by Glenda Reynolds
I
was conceived in the city of Brotherly Love, the birthplace of America’s
freedom, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. It is a city rich in history, full of
historical landmarks, places where events occurred that helped shape our nation.
The people there boast that everyone is considered a brother – “outsiders will
never understand”. It is a place where people can get their favorite food which
some consider to be a cheesesteak hoagie, soft pretzel and a Tastykake. I
wonder if someday I’ll have the pleasure of walking the streets of Philly and
enjoying these delicious foods. Like many big cities, there are rich
neighborhoods and a lot of poor ones. As with many big cities there are many
problems that happen: crime, drug use, teen pregnancy, and people who prey on
or abuse other people. There are unfortunate ones who fall through the cracks
of society. My story is not unique, but it is worth telling.
My
first conscious thoughts are of my own heartbeat and that of my mother’s. Does
she know that I’m here? Does she know the potential I have of the man I can
become? Someone big and strong to lead others, who makes a difference in the
world, or does something as simple as hold her in my arms. Maybe after her bout
with morning sickness she will realize I’m here. But no, she drinks a beer and
pops some pills. Now I’m feeling sick myself. Maybe both of us will feel better
tomorrow.
My
mother really likes to dance! It’s really noisy for me. I especially find the
subwoofer very irritating. I hear my mother laugh; she is having a good time.
Except now I’m feeling woozy again after she drinks what they call “booze”. A fight
is breaking out; people are yelling. One of them is my father who is yelling at
my mother. I don’t understand what is happening, but there is no mistaking the
slap to my mother’s face. We are lying on the ground. She is shaking with sobs
as she puts her arms protectively over her tummy. She does know that I’m here! When I grow up, I will protect her from
abusive people like him.
Many
weeks have passed. My mama still remains with my father, afraid of living with
him or maybe afraid of living without him. Which is the greater evil? I seem to
be the topic of some heated arguments. My father is slapping Mama again,
sending us tumbling down the stairs. We are a little banged up, but we survive.
My mama realizes that she needs to get away. She gets up off the floor, throws
her jacket on, and catches a bus to the other side of town. I hear the loud
engine roar as we leave. We get off at Queen’s Village of South Philadelphia.
I
can immediately feel the tension release in Mama as she walks silently through
the neighborhood. She sits down at an outdoor café under a large tree. After
the waitress serves her a small chicken pasta and tea, I enjoy the spices when
I feed through the umbilical cord. She pays the tab and starts walking to my
grandparent’s house. We stop at a tall, brick row house that has a window
planter full of yellow and orange mums. After she raps on the door, Nana opens
it, greeting Mama with a big hug and kisses. Then Nana’s eyes fall on the bulge
that is me. Tears come to her eyes.
“I
am so happy that you’ve come to visit with us! Come on in and say hello to your
daddy.”
Grandpa is very welcoming, at least he sounds like
a caring person. When they observe how far along Mama is in her pregnancy and
the bruises on her face, they insist that we stay with them. At the sound of
this, I smile a toothless smile. We are loved. Now we are living with Nana and
Grampa. I love my grandparents even before I officially meet them. They both
know what it is like to live in poverty. They both had dreams and aspirations
for themselves and have much to show for it. This is as close to a loving,
strong family unit that I’ll ever know. Why can’t my mother and father be more
like them? Could it be that they like other things that aren’t good for them?
Days
go by. Days turn into weeks. My mama’s life is one big party. It seems that I
never get any good sleep to grow inside of her. My amniotic fluid tastes very
bitter most of the time. It gives me the hiccups. It doesn’t matter that Mama
is big as she carries me. She still loves to wear tight fitting clothing to
show off her curves. The men folk love it. Women think it’s slutty. Someday
I’ll know what that means. Although we still live with Nana and Grandpa, Mama
comes and goes as she pleases. One day the police raid my grandparent’s house.
They find pills and pot. No, this will not be my future training pot although
it is spelled the same way. One smells different than the other. I wouldn’t
know. The policemen are taking us to jail.
Here
we sit on a cold bench, surrounded by other thugs. The lights are so bright
that I roll inside my mama to get away from the glare. She cries and rubs her
tummy.
“I’m
sorry I got us in here. Things will get better, I’m sure,” she reassures us. This
is her first arrest so they show leniency towards her. My grandparents arrive
to get us out, to “spring us from the pen”. No, this isn’t the future (play)
pen that is planned for me. The other one has a soft mattress and toys,
something that all babies look forward to. I could hear Nana crying. She hugs
us. One would think that my mama would be grateful. Instead, she goes back to him.
My
father has arrived at my grandparent’s house while Mama and I are there alone.
