A Bad Case of the What Ifs

I realized today, that I have left out a big chunk of the “why adoption” puzzle in my story.  I originally left it out because I did not want to make it sound like I was trying to garner sympathy or pity.  I do not want either of those things.  But today, a memory came to me and I was thrust deep into the throws of the “what ifs”.

what-if

I have severe asthma.  I have had it since life began.  When I became a teenager, it only got worse and from about the age of 15 I could usually count on going to the ER at least twice a year and being admitted into the hospital at least once.  For many women, pregnancy exacerbates asthma. My OB told me that 1/3 of asthmatics will get better during pregnancy, 1/3 will stay the same, and 1/3 will get worse.  I am sure stress had a lot to do with it, but during my pregnancy with my oldest son, my asthma got worse, much worse.  At about the 6 month mark, I had such a severe attack that I was put on a ventilator and my doctors seriously contemplated taking my baby out early.

The first time I ended up admitted to the hospital during the pregnancy was fairly early on, right around the 2nd trimester mark.  I had not told anyone I was pregnant yet, except the father.  My doctor urged me to tell my mother as soon as possible.  I was absolutely terrified.

On the day of my discharge, my nurse came in to talk to me.  She was probably only a few years older than me, very pretty, seemed very together.  My mother is a nurse, so I know how busy they are.  She sat on the edge of my bed, took one of my hands in hers and started talking.  She told me how she had an abortion when she was younger and then a year later found herself pregnant again.  She told me how terrified she was and how ashamed she had been to be pregnant again.  She asked me if I knew what I wanted to do yet.  I told her I thought I was too far along for abortion, so I was not sure.  She looked into my eyes, which were full of shameful tears, and told me I could do it.  I could raise this baby. She explained how she was a single mother and although she struggled, she was raising her child and was thankful everyday for him.  I don’t even think I said anything, just cried and nodded in agreement.

This nurse, who didn’t know me from Adam, took the time out of her extremely busy shift to sit and connect with me.  To support me and encourage me.

I look back on that moment, before adoption entered the picture and I feel like such a fool.  What if I had just listened to her?  What if I had asked how she did it?  What if, what if, what if.

That day, I was discharged from the hospital, and on the way home I told my mother I was pregnant.  This is the moment adoption entered my life and any thoughts of raising my own child faded.  Hello what ifs and goodbye what could have beens.

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