Motherhood

I met my boyfriend (now husband) in September 2018 on the dating app OkCupid. We hit it off right away and dated for six months before I found out I was pregnant. I had never considered having biological children before, so I was excited to find out we were having a baby together.

I was adopted from India when I was five years old. This shaped my views about having biological children. I always wanted to adopt children because I knew firsthand how blessed I was to have been given an amazing life in America and all the opportunities it had to offer. I believed it was selfish to have biological children when there were millions around the world suffering. Children who don't have loving families are put into orphanages, where they wait and pray to be adopted. So, I was surprised that I was excited to be pregnant. My parents disapproved because I was only twenty years old and in college. My boyfriend was twenty-seven years old, and I had only known him for six months. They didn't support me and told me to get an abortion. My parents are strict; until then, I always did what they told me. My unborn baby gave me the strength I needed to stand up to them and tell them I wasn't getting an abortion.

Sadly, I lost the baby in the first trimester. I was devastated, and going through the physical pain of the miscarriage broke me. I never recovered from the loss. I withdrew from the spring semester in college because I needed time to heal. I couldn't watch any movies or shows with babies in them. Everything I did always made me think, "What would my child be saying to me right now?" Honestly, it took me a lot longer than I care to admit to deal with the loss. Two years later, in 2021, I had another miscarriage. Then, in May 2022, I had a third. It wasn't until after this third time that I had lost all hope of ever having a baby. I felt that I wasn't a real woman because I couldn't fulfill the utmost essential duty and honor of bearing a child. I kept debating whether I should give up on my relationship with my fiancé because I couldn't give him the child he also desperately wanted.

As a last resort, my fiancé suggested I see an endocrinologist to level out my thyroid, which most likely was the leading cause of all my miscarriages. My parents raised me holistically with all-natural herbs and supplements, no medications. My mother didn't believe in Western medicine because of all the side effects and additional health issues medications caused. Because of this, I never considered taking thyroid medication before. So, when my fiancé suggested it, after much debate, I decided to try it. After a month of being on thyroid medication, I became pregnant for the fourth time. I dreaded it, but my fiancé and I attended our first ultrasound appointment.

I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw the picture on the screen. It was a tiny potato-shaped baby with four little nubs for arms and legs, and I could see the pulsing heartbeat. Both my fiancé and I were in tears that our baby was alive. Suddenly, I had hope again, but even this didn't stop me from constantly worrying every morning that I would wake up to a miscarriage. I loved my baby so much, and I couldn't bear the loss, especially once I started the second trimester. This was the furthest I had ever gotten in a pregnancy, so it would be even harder to suffer the loss of this baby. I couldn't believe it when I reached the twenty-week ultrasound. I would find out the sex of my baby. My fiancé always felt it would be a boy, and he was proven right that day, as it was confirmed on the ultrasound. I didn't care if I had a boy or a girl; I was just so relieved the baby was alive. My first three miscarriages happened during the first trimester. So, when I found out about this pregnancy, I chose not to tell anyone except our parents until I made it to the twenty-week mark. We were so excited when we learned we would have a son. Sadly, they also told my fiancé and me that the baby had a birth defect in his head. They directed us to a children's hospital in Delaware for further testing.

At the Delaware hospital, once the doctors reviewed the results, they filed my fiancé and me into a room with two social workers who were there for moral support. The doctors said the baby had a condition called a Meningocele, where there was a small pocket located between the bottom of the skull and the top of the spine where his bones didn't fuse. They said he would need an operation as soon as he was born to close the gap because if any cerebrospinal fluid from the brain entered the spinal cord, it could paralyze him. They also stated he had an underdeveloped cerebellum, which could lead to the inability to move or talk. The baby would be born a vegetable. Lastly, they told us that I was already dilated 3 centimeters. I would need to have a cerclage, stitching in the birth canal, so that the baby couldn't come out early. They told us that we should get an abortion because no one should ever endure this kind of responsibility.

I hated these doctors because none of them delivered this information with any heart or remorse. They were soulless with cold, dead eyes. Thankfully, the two social workers offered emotional support that the doctors could not express. They told everyone to clear the room so my fiancé and I could have a moment alone to digest everything. We broke down crying as soon as everyone left the room. I was angry at God. I finally had a viable pregnancy but was punished with this tragic news about my unborn son. The world caved in on me, and I couldn't breathe. As devastating as the news was, it wasn't what I was most angry about. I was most angry at the doctors who dared think they could tell me what I should or shouldn't do with my son. They became doctors to save lives. But here they were telling me to end a life just because of the possibility of future hardship for my baby and me. It made me think of all the babies that were aborted because of their poor advice to other mothers. The doctors gave us five minutes to talk alone before they came back in. When they did, I told them I refused to get an abortion. I had three miscarriages before this pregnancy, and if I had gotten this far, then God must have had a plan for my baby. I loved this baby unconditionally and would fight for him no matter what. With this said, they proceeded to put in the cerclage so I would stop dilating.

