Читать книгу Just Breathe - Honey Perkel - Страница 4

It was all I ever wanted. To have the opportunity to become a mother like my own and the mother before her. To have babies. Lots of babies. But that was easier said than done.

As a little girl my dreams were not unlike that of others my age — to become a wife and mother. To experience the joy of watching my children grow and blossom. A continuation of my life.

It was easy for me to decide to become a mother for I knew from an early age I had the best one ever. Aside from being a beautiful woman inside and out, my mother took care of my father and me. She called herself the “chief cook and bottle washer”. She was also the family housekeeper, chauffeur, nurse, and teacher. She volunteered at school, was a member of PTA, head room mother, and Blue Bird leader. And she was my best friend.

Mom was my advocate as I was growing up — my protector, playmate, and warm blanket of security. She was my hero, and I adored her. Sometimes it seemed like it was the two of us against the world — or maybe just against my father.

My mom came from a family of brothers revered for their achievements in higher education and government positions. A physics professor. A dean of universities. An administrator. And an advisor appointed to Bonneville Power by the President of the United States. Authors in their fields. All four graduates of Reed College, a prestigious liberal arts university in Portland, Oregon, followed by graduate schools throughout the country. A lot to be proud of and brag about, though none of my uncles carried on an air of superiority. They were geniuses when it came to their careers. And though I was encouraged to follow similar paths — any career of my choosing, all I wanted was to take what my mother had given me and pass it on. That feeling of sheer love and warmth every child needs.

It hadn’t been in my plans to have three miscarriages along my elusive journey towards motherhood, however.

My first loss came on August ninth of 1977 when I was in my fifth month of pregnancy. After weeks of spotting, bouts of hemorrhaging, and doctor’s orders to remain in bed, I ended up in the hospital undergoing a D & C on the operating table. I was eager to get pregnant again. Surely I wouldn’t have another miscarriage.

The second loss came exactly one year to the day later. I woke up one morning in a pool of blood. Bob held me as we lay in bed that Wednesday morning. I cried and told him I couldn’t do this again.

“Just breathe,” he said, holding me closely. “Let’s just try one more time.”

But by now my attitude had changed. I’d became fearful and wary of my body. I felt I could no longer trust it to perform what it should’ve been born to do. It had never betrayed me before. Sure, I had the usual childhood diseases and illnesses. Even asthma, which I had outgrown by eighth grade. But now at twenty-seven, I questioned whether I was really all that strong and healthy. I was scared, vulnerable. Two miscarriages in twelve months. I didn’t want to try again. But the third time’s a charm, right? I got pregnant one more time.

Things were fine until one afternoon when I began to have pains. They were coming every four minutes when I called Bob at work and told him to come home. That pregnancy ended, too.

I was never given the reasons for those losses. Mother Nature just taking care of a bad situation, I was told.

Dream after dream died with every baby I lost. My heart was breaking, but still I remained steadfast and hopeful. Visualize your dreams, people told me over and over again. I clearly saw myself as a mother surrounded by happy and healthy children. Bob and I were good people. We had a lot to offer a child. There had to be a way for us to have a baby, I lamented. There just had to be.

By now friends and family were beginning to wonder if I could carry a pregnancy to term like other women. I began to question it myself. We’d been married nearly six years now. Not many couples had to wait that long to begin their family.

Most people were kind enough not to voice their doubts. However, some were not.

“You don’t have any children? Why is that?”

“What’s the matter? Can’t you have babies?”

Besides being shocked by their blatant and rude questions, how could I give them a reply? The truth was I just didn’t know.

While some women had babies as easily as dogs had puppies, there were other women like me who had a difficult time.

Months rolled by. Bob and I moved out of our rented duplex and bought our first house. A large four bedroom Cape Cod. The house had a family room off the kitchen and a large party room downstairs. Nearly twenty-six hundred square feet of house and a big fenced-in backyard to boot. It was in a good neighborhood with good schools. It would be a wonderful home in which to raise a brood of children. But so far no babies were on the horizon.

We bought a puppy to fill up our house ... and our hearts. A tiny brown mutt we named Punim. A puppy would have to suffice for now.

One day I was having a cup of tea in my neighbor’s kitchen. Her three-year-old daughter, Kari, was playing at the end of the table. Laura and I were telling each other about the difficulties we’d had becoming mothers. After I told her about my successions of miscarriages, Laura explained her own situation — months of tests and procedures to become pregnant.

“Well, see?” I said with a triumphant smile as I gestured towards her daughter. “Your determination paid off.”

With a quick shake of her head, Laura smiled. “Kari’s adopted,” she said without hesitation.

I stared at her, shocked. I’d never known anyone who was adopted or a family who had adopted. As I studied the beautiful child sitting at our table, I thought about what a normal, happy family this was. Father. Mother. Child. Complete with a pet cat named Henry and two goldfish. I would never have guessed this little girl hadn’t been theirs from the beginning. I told this to Laura.

My friend laughed as she got up from the table to refill our cups with hot water and offered me another tea bag. “Some people think that,” Laura stated. “They really don’t get it, though.”

Later when I was home preparing dinner for Bob and me, I kept thinking about what Laura had said. Some people don’t get it. I was the “some people” she’d spoken of. What was it that I didn’t understand?

Then it hit me. I GOT IT! I wasn’t supposed to see a difference between an adopted family and a biological one. If it had been so obvious, there would’ve been a major problem in the household!

I had never thought of adoption in my own case. As a child one doesn’t think of growing up and adopting a baby. At least I never had. But I’ve learned through the years that life takes us all on unexpected journeys. And all we can do is hang on for the ride.

I became excited about this new possibility. Once again my heart soared with hope of having a family.