Chapter 3

 I remember the tears as they came and fell, at night, or with my head turned away.  I remember the kind doctor who insisted on a DNC; he must have understood my pain.  I remember waiting, counting the days until my body would be free of this burden, that my mind could move on.

          Paul will remember this time as one of the hardest in his life.  He watched in fear as my body spontaneously began labor the day prior to my scheduled surgery.  He felt helpless as I writhed in pain driving to and from the hospital, only to go back again.  He feared he would lose me.

          After that, we knew for certain that we did not want to try pregnancy again.  Our focus turned once again toward international and domestic adoption.  We were older and international adoption was going to be a long wait.  So domestic it was!

            We chose to work with the same private adoption agency, having had a good experience with our son, Elijah, and started the quick update of our file. 

            I was 36 years old when I found out that I was pregnant.  Needless to say this was not a pregnancy that was planned by my boyfriend or me.  At that time I had a twelve-year-old daughter who resided with my brother since I was unable to care for her due to lifestyle choices I was making: drug use and involvement in an abusive relationship.

            I believe that this pregnancy mobilized me and gave me the courage I needed to get out of this abusive relationship and move into a women’s domestic violence shelter.  Although I was scared, sad, embarrassed, and humiliated because of the situation I found myself in, I knew that abortion was not for me.  That narrowed my choices to either raising this child or deciding on adoption.

          Thinking about adoption brought up feelings of failure on my part.  I spent so much time beating myself up emotionally when I should have been kinder.  Despite the war raging inside of me, I moved forward.

            I knew that I wanted to work with a private adoption agency.  When I made the initial phone call to set up a meeting to discuss things with a social worker there was some relief.  However, along with that relief came a wave of anxiety.

          The day I met Mary, the adoption social worker, was a wild one.  I had an amniocentesis that morning and a meeting to talk about placing my unborn child for adoption.  The level of fear and worry was virtually overwhelming.  I kept reminding myself to breathe and continue to put one foot in front of the other.  I held on tightly to my belief that as long as I did my part God would do His, and take care of whatever I was incapable of doing.