment house with 7 or 8 apartments in it. We had a living room, one large bedroom and one very small bedroom, a kitchen and a bath.
I had become sexually active a few months before my 12th birthday. I know now that I was too young to be having sex, but I was growing up. My body was going through a lot of physical changes, and my hormones were raging. I had a boyfriend and yes we were having sex. I really didn’t believe that I was doing anything wrong. I just thought it was part of growing up. My boyfriend was a member of the Scrap Dogs—a group of boys who would do a stomping routine (a kind of dance). They would block off the street and come down the street doing their stomping routine. It was fun to watch.
During this time, I also had a job babysitting our neighbor’s children while their mother worked. It was an easy job, and I enjoyed playing with the children. She had three girls and I would comb and style their hair, get them dressed, and feed them lunch or dinner depending on which shift their mother worked. When I received my first payment for the job, I went to the Farmer’s Market (our hometown flea market) and bought me a pair of flowered jeans that I had been wanting for some time. It was nice to be able to buy my own things. I was show-ing responsibility and was proud of being independent.
It was a gorgeous afternoon, I was watching my foster brother Bobby while my mother was at work; my boyfriend came by to see me with a few of his homeboys. I didn’t think anything of it, because he traveled with his homeboys quite often. I sat outside talking to them; because I would never let anyone in the house while my mother was away. I got up to go into the house for something and my boyfriend and his crew forced their way in behind me. They locked Bobby outside. Then my boyfriend grabbed me, threw me on the bed, he tore off my clothes and proceeded to rape me while his buddies held me down. I tried to fight them but they were too strong for me, then they took turns raping me. I was so humiliated and was saddened that my boyfriend would subject me to this type of degradation. I had been violated and I didn’t tell anyone because I was so ashamed. I thought it was my fault. Although now I know it wasn’t my fault because no one deserves to be raped. Needless to say I never saw him again. I was only 12 years old yet my childhood was over. I had lost my self-respect and virtue that day. I come to realize the type of people that were in this cruel world. After that I was never the same and it was hard for me to trust anyone again. I vowed that I would NEVER trust boys again.
Eventually, I started dating again that’s when I started seeing Robert Leon Davis and by this time I was 13 years old. Then on February 2, 1987, Robert took me out on a date, we went out to eat, then got a motel room, where we had sex, that’s when I became pregnant with my daughter. I didn’t see him again for seven months because he was working. During those seven months I faced many adversities, all my trouble began on the gorgeous Friday afternoon, the sun was beaming down on us, and the date was April 3, 1987, the day after my 14th birthday. My foster brother Bobby and I were walking through our old neighborhood on our way to our mother’s job. When this girl who was much older than I was; tried to pick a fight with me. She was jealous because our family was doing so well after being evicted from our home in the projects. I ignored her and kept on walking. When suddenly, I felt a hard thump on the back of my head, it was so hard it jerked my head forward and I fell to the ground. She had thrown a piece of wood (a leg off of a baby bed to be exact) and then she ran away. I sat there in a complete daze, until I heard my brother scream my name, I snapped out of the daze, then I got up dusted myself off and we continued to our mother’s job. When we arrived there, I told my mother what had happened. My mother immediately called the police; and we filed a complaint against the girl and put a warrant out for her arrest. At that point I was taken to the hospital emergency room. Upon arriving the doctor sent me for an x-ray. Since I had had my neck broken the year before, they were afraid that when she hit me it might have re-broken my neck. As I waited for the doctor to look at the x-ray, it seemed like time stood still. Finally a doctor came into the room, he said he had some bad news; the hit had indeed re-broken my neck. They immediately fitted me with a neck brace and told me I would have to be admitted to the hospital again.
But that wasn’t the only concern I had. This time since I had been sexually active, and I thought that I might be pregnant. So the doctor ordered a pregnancy test. As I waited for the test results I anticipated what would happen if I was pregnant. When the doctor came back into the room with a worried look on his face I knew something was wrong. The test results had come back positive, I was indeed pregnant. Then the doctor ordered an ultra sound to determine how far along I was. As I lay there on the table I felt the cold gel touch my stomach as the technician listened for my baby’s heartbeat; it was a beautiful sound it sounded like a whooshing sound, similar to what a seashell would sound like when you press the seashell up to your ear. Then I saw on the monitor this magnificent creature growing inside of me. I was astounded and even speechless in the amazement of God’s beauty. The ultra sound revealed that I was in about my third month and since that meant I was only in my first trimester; they were unable to perform the surgery right away. That’s when the doctor told me that I would have to be fitted with a different kind of neck brace. This one would screw into my head so as to keep my neck from moving. It was called a Halo Head Brace which is used by someone who has a fracture to the cervical vertebrae, mainly on the second part of the vertebrae. This type of brace would let me have mobility while applying cervical traction to my neck injury. This brace consisted of four parts; the metal halo ring, with four pins to attach the metal ring to my skull, two pins above my eyes and two pins behind my ears, and it had a plastic vest lined in wool that came down around my waist and attached to four metal rods that also attached to the halo ring. It was very hot and extremely uncomfortable to wear. Not to mention almost impossible to sleep in. It was so uncomfortable that I could not lay flat on my back, so the doctor ordered me a hospital bed to be used at home. That way I could sleep in an almost sitting position keeping the pressure off the back of my head.
