Andrew

So the soup is smelling great. I've had 2 Hot Toddies. An Airborne. And I put 2 Airbornes in the Hot Toddy concoction. And 2 V8s. I love V8. Full on war with this cold. And I'm feelin' pretty good. I swear to god onions are nature's culinary chemotherapy. They attack and cleanse all the good or the bad, they are non-discriminatory. I think I cried out alot of bad energy. Hopefully some "common cold" energy.

I know I bitch and complain about being a nurse. And I tell Royce he is crazy for wanting to be one. I think working at County, and having such high stress 24/7 all the time, you get jaded. Numb. Cynical. But it really is a priveledged occupation. I think this break for me at my new place has been refreshing. The opportunity to help someone is sometimes so priceless. It cannot be bought or paid for. And they even pay me to do it. Truly a priveledge and an honor. I just wish it was that clear all the time. But there are glimpses. Moments that are just elevated. Priceless.

I worked Saturday night. It was very quiet until about 1:20 am, when we got a call from the ER that they were bringing us a girl that was 9 months pregnant with abdominal pain.

About 10 minutes later they arrive pushing her in a wheelchair.

She is obviously in active labor, screaming and crying, probably close to delivery.

She is 19, it is her first baby, and she hasn't seen a doctor - at all. She is a college student at ASU, which is less than a mile from the hospital. No one knew she was pregnant, not even her dorm roomates. No one.

I check her, she is 8 cm. Not too much longer.

And her only concern is if her parents have to know. In between contractions and gut renching screams that only happen at 8 cm, she asks me what the legal ramifications are, if her parents have to know, what she has to do. I tell her she can do anything she wants. She is over 18, she makes all the decisions.

Its in-between contractions. She tells me she doesn't want this baby. She can't keep this baby. Her parents would disown her. She wants to give it up for adoption.

Another contractions hits. She screams. She screams "I am such a HORRIBLE person! I should NEVER have had sex!!!!" And screams in agony again at the peak of the contraction. That agony of having your insides ripped apart.

The contraction subsides. Another one in 2 to 3 minutes. She says to me, " My mother would disown me. I am such a bad person." She can breathe now. The contraction is over.

There are so many places I am having de-ja-vu at all at once. I think of Ryan. And the way my mom looks at him now. The hugs and the kisses. The complete and sheer fascination with an amazing little life. That loves you. I think of my mom.

I tell her, "I know your mom is upset. But she will get over it." And I smile. Knowingly. Because I know.

Another contraction starts before I get my words out. As I finish my words, her scream builds with the 19 year old wisdom of "Oh My God.........Here comes another one!" And I know, after doing this for years, and doing it myself, that she has a couple hours to go - at least.

She screams and cries. And then that one is over.

She screams "I should never have had sex! " "Its a little beyond that now" I tell her, and smile.

I am this baby. My mother was 19, scared, didn't abort, and had to go through laboring and delivering me. And gave me up. And I've had a wonderful life. It will all be ok. She is not a bad person. She came this far. Most girls never get this far - they terminate. I am this baby. This is me. I tell her all of this.

I assure her she is going to have this baby tonight, she is going to have it soon, and we will work all the details out later. We just have to get this baby here. All the details will fall into place. Really. Trust me. I tell her I will start an IV, get her an epidural, and we will get the baby here.

She has friends that come to see her. Her girlfriend from the dorm, her friend's boyfriend, and her friend's mother. None of them knew she was pregnant until the phone call about an hour ago, when she needed to come to the hospital. They are wonderful, and loving, and supportive. She is screaming with contractions, 9 cm now, and the mom tells her she is making memories. "Beautiful memories". Apparently she hasn't told anyone of her wishes. I look at the girl, she looks at her friends mom, and whispers, with guilt and tears, in between OH GOD KILL ME NOW contractions, ------- "I'm not keeping it. --------- I'm not keeping it".

I see the realization on their faces, the sting of her statement, the mom looks at me ----and then the acceptanc sets in. They will be there no matter what. She is a lucky girl.

She says she doesn't want to see or hold the baby. We make plans to respect her wishes. We will take the baby to the nursery right after she delivers.

She gets her epidural. She gets comfortable. And rests.

About 6:15, right after the change of my shift she deliverys a baby boy, 6 pounds 6 ounces.

And she held him. And she looked at him. And she held him some more. Even though she didn't think she wanted to.

He is perfect. And wonderful. And beautiful. And amazing.

I got to babysit him all night long. He was perfect. His little forehead wrinkled. He never cried. He opened his eyes so wide and just looked at everything. He smelled so good.

When I came back to work the next night I found out that she had kept the baby in her room all day, and that a couple were on their way from California to take the baby. Everything so fast.

I walk into her room. The baby is in the bassinet at her side. Her friend is there. She is peaceful. I tell her how happy she will be making someone. She smiles. A little sad, and tired, but a smile. He is beautiful. A Christmas baby. They will be so happy. She has no idea what she is giving someone. No idea.

The adoptive parents have been there all day. They met her. She met them. They are thrilled. They got the call, packed up, left at 5 pm, and got to Tempe at 5 am. And they have another adopted 3 year old. She filled out a questionaire. Her favorite color. Her favorite kind of music. What she is like. This is given to the new parents. She writes a letter to her precious little one. Who has know idea what is going on. The only perfect thing in this complicated situation. So perfect. His new name is Andrew.

I can't help but think about Suzie. And what it was like when that baby was me. How they gassed her the minute she delivered, and she never saw me. How I never knew her favorite color, her name, her anything. They wisked me away, frowned on her, looked the other way, then acted like nothing ever happened.

I had a charmed childhood. But I was that baby.

How I was made to feel guilty for asking, my whole life. How every question I had about who I was or where I came from or who I looked like, or why my mom didn't want me - how all of these were forbidden, the unknown. Taboo. How I was shushed and quieted and given that look if I even asked. How I always knew someone was out there. How she was condemned, not for having sex, but for conceiving and choosing not to kill me. People are treated much kinder if they only have sex - but if they carry a baby they are condemned. They are blacklisted. It is unforgivable. When an abortion is so much easier. No condemnation, no embarassment, no sin if no one knows. You can kill your baby, but no one cares as long as you were never grossly pregnant and delivered an illigitimate child. If there is no eveidence of the sin, there is no shame. And she chose the shame, and the embarrassment, and the pulling out of her heart when she walked out of the hospital without me - because she did the right thing. The hard thing. Me.

Just like this girl.

I took care of Suzie that night. I got to talk to her. And touch her. And help relieve her pain. And coach her through labor. Help her bring this perfect wonderful little life into the world. Help her give the gift of life to another family.

Help her hold her head up, even if just a little.

And I got to treat her with dignity.

My way of thanking her. For life.

And I got to hold me - in my arms. A perfect wonderful life, that was a "mistake". A bad decision. A regret. A horrible experience that you just want to forget and move on. The product of unprotected sex. A life. A life that will crawl, and walk, and run, and talk, and have a favorite food, and dance, and make cards for mommy, and be amazed at birds and trees, and learn to read , and have their heart broken, and fall in love, and laugh, and cry, who will have children of their own, who will be a brother, an uncle, a son, a father, a husband, a friend, a grandparent. A life.

All because she didn't choose the other way. The easy way.

I got to take care of her. I got to thank her. Even if it was just changing her bedsheets, I got to say thanks. Bringing her a pain pill, I got to say thanks. Not being judgemental.

I got to say thank you.

Not very many of us, those of us that are given up, get to say thank you.

My job is priceless.

Maybe he'll even play the piano.

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Soup is done. Gonna play a little pool.