On Being Bold And True: Week Two

This post is the second in a series of Monday posts On Being Bold and True. My first "Bold and True" post is here. On Mondays I will post something I feel passionately about, something I am proud of accomplishing, or something that is intensely personal that I might not otherwise write about. I am choosing to write about things that make me who I am, which is to say that what I write here may not match another person's experience or opinion.

A quick word about why I am writing about these things now: my word for the year is "unafraid." There are things that have come to mind as I have been reflecting on where I am in my life, how I got here, and where I want to go next. I have been considering decisions, events, and relationships that have shaped my life; some of these things I have had control over and some I have not. Regardless, they are the threads that weave the fabric of my life.

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In the spring of 1979 Ken and I were happy with our lives. We had been together for four years, married a year and a half. We had jobs, had bought a house the previous fall, and were happy with how life was unfolding. It felt like a good time to start a family.

I was an executive assistant at a small non-profit. I loved my job and finally felt like I knew what I was doing. When I found out I was pregnant I didn't know if I would return to my job after the baby was born. I shyly told the executive director I was expecting, and I was extremely embarrassed when, a week later, the chairman of the board congratulated me on the news. I stammered that I didn't know what I was going to do; he smiled and said, "You're going to have a baby."

My due date was January 31, 1980. Things progressed normally until December 5, when I started spotting. After I was examined, my doctor admitted me to the hospital for an ultrasound the following morning. Since my doctor was a first-year resident, he collaborated with one or more doctors at every step along the way. I believe he made decisions that saved lives, literally and metaphorically.

Ken and I learned on December 6 that we were expecting twins. Once we recovered from the shock, we were ecstatic, as was everyone we told.

I wasn't put on bed rest, but my doctor recommended that I quit working so I could take it easy and put my feet up for extended periods of time. My co-workers and supervisors were supportive and gracious, and the board voted to pay me four weeks severance when I submitted my resignation. There was no one to take over my duties, and I didn't think it was fair to be out for an undetermined amount of time. Until that moment, I hadn't made the decision to not return to work.

Life changed again when contractions started on December 24. By 7:20 p.m. I had delivered naturally, under general anesthetic, two baby girls.

My first daughter was stillborn.

My second daughter weighed 4 pounds, 2 ounces. From the beginning she was able to breathe on her own, get all of her nourishment through breastfeeding, and spend hours at a time in the arms of her parents. She was perfect in every way, and we adored her.

Ken and I felt every possible emotion that you can imagine young parents can feel. We were overjoyed with the birth of one daughter, and despairing over the loss of another. The conflicting emotions churned for a very long time. The healing process took years.

On New Year's Day 1980 my doctor made a decision that would not be approved today: he released my eight-day old daughter into my care. She weighed 3 pounds 15 ounces. There was a list of instructions as long as my arm, weekly check-ups were required, and we went nowhere but the doctor's office for four months; I didn't care because my daughter was coming home. From that moment she was the focus of my attention and the center of my world. We followed the doctor's instructions to the letter for the first year, at the end of which I was finally able to breathe a sigh of relief....

Ken and I went on to have more children, and it worked out that I was the parent whose first responsibility was their well-being. I made decisions about my life based on what worked best for the children because I loved them and could meet their needs.

We had learned how to live on one income, and we had proof that if a child's needs were the priority the child would thrive. We had no extended family in the area. While we had friends who could pinch hit in an emergency, Ken and I had only each other to rely on day in and day out.

I love my children and do not regret one moment I was part of their lives. It was what I knew to do. I didn't try it any other way, so there is no way for me to know what else might have been possible.

There is not one moment when my daughter learned about her sister; she has always known, as have her brothers. In fact, my daughter would like me to write about what it has been like to be a mother. I don't know where that idea might go....

But that's a topic for another Monday ~