A week later, back at home, I suddenly started having intense pain in my stomach. It was the most unimaginable pain I'd ever experienced. I screamed at the top of my lungs all the way to the hospital. It took hours after arriving there for the doctors to give me pain medication. The machines detected contractions, so they gave me medication to stop them. Hours later, when the contractions stopped, I was discharged. Unfortunately, after only a few hours of being home, the pain started again. I tried to hold out, hoping the pain would go away. But the pain increased until I was screaming at the top of my lungs. My fiancé had to rush me to the hospital again. It was the same procedure; I waited for two hours before the nurse gave me pain medication, and then they discharged me after the contractions stopped. The same cycle went on for a week. Nine hospital visits later, I finally told them they were not allowed to discharge me until they figured out what was going on. My fiancé was by my side the whole time, enraged and defeated, watching me suffer in pain for an entire week. Unfortunately, he had to go back to work after that week.

I was so exhausted mentally, emotionally, and physically from the constant contractions that I couldn't do it anymore. I told the nurse they needed to deliver this baby because I couldn't bear to suffer another second. She spoke with the doctor, and the next thing I knew, they were administering the steroid shot to strengthen the baby's lungs to help his chances of survival at such a premature birth. They called my fiancé at work, and he rushed back to the hospital. I was given the epidural right away, but it didn't work. I could feel them taking out the stitches to open the birth canal. When the doctors realized this, they put me to sleep and did an emergency C-section.

They didn't let me in the room for the C-section with her, citing that it would be too graphic for me to handle. I stayed in her hospital room, pacing back and forth. Our son was going to be born at 24 weeks gestation, with way too many challenges. I had to avoid getting my hopes up. I had to be ready to pick up the pieces when she woke and found out what happened. Then a nurse came into the room and said that my son was just born, alive and that I could come to see him. Nothing in this world could have prepared me for what I would experience. He was 1.7 pounds and 12.1 inches in length. He moved with a lot of energy and made little crying noises. He was a light purple color and faded into a deep blue. He stopped moving altogether. He was gone. I have never been a religious man in my life, but I dropped to my knees, and I prayed to Jesus Christ to please save my son. At the same time, a doctor was performing CPR on my son with just her one finger, pumping air into his fragile lungs with a little bag. Miraculously, he came back to life. They immediately intubated him and admitted him to the NICU.

When I came to hours later, I was in a hospital bed again, and my fiancé's face was the first thing I saw. He told me the baby was alive and in the NICU being taken care of. I was so happy my baby was alive, but disappointed I missed hearing his first cry.

We went to visit him that night in the NICU for the first time since he was born. There are no words to express my gratitude and love for my son when I saw him alive. He was hooked up to multiple wires and tubes providing him sustenance. I was constantly dreading that I would receive a call from the doctors saying my son had died. On Christmas Eve, three weeks after his birth, I finally held my son for the first time. It was the best gift ever, and no words in any human language could describe that feeling. He was so tiny and fragile. He was upset when he was taken out of his incubator, but he instantly relaxed when he was resting on my chest, skin to skin, listening to my heartbeat. It took everything in me not to burst into tears of joy, holding him because he was so sensitive that sobbing uncontrollably would have upset him. My husband got to hold him for the first time two days later.

Two months in, the doctors said my son needed to be transferred to Children's Hospital of Philadelphia to have laser eye surgery to prevent blindness. I needed to be with my son, but we couldn't afford to travel there and back daily, so we needed somewhere to stay. Thankfully, my fiancé and I could stay at the Ronald McDonald House in Philadelphia. The surgery was successful, but the NICU team had a brain surgeon check in on him, too. The doctor said that he needed an operation for his meningocele before he could be discharged. This meant that I would have to stay at the Ronald McDonald house for a couple of months while he recovered from the surgery. It's moments like this that really tested the strength of a relationship. We lived an hour and a half away from the hospital in Philadelphia, which meant my fiancé and I would have to be separated until our son was ready to come home. He had to work during that time, and I needed to be with our son at the hospital. It was stressful and scary, but we were strong enough to pull through for the sake of our son. On April 19th, 2023, our son was ready to come home. It was a long journey for all three of us, but we all found the strength to survive our hardships.

Presently, our son is two years old and the happiest baby ever. He is brilliant, an independent baby, likes to learn everything, and figures out things himself. He runs around everywhere, always laughing, and is learning to talk. He loves taking walks with me every day, loves watching Little Bear, loves the playground, and loves playing with others. This proves that even doctors are wrong at times. They stated he would be born a vegetable. If I had listened to their advice about aborting my son, I would've missed out on being a mom to the most incredible baby ever, who has a plethora of opportunities to be whatever he wants when he grows up. Everything I've endured during the pregnancy and birth of my son has helped me to unlock the strength I didn't know I had. I reflect on the younger version of myself who never wanted biological children. One may think everything I have been through would make me believe I was right. But I was wrong. It is the most amazing thing anyone can do. My son's name is Ezra, and he's the most incredible baby, and I'm honored to be his mother.