“So the Lord said to [Moses],‘Who has
made man’s mouth?
Or who makes the mute, the deaf, the seeing, or the blind?
Have not I, the Lord?’”
Exodus 4:11, the Bible
“Hi, Emma, I’m so glad to see you! It’s been a while. How
are you feeling?” I ask when Emma Coughlin shows up in at my office. In truth,
I hadn’t expected to see her again. I’ve been doing this work long enough to
know when a woman wants out, and this one definitely wants out. She doesn’t
have to say the words to me. I can read it in her face, hear it in what she’s
not saying. My only hope is the fact that her husband, Tom, seems committed to
raising this child, come what may.
“Oh,
OK, I guess,” she answers flatly. She looks down at her hands, fumbling with
her wedding ring.
Actually, I rarely counsel expectant moms anymore. My job
involves a lot of fundraising and paper work. I do a lot of behind the scenes stuff
because we are, in fact, a business, and we do have a bottom line. I also spend
a fair amount of time commuting to my job, which is in the city. Most of our
clients eke by under the poverty line and have little education to better their
circumstances. That’s one of the reasons they consider abortion. They see no
future for themselves, let alone their children.
It astonished me to learn that quite a few
churches in our vicinity actually support these moms aborting rather than choosing
adoption for babies they feel they can’t raise. Apparently, there’s less of a stigma
associated with killing one’s child than giving it a chance to live in someone
else’s home. Good thing no one ever told Moses’s mother that, or she might have
opted to hold on to her son even though that would’ve meant being slaughtered by
Pharaoh’s henchmen. Then who would have led the Jews out of Egypt?
Tanya’s right; I do preach too much.
In any event, sheer luck brought the Coughlins into my path
for counseling. No, that’s not accurate. I don’t believe in luck any more than
I believe in the tooth fairy (although if Jessica asks, I do believe in that
gossamer-winged sprite). I think it was a divine appointment. They came in the
day before Thanksgiving. Emma said she passes our building on the way to her office,
and thought since she had a short day at work because of the holiday, she’d
drop in. I later learned her priest put in a good word for us, too. Since she
and Tom had met for lunch that day, they came in together.
I was hoping for a short day myself, as I had stuffing to
make, a table to set, side dishes to start, and a three-year-old who wasn’t
going to make any of that easy. I had sent most of my small staff home early to
get a jump on their holiday preparations, so it fell either to me or the
wallpaper to welcome these folks. I said a quick prayer asking the Lord to put
more time in my day (I swear He’s done just that on some crazy mornings when I
couldn’t get out the door) and dove into the trenches with Emma and Tom.
They returned once after that, and I haven’t seen them
since. Frankly, I feared the worst, but seeing Emma today gives me hope. Her
belly looks fuller, but her face, sadder.
Like
I said, I’m really not a counselor. But I’m a veteran of unplanned pregnancy,
and well acquainted with fear.
I
wait patiently for Emma to speak. This is the first time she’s come in without
Tom, and I’m thinking she might feel freer to say what’s on her heart if I don’t
press her. I’ve learned there can be great value in silence.
After
a few minutes, tears start to fall. She angrily brushes them away and apologizes.
“Emma,
would it be alright if I gave you a hug?” I ask gingerly.
She
hesitates, then nods. I hold her for what feels like a long time, then sit back
down in my chair.
I
decide to risk it.
“Wanna
tell me what’s happening?” I venture.
More
tears.
“The
baby has spina bifida. Well, you knew that, right? Well, we were hoping they’d
be able to do surgery in utero, but that’s not gonna be an option. Certain
things have to be – oh, it doesn’t matter, you don’t need the details, just
take my word for it, they can’t do it. They won’t
do it. So that means he’s gonna have hydrocephalus, too – do you know what that
is? In the old days, they called it ‘water on the brain.’ So they’re gonna have
to put a shunt in his brain. That’s a tube that drains off the extra fluid. Oh,
and the shunts don’t last forever, so he gets to have more surgeries when that happens.
“Bottom
line, we’re gonna be stuck with, I mean, we’re gonna have a kid that’ll walk
temporarily if at all, need tons of surgeries, have to have catheters and
enemas all the time ’cause his plumbing won’t work –”
“Excuse me, Emma. I notice you keep saying 'he' and 'his.' Does this mean you’ve found out your baby is a boy? Oh, sorry, I shouldn't have interrupted.”
“No,
that’s OK. Yeah. Yeah, it’s a boy. My little guy, