April 20, 2002

• No.

  
  

  My girl is not something I can discard to pick up later when it's convenient.

  
  

  We have a history she and I... She doesn't know it yet, and perhaps she never will. What purpose would it serve?
  But I know, and I remember from the beginning.

  
  

  I held tight to the faint promise of hope in the early months. When far too soon after my loss, she made her presence known.

  
  

  I nurtured the tiny ember of hope for 12 weeks.

  
  

  Frantic at ultrasounds, searching for a heartbeat. Remembering the last time.
  Hiding my secret in case it turned into a tragedy. I barely dared to believe, I barely dared to dream.

  
  

  I rehearsed the dark outcome so I would be ready.

  
  

  Stamping out daydreams and thoughts about the future. It was mine, too fragile to hope for, it was mine and it was good. How dare I?

  
  

  Her inside. Making me dream.

  
  

  I will not leave without my child.

  
  

  I was sleepless, existing on 3 hours of sleep a night. Sleepwalking through days living on the promise of what was to come.

  
  

  Every turn in bed, agony for 6 months. Hip sockets splitting.

  
  

  And yet every week that went by, the promise was surer. The pain was something to hold onto to.

  
  

  I went on. The dreams became fantasies. The fantasies could be tasted.

  
  

  I will not leave without my child.

  
  

  I injected myself every day, so that my body welcomed my girl,
  Didn't attack it and kill it as it had done before.

  
  

  I still have the scars across my belly from needles that punctured daily for 8 months. Purplish brown, they march across me, badges of hurried mornings. Those marks will never fade. I am afraid of blood and of needles and of hospitals. I still am. But not then.

  
  

  I will not leave without my child.

  
  

  I grew toxic. My girl poisoning me as she grew. I was swollen, joints cracking, hobbling in pain as I grew bigger and she grew stronger.

  
  

  She fed off me, she was determined to live. Unlike the others. Tough girl. My girl.

  
  

  And because she was mine, I endured. I knew no better - I'd never done this before.
  She kicked, she tumbled, my acrobatic child, not knowing the agony she caused.

  
  

  I played music to her on headphones, read stories out loud, told her who I was and all my secrets.

  
  

  Held out promises for her if she'd just make it through. Bargained with the devil and sold my soul.

  
  

  I will not leave without my child.

  
  

  I knew the odds. I knew that she was more than my body could bear.

  
  

  Dying, grasping at straws, I told the doctors - told anyone who would listen - 'save my child, save my child'.

  
  

  I prepared myself never to see her face. To have borne all this and never see what had become.  It was a price I was willing to pay.

  
  

  Have you faced death for her yet?

  
  

  Have you bartered away anything that anyone ever believed in for someone whom you'd never met? Traded away what comes next for something you might not even see?

  
  

  I have. It is a dark place to be.

  
  

  I will not leave without my child.

  
  

  They tore her from me in a hurry, while I lay unconscious. They weren't graceful, there were no finesse.

  
  

  I was dying. Dying. I rose up and looked down.

  
  

  Saw her being held and wrapped, bloody and shaking, mewling in fright. Saw myself white and bruised and gore streaked on a table. Unaware of what I'd just done.
  I called out for her repeatedly, causing nurses to soften and doctors to mutter and shake their heads. Sedation is what shut me up.

  
  

  I dragged myself with the morphine pump down the hall. Holding my insides in, so I could see that she was perfect less than a day later. My fierceness scared me. My passion was instant.

  
  

  I have a scar from one end of my belly to the other. It is a daily reminder of what it cost to have her.

  
  

  I will not leave without my child.

  
  

  I couldn't leave her then, and I won't leave her now.

  
  

  I will not leave without my child.

  
  

  Her face, her eyes, her hair may be from you. She may sing like your mother, or hold her head like your father. She may captivate like her father, and sulk like her mother.

  
  

  But I carried her. I endured for her. I prepared to die for her. I bargained for her. 

  
  

  I will never ever let her go.

  
  

  So understand me.

  
  

  I will not ever ever leave without my child.

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