They tried to steal my baby but someone stepped in and did the right thing at the right time. What I am about to share with you is a true account of the events that took place shortly after my son was born.
I was an unwed pregnant teen who had dropped out of high school. I had nothing going for me at the time but when I found out I was pregnant, I knew things had to change. It wasn’t just me anymore and I had to do whatever I could to take care of this baby. I had plans. But first I had to give birth.
There was a clinic, for girls like me, in our city. Without giving away my age, I will just say there were not many options for unwed pregnant teens. This clinic was the only resource available at that point in time.
We all took classes on nutrition, finances, and how to take care of a baby. Our pregnancies were closely monitored. There were twelve girls in my class and there were three separate classes at the time. A midwife operated each class. Each of the girls in my class entered with the idea they would keep their baby but as time progressed, the pressure to give our babies up became almost unbearable.
It became obvious the program was designed to encourage us to give up our babies. There was celebration for those who made that decision. There was scorn for those who held to the idea of being a mother.
As time went on, girl after girl made the decision to give up her baby. Toward the end of my pregnancy there was only me and one other girl determined to keep the babies growing within our bodies.
I went into labor and went to the hospital. Everything went well, until it didn’t.
My son was born in the early hours of the morning. He was kept in the nursery and brought to me for feeding a few times the first day. As the sun was about to set a nurse came into my room with some medication. When I asked what it was for, she told me it would help me sleep. I took it with a sip of water and settled back on my pillow.
I remember the feeling when that little pill hit. My body began tingling, and my head was spinning. It was difficult to move. My body felt heavy.
A few minutes later the midwife from the clinic along with a woman I had never seen before, came to my room. A nurse stood in the doorway as they entered.
The midwife introduced the other woman and told me she was there with the papers for me to sign, releasing my baby for adoption. I was shocked but unable to speak. I shook my head.
The woman took a clipboard and placed it on my lap along with a pen.
I shook my head again. They both assured me I was making the right decision, and it was natural to have second thoughts.
The midwife picked up the pen and placed it in my hand. I knew I didn’t want to sign those papers. The midwife knew I didn’t want to sign them. I felt betrayed in so many ways. I dropped the pen from my hand and shook my head again. The drugs made it impossible for me to do anything else.
The midwife picked up the pen and placed it in my hand once more, “Here, try again,” she said.
I dropped the pen and shook my head.
She picked up the pen, placed it in my hand and said, “I will help you.”
I tried to drop the pen from my hand, but her fingers were tightly wrapped around mine. She began to sign my name.
I continued to shake my head. I was in full panic mode, I knew they were trying to take my baby from me.
She had only started the curve on the S when I heard the nurse from the doorway say, “I can’t let this go on any longer. You have to leave!”
The midwife let go of my hand and grabbed the clip board. “Fine, we will come back tomorrow,” she said in a tone that left me frightened.
“No, you are done here, you won’t be back in this room tomorrow!” The nurse was pointing toward the door.
I will never forget that nurse. Because of her, I left the hospital with my baby. To this day I believe the clinic was designed for no other reason than to convince young girls to give their babies up for adoption. I often wonder how many were coerced or worse, had their babies stolen under similar circumstances to mine.
Each time I think back to that night, I think about my Father in heaven. I felt so alone in that room, but I wasn’t. I couldn’t fight for myself and my baby, but He could, and He did. He used a nurse who did the right thing at the right time. I will never forget her.
I took home my son, and I named him Brian. He gave me many beautiful memories. He made me a mom. He was stubborn and strong willed. He was loyal and loving. He lived to be 39 years old. His death was sudden and unexpected. I will forever be grateful for the years we spent together.
Sometimes, the simplest way to fight for those who can't, is doing the right thing at the right time.
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