She let him in. He spun his lies about how they should get back together and
have a bright future. He insists that it couldn’t include a baby just yet. I
stick my tongue out as if I tasted something nasty. I even kick her sides to
let her know my disapproval. He continues by saying that if she loves him as
she says she does, she would come away with him. He could pay for an abortion,
and they would live happily ever after. She believes him.
No! No! No! My bottom
lip trembles as I cry.
My
mama asks him to wait a moment. She leaves the living room for a few minutes
then returns with her jacket.
My
father drives us to West Philadelphia to 38th and Lancaster. Christian
protestors are walking around the outside of The Women’s Medical Society clinic.
The white, block-like silhouette of a man, woman and baby hangs above “Family
Planning, Gyn & Geriatrics” on the corner of the brick building. My father
is too cowardly to face these people. He drops us off to park the car. A kind
middle-aged woman approaches Mama as she questions the reason for her visit.
“My
boyfriend thinks that it’s the best for me to have an abortion at this time.
I’m really too young to be caring for a child. I can’t even care for myself.”
“Sweetie,
God loves you and your unborn child. He will provide for you. You don’t need to
do this.” Mama kept her eyes on the ground, unmoved. “Haven’t you heard the
stories about this doctor? He kills babies after they're born!” She used her
fingers with a scissors motion.
“I
need to do this. You don’t understand.”
“I
understand that once you get in there, you’ll wish that you never made this
trip. Stop and think about what you are doing.”
“I’ve
had time to think. I just want this over with.”
“And
what about your baby? Have you thought about what he wants? Surely you’ve felt
life inside of you?”
“I’m
just sorry that I didn’t have birth control before I got pregnant! Now if
you’ll excuse me.” Mama pushed her way past the crowd.
Once
she was inside, Mama gags at the smell of urine from the many cats that are
allowed to roam the clinic. The furniture is stained with blood. She notices
that the emergency exit is padlocked. Is this to keep people out or to keep
them in? After signing in, she tries to find a place to sit that isn’t soiled. There
are several women present who are only there to receive new prescriptions for
Oxycontin or other drugs for themselves and their friends. These are filled by
signed blank prescription pads; the doctor doesn’t even have to be present. A clinic employee ushers Mama back to a room.
On the way there, she peers through a door and sees a woman who has been given
a labor induced drug. The woman has bled on the clinic’s furniture. No one is
attending her. After Mama is taken to her room, she waits silently in a chair
in the corner. Soon an unlicensed employee comes into the room. The staff
person takes my mother’s blood pressure. She instructs her to lie back on the
table as an ultrasound is done. All of the staff has been instructed to falsify
the ultrasounds to do them at an angle in order for the image of the baby to
appear smaller – to make it appear legal.
“There’s
the little fetus. We’ll get him out in no time.”
“But
he seems much bigger than that. I am seven and a half months pregnant.”
“I’m
sure he does seem big.” She reached into an upper cabinet to retrieve some
drugs. Mama was shocked to see jars of baby body parts stacked in a row inside
the cupboard. “Now be a darling and take these pills.” The staff person made
sure Mama swallowed the pills before leaving. The attendant leaves the room
while my mother is left there alone for the labor inducing drugs to take
effect.
Mama
patiently lays alone there for about a half an hour. The noise outside
distracts her. She slides off the table and walks to the window to view the
protesters below. One man holds a sign with these words from the Bible, “I have
set before you life and death, blessing and curse. Therefore choose life…”
Deut. 30:19. It is as if the wind is
knocked out of Mama.
Breathe, Mama, breathe!
She
returns to the medical table with her heart and her mind in turmoil. Tears come
to her eyes. She is changing her mind as she finds the courage within her. Just
then the same staff person comes into her room.
“I
can’t do this. I have to leave!”
“You
can’t leave. We’ve already started the process.”
“I
am leaving – just watch me.”
The
staff person beat on my mama’s legs saying, “Stop being such a baby! You wanted
this done. Let’s get this done and over with!” At that point the staff person
is trying to physically restrain my mother to the bed. Mama is screaming in
protest. Just then my grandparents bust through the door trailed by clinic
staff.
“Get
away from my daughter now!” yelled Nana.
My
grandparents grab her clothes and jacket; they support Mama on either side as
they help her out of the building. When we step outside onto the sidewalk,
people start applauding and are in tears. The same middle aged woman comes up
to my mama, plants a kiss on her cheek and says, “I was praying for you,
darlin’. Thank God you and your baby are all right.”
We
are taken to a real hospital. It
isn’t my time to be born yet, but when I am, I have a bright future in front of
me. I was meant to be here. God doesn’t make mistakes.
~***~ The End~***~
"You wrote a very touching story filled with emotion, love, and controversy. A very much needed as a wake-up call. It does a good job showing the tragedy of abortion." - Heather Schuldt
"I just wept reading your story. Please don't ever stop writing; You make an awesome difference. This story is your best." - Charlotte Thorpe
