It all started at around 11:45 p.m. on March 22, 1996. I was in
labor and there
was no doubt this time! I was at my boyfriend, John's house
when it happened. I was
both overjoyed and distraught. This was not to be a pregnancy
with a happy ending for
me; this baby was going to be adopted.
For months we had talked about this day with each other, the
adoption agency,
and my baby's "parents." We had signed all the necessary papers
already, hoping to make
this day a little easier.
It was just so complicated. The
baby's father was one of my
coworkers. In fact, he was my manager. We both knew what we
stood to lose by
keeping the baby. We would put our careers in jeopardy and then
how would we be able
to support our child?
As we drove toward the hospital, I felt my
heart aching. So many
things were running through my head. How would I be able to go
through labor and
delivery and hand my baby over to someone else? I wasn't sure
yet how to do it, I just
knew it had to be done. I didn't want to hold the baby. I did
know that. It would just be
too painful and it was painful enough already. I already knew it
was a little boy, but he
would never be my son. He would be another woman's mama's boy.
The terrible
thoughts rushed through my head.
By the time we arrived at the hospital, I was in so much pain,
both physically and
emotionally, that I could barely walk. I didn't really even want
to. The sooner I arrived
in my wing at the hospital, the sooner the real pain would begin.
My hands trembled and
my legs weakened as we walked, both of us silent. The very
moment that is supposed to
be so joyful was terrible. One couple's dream come true was
fixing to be the beginning
of our worst nightmare.
Once we reached the room, a plump nurse
dressed in purple
came in to help me change clothes. I just couldn't do it alone.
Again, it was just one
more step towards my nightmare. The nurse tucked me in bed and
attached all the
necessary monitors. It was a nice big room, blue in color. Blue
always was the color for
boys. It was cold, dreary, and quiet except for the sound of the
baby's heartbeat coming
from a nearby monitor.
Every once in a while, we would hear a
woman pushing out new
life, followed by the shrills of a precious new infant. The room
was perfect. The next
few hours I would feel the worst pain I had ever physically felt
in my life. Throughout
the labor process I continued to think about what the ultimate
result was going to be in
that room.
A few hours later, the doctor came in and I knew that I fixing to
see my little boy.
Just a few minutes a couple of hard pushes later, there he was!
My little boy! I did not
want to hold him, but I could not resist when the nurse handed
him to me. He was a large
baby wih quite a bit of hair. Because he was so new, he was
still covered in a white
slimy gel-like substance, but to me he was beautiful.
As I held
him, I looked over my
shoulder at his father and saw the tears pouring from his eyes.
He left the room. When he
walked out, I had no idea where he had gone or if he would be
back. I didn't know
anything anymore. I was holding tightly to a boy that I was
fixing to give away.
Soon
after he was born, the nurse took me to recovery and then put me
in a room. I did not
want to be there. The smell was the same old hospital smell-
stale and cold. This room
was off-white. There were no visitors, no flowers, and I spent a
lot of time with the
television off. I asked that the nursery keep my son for the
rest of the day.
We were
supposed to call the adoption agency and the family when I went
into labor so that final
adoption arrangements could be made. We had not called. I did
not want to. I wanted to
take my son home with me. I knew the risks. I knew that if I
kept my baby, I would lose
my job and the man that I loved. Besides, all the arrangements
were already made. The
papers had by signed and the parents picked out. After the baby
was born , his parents
would pick up from the hospital and take him home. We also
hadn't bought anything for
this baby. We had not even picked out an outfit for him to wear
home, to his new home.
Those hours were the hardest; wanting to keep him, but knowing
that I couldn't.
I called the nursery and asked that they bring my baby to my
room. I laid him on
my bed and looked at him. They had him dressed in a little white
teeshirt, wrapped
tightly in a blanket. By now, he had had a bath. The slime was
gone and he had the faint
smell of lotion. His hair was now soft and smooth. He was
beautiful. I still did not hold
him, only laid him next to me.
We both went to sleep. I dreamed
of us, the three of us,
living happily together. In my dream it was the first day of
school for my son. The three
of us went to school together, but when we opened the door to go
inside I did not see
classrooms. I saw a graduation ceremony. There he was again.
As my son walked
across the stage, I noticed that it wasn't a graduation
ceremony, but a wedding with his
wife on the other end of the stage. I awoke quickly and found
that I was not alone. John
had returned.
This brought every ounce of fear back into my body
and I began to
tremble. My heart began to race as I began to panic. All of my
fears and pains were right
there in front of me. I knew that John was back to tell me that
everyone had been called
and that the baby's parents were on their way. How would I tell
them and him that I had
changed my mind? This was a decision that we had made together
and this would be the
third failed chance at adoption for this nice couple that we had
so carefully chosen- the
dentist and the stay-at-home mom.
How would I do it? There was
an awkward silence
over the room. If a pin had been dropped, we surely could have
heard it. When the
silence was broken, it was John speaking. He said to me, "I had
a long talk with God and
He promised to take care of us. We're taking OUR son home with
us!" My pain turned to
exhilaration. I could take my baby home! At that moment I
forgot about everything- the
pain, the other couple, everything. I now had my son and he
would be called Patrick.
I held John and Patrick tightly, not wanting to ever let go. I
had everything I
wanted and I had not had to take the risk.
I was anxious about
taking Patrick home. We
had hidden my pregnancy from everyone, our boss, our friends, and
our families. We
would surely have a lot of explaining to do, but it didn't matter
now. I cried a lot that
day- tears of happiness for me, but also tears of sorrow for the
couple whose heart we
would break. I cried thinking about our family members who had
been excluded from
one of the hardest periods of our lives; who hadn't been able to
help us make the right
decision from the beginning. A lot of feelings would be hurt by
this, but we had to tell
everyone what happened.
Three months later, John and I were married and living in a new
town for a new
boss who did not care that we had a child together. Everything
was different, but it didn't
matter. John and I talked of how differently our lives would
have been if we had not
taken our son home.
Both of knew that the pain we each would
have felt would have
been too much of a burden for our relationship to last. Not only
would we have lost our
son, but also each other. We now have a daughter also that we
love very much, but it
isn't the same.
Every day when I look at my son, I see what I
might have lost. Every time
he tells me that he loves me, I think of him saying that to
another mommy and it tears me
up. John and I both gained so much more in this little boy than
we lost by keeping him
and I thank God every day that He gave us the strength to make
that decision.
John was
right, God has taken care of us ever since.
(c) Traci Hayes All Rights Reserved
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