Fight for my Life

by Megan Gengo 

 I’ve been a fighter all my life.

Through my fight, I’ve had three constants in my corner: Mawmaw, Granny, and Nanny.
These women walked me from birth into adulthood.
They have stood beside me and supported me.
They have coached me and healed me. 

My fight started at birth.

While my mom was visiting my dad in the hospital, she started having pains. My dad had been burned in an explosion at work, sending my mom into a panic. The pain increased while she waited to see my dad and she was eventually admitted for monitoring. She was later released, but the pain continued. Signs of preeclampsia became evident and she was rushed to the emergency room at 25 weeks. 

I was born that same day at 1 lb. 3 oz. 

While my dad recovered, my mom sat with me in the NICU. Three months later, I went home with extreme medical assistance and countless doctors monitoring me. We would go back and forth to the hospital for the next year of my life. 

By three years old, I was fighting Round 2. 

I don’t remember this, but court documents and stories from family members prove it to be true. 
My dad had a friend that regularly visited and stayed at our house. One morning my mom found a note that the friend had to leave suddenly. That same day I woke up complaining of a stomach ache and started bleeding. 

When my mom brought me to my room she found my sheets completely soiled, full of evidence of what had happened to me the night before.

She rushed me to the hospital and exams confimred that I had been sexually assaulted at three years old.

I spent the next several years back and forth from my house and my grandparents. 

My home had become a breeding ground of addiction, drugs and alcohol. By fourth grade, my grandparents had full custody of me. 

I owe my Mamaw and Papaw my life. 
They took me in and raised me as their own. 
They brought me to Winfree Baptist Church and gave me a foundation. 

I knew I would have to fight my way out of my circumstances, 
so I moved into my own apartment during my senior year of high school. 

Right before graduation, I met Trey.
I was pregnant two months later. 

I wasn’t going to back down and I knew I wanted my son to have better than I did. 

So again, I fought. 

Trey and I got married in November 2011. 
He enlisted in the Army and left for Basic in February of 2012. I had my son, Blaine, in March of 2012, and we moved to Georgia two weeks later. While Trey completed Basic Training, I lived with Blaine in a hotel room near base.

Upon graduation, Trey was stationed at Fort Campbell in Kentucky. 
We made the move and got pregnant with our second child within a few months.

The longer we were away from home, the worse our marriage got. 
We lived in cycles for the next several months, spewing hate and empty threats. 
We hurt each other’s feelings out of bitterness and spite.

I didn’t want my kids to have a childhood like my own,
but I was watching my own family crumble. 

Brynn was born in March 2013. 

A year later, Trey got out of the military and we came back home. 
We continued in toxic cycles, fighting, threatening to leave, making amends, and repeat.  On my darkest days, I would call my Granny and Nanny looking for strength and help. Without fail, they would guide me through and give me courage to keep going.

Until one day I heard a voice that wasn’t my own. 
I vividly remember sitting down on the couch after finishing dinner and hearing, Leave now.

For some reason, I didn’t question it. 
I immediately got some bags together and packed the kids up. 
As I was backing out, Trey pulled in. He didn’t protest this time. 

I don’t believe that God encourages divorce,
but I believe he was protecting my family from worse.

Thankfully, God has continued to move in my life and Trey and I 
are healthy parents who work together for what’s best for our kids.

Again, Mamaw and Papaw took us in and cared for us until I was able to get an apartment. 

I found myself emotionally broken down and beaten up. I was 24 years old with two kids, childhood trauma, and emotional baggage. I believed that I wasn’t good enough, smart enough, or worthy of a whole family. Instead of sulking, I fought to survive again. 

I worked three jobs while finishing school to be a medical assistant.
I did whatever I had to do to rewrite the narrative for my family.
I knew that I couldn't allow my past to define my future.
I just didn’t realize how drastically my life was about to change.

In January 2016, I went on a four-wheeler ride with a friend where I met my now-husband.
Funny thing is, I hated him the entire weekend and he had a girlfriend at the time.

We later connected on social media when their relationship ended. 
Despite his efforts, I made every excuse as to why I couldn’t go on a date.
An entire year later, he finally asked if he could at least meet my kids and I for dinner. 
We had already planned to go to Casa Ole that evening so I let him tag alone not expecting much.

He hasn’t left my side since that day. 
He immediately became my biggest supporter. 
He joined my Mawmaw, Granny, and Nanny in my corner. 

Then I walked through the longest year of my fight.

On Father’s Day of 2017, my Granny passed away. 
She was my rock. She was who I called with questions about my babies. 
She was overly opinionated but her love for me never wavered. 
She loved me, loved my kids, and loved the Lord.

I watched as Bryce fought with me and for me. 
He met my entire family on the day my Granny passed. 
He showed up, held my hand, and never even flinched. 

I knew that day that I wanted him in my corner forever. 

The following month, my three year old daughter took my son’s rapid-release Adderall.  Making that phone call to her dad was terrifying. Watching her hallucinate was even scarier. We brought her to the emergency room and then got transferred to Texas Children’s Hospital. We stayed there for three days as she detoxed and was filled with fluids.

When the team came to dismiss us, the doctors were amazed that she had no seizures.
They called it a miracle.

God fought for my daughter’s life.

The next month, Hurricane Harvey hit.
I had recently graduated and gotten a full-time position, then we lost everything.
Everything I had fought so hard for us to have was gone in an instant. 

Bryce’s family took us in temporarily, then Mamaw and Papaw allowed us to stay yet again.

In early 2018, Bryce and I purchased our first home together. 
It felt like we were finally getting relief from life’s punches. 

Then, in December 2019, Bryce proposed. 
We were at an all-time high, on top of the world.

We set our wedding date in November 2020 because my Mawmaw was having medical issues. 
My Granny was already missing one of the greatest days of my life, I needed Mawmaw there.

Three months before our wedding, my Mamaw fell and wouldn't wake up. 
My friends and I had gone to the beach for my bachelorette party and woke up Saturday morning to the news. Despite efforts to keep me distracted on a long day of waiting for test results and updates, I was broken. We went into Galveston to try to continue the weekend, but I got a message that said, Come now. I called Bryce completely distraught and without hesitation he was on his way to get me.

We made it to the hospital to say our goodbyes. 
Four days later, Mawmaw was gone. 
The loudest voice in my corner.
My greatest support.
My only constant.

In November 2020, we Bryce and I got married and started talking about wanting a baby. After months of going back and forth, we decided to move forward with a tubal reversal. 

I called the doctor’s office on a Monday and was scheduled for that Friday. Due to Covid, my husband wasn’t allowed in the room. We both panicked knowing that our future was potentially changing quickly. 

I called my Nanny and cousin for some encouragement. They shared the story of Sarah
and reassured me that God is a promise keeper. He is good. His timing is perfect. 

Month after month, my cycle came.

I had gotten pregnant so easily with Blaine and Brynn that I found myself confused, doubting, and discouraged. I was finally financially stable and ready for a baby, why was the Lord delaying? 

I walked around with the weight of unmet desires. 

After months of trying, we went to a fertility doctor.
I only had one working fallopian tube. 
I was devastated, but I wanted to fight. 

We started treatments and I sought God. 
I needed support and strength. 

The next Sunday, I walked into Mauriceville Assembly of God.
I continued attending services, leaning into God to help me keep pressing on.

A few Sundays later, we sang “Chainbreaker.”
If you got chains, He is a chainbreaker.
If you've got pain, He's a pain taker.
If you feel lost, He's a way maker.

I needed breakthrough. 
I needed healing. 
I wanted a way. 

As I worshiped, I felt an urge to go to the front. 
I had fought a similar feeling the week before, and I refused to ignore it again.
As I stepped out, the pastor’s wife met me with prayer. 

Right there, I surrendered and rededicated my life to Jesus. 

Within the next three weeks, I was baptized. 
Then, I found out I was pregnant.

Our plan had been to have a home birth 
and my pregnancy was easy and healthy. 
Then, it was time to deliver. 

I thought that my water had broken on May 5, 
but it was just my floor bag and mucus plug.

After a few days, I was only dilated to a 3 and 50% effaced.
I walked and waited, anxiety building. 

My midwife came at 7am the next morning and the time crunch began.
We had to progress by her next check up at 6pm. 
When she came back, nothing has changed.
It was time for us to go to the hospital. 

We got settled at Texas Children’s Women’s Pavilion around midnight and I received my epidural. Our baby boy was stubborn in his position, not allowing me to safely deliver him. I was heartbroken and the fighter in me wanted to keep trying. 

When a new doctor came in at shift change, he called it. We had to do a C-section because now my cervix was swollen and Brody’s heart rate was dropping. I understood that this was the safest option, but I was terrified. I had a feeling that something was going to go wrong. I texted a friend to tell my babies that I loved them if something went wrong. I was wheeled to the operating room and met with a room full of doctors and nurses who immediately started working. 

It felt like the procedure had gone on for hours, 
then I started smelling burning.
I panicked in question. 

They told me to be patient and that they were removing layers of scar tissues from past births, then they finally got to Brody. I panicked when I didn’t hear cries. Bryce tried to reassure me and captured video for me to see up close. I saw the video but was overwhelmed with the feeling that my body was shutting down. 

Just as they were putting Brody on my chest, doctors demanded that Bryce leave the room while nurses took our baby. 

At that moment I thought I was dying. 
I felt all my fears were coming true. 
I was intubated, but my body fought. 

For the next four hours doctors worked on me. 
Additional surgeons were called in to help find the bleed
from what I learned was a postpartum uterine rupture.

After a difficult procedure, I was brought to the ICU. I remember Bryce asking what other visitor I wanted. I knew I needed Nanny in my corner that day. I also knew that strength from my Granny and Mawmaw helped me survive. 

I had a second blood transfusion and was able to transition to a regular room.
Two days later, I was released to go home after fighting the hardest battle of my life. 

Our first couple weeks after Brody’s birth were busy with family and friends.
We celebrated graduations and I got to visit my students. 

As things slowed down, sadness and frustration set in. 
I cried on and off all day long when I was alone. 
I picked fights with Bryce after he got off work. 
I was overwhelmed, exhausted, and struggling. 
I watched my household suffer because of me 

I had gotten good at hiding my feelings and emotions. 
It has been part of my survival tactics since childhood.
So, I suffered in silence, unable to see my depression. 

Instead of seeing my reality, I was deceived by the enemy. 
I believed that I just couldn’t handle my child. 
I believed that I just wasn’t good enough. 

Then, that demon of depression manifested. 

On July 4, my opponent grew larger than ever before. 
I had been fighting with Bryce while he was at work.
My two big kids weren’t home and Brody was asleep. 

I was alone and the enemy’s voice grew louder. 

His lies filled my head:
You’d be better off dead. End it. 
You wouldn’t be such an inconvenience.
Your gun is in your glovebox. Go get it. 
Just go sit against the wall and end it.

I did what I had trained myself to do: I fought. 
What would Brody do without me?

Okay, so maybe just take the pills you have.
Yeah, they’re in the cabinet.
Go get them.

Then, in the middle of being beat down,
my God intervened and took over.

Brody woke up and I latched him immediately. 
In that moment, I was able to slow my mind down. 

Then, I heard:
He needs you.
Blaine and Brynn need you.
The family you have fought for needs you. 

I sat crying, feeding my baby.
When he finished, it was time to go get Blaine and Brynn then we went to a Fourth of July party. I was distracted by friends that day, but the fight with my husband picked right back up when we got home. 

I had no more energy or strength. 
I surrendered and went to bed. 

I woke up and texted a friend about what had happened. I finally admitted my depression.  She encouraged me to see a doctor and reassured me that I was not alone. 

Next, I told my husband. 
I sat on the bed and just started crying. 
All I could say is I need help. 

As I told him what had happened the day before,
he hugged me and listened with so much care. 

I took the steps to get help. 
I told friends the truth. 
I reached out to family. 
I got back in my Bible. 

I reflected on the day that I almost ended my life. 
I know that the voice I heard was God. 
I know that Brody is a life-saving gift. 

Now that I have heard God, I listen for His voice. 
Now that I see His goodness, I look for blessings. 

I see that He has been in my corner all this time. 
He has been waiting for me to stop fighting to let go. 

He has been wanting to fight my battles for me. 
He has been giving me strength to keep going. 

He worked miracles in my body when I was born. 
He made a ways for me to escape my childhood. 
He kept His promise and gave me a baby. 
He saved my life, now and forever. 

Above all, I know that He is in my corner. 
I was never fighting alone. 
I will never fight alone. 

He is in your corner too. 
You are not alone. 

You are not alone in your unexplained sadness. 
You are not alone is your unexpected irritation. 
Postpartum Depression is real and 
it affects everyone differently. 

If you feel like you have been fighting a losing battle, surrender your fight to Him. 

He is our Victory. 

Because of Him, I am more than my childhood. 
Because of Him, I have a healthy family. 
Because of Him, I am still alive. 
Because of Him, I win.