I had to wear that brace for two months before they could perform the surgery, by this time I was five months pregnant and my baby was growing inside of me and I had even started feeling my baby kicking. When they performed the surgery I lost too much blood putting me at risk of losing my baby; and so I had to have a blood transfusion. I received two pints of blood to be exact. Despite that the surgery was a success; then after the surgery, I had to wear the brace for two more months, time enough for my neck to heal.
The next month when I returned to the maternity clinic, I was asked to get an HIV test. I was told it was a mandatory procedure for a pregnant woman to be tested. I immediately asked “if it was mandatory why they hadn’t asked me to be tested when I first started coming to the clinic”; I The response I was given was that it was only mandatory if I had received a blood transfusion, however, I relentlessly agreed to be tested. Two weeks later I remember I was at church during the altar call; when an incredible force came over me for me to go up to the altar. Yet, since I had already been saved and baptized I didn’t want to go. But, the force was so strong that it pulled me up to the altar anyway. I told the pastor about my situation and the pastor said a special prayer for me and my unborn baby. Around the same time at home my mother received the call from the hospital wanting us to come in and discuss my test results. When my mother told me about the call, I immediately knew that I had tested positive for HIV. I don’t know how I knew, I just did. Why else would they call about some test results on a Sunday?
The next morning we went to the maternity clinic and met with the doctors; and sure enough I had tested positive for the HIV virus. I was told I wouldn’t live to see my 18th birthday. Then the doctors tried to talk me into getting an abortion, but I didn’t believe in abortions so I told them I would rather kill myself. They said why you would want to kill yourself when tomorrow they may find a cure. I kindly replied, then why should I kill my baby when tomorrow they may find a cure. So they left me alone in my decision to keep my baby. Then however, they told me my baby could become infected with HIV as well. But I was putting my faith in God that he would have mercy and spare my baby from this devastating disease.
As we left the hospital my mother started crying. She said that she didn’t want to lose me or her grandbaby. I, on the other hand, accepted it immediately. I knew that I was going to be alright no matter what. I remembered the vision I had the year before and knew God was going to protect me. I knew this was just a test of my faith. After my HIV diagnosis I experienced several episodes of discrimination from numerous acquaintances, neighbors, and even some hospital and clinical staff. But I didn’t let that bother me I just kept my head up and believed in God that everything would be alright. I was determined I wasn’t going to be a victim; I was going to live with AIDS, not die from it.
By this time my mother had to stop working to take care of me full time. Eventually, we were evicted from our house. When I was in my seventh month of pregnancy we became homeless again, around this same time my boyfriend Robert (the baby’s daddy) had left to go on a job in Kentucky. He was supposed to be gone for two weeks, but I never saw him again. He was killed in a car accident on his way back to Nashville. Now I was going to be a single mother. However, I still kept my faith in God and knew as long as I believed in him everything was going to be ok. We lived on the streets right up until the night I went into labor. One of our neighbor’s had let us stay in their garage. That’s where the ambulance came to pick me up. At around 6:00 a.m. on November 21st I was taken to the hospital and went through 58 hours of labor, but finally my daughter was born at 4:20 p.m., on November 23, 1987, she weighed 6 pounds 12 ounces and I named her Deondra Mae Snyder. She had black curly hair and the most beautiful hazel eyes. She seemed to be a healthy baby. She was so tiny, but she was my miracle, so beautiful and magnificent. When I held her for the first time I started crying. We had both survived the surgery and my baby was born in good health. But I didn’t want to think about what the doctors had told me, when I was first diagnosed with having HIV. I didn’t want to die and leave my baby all alone. I was scared that I wouldn’t be around to watch her grow up. So I just held her in my arms, staring into her beautiful hazel eyes. Then a feeling of peace came upon me, and I knew we were going to make it. The time came for me to go home from the hospital; but the doctors wouldn’t let me leave the hospital until I had a home to go to. That’s when we got emergency housing back into the projects, a church had paid the old bill and our first month’s rent. I was lucky to even be alive after all that I had been through. God was really watching over me and protecting me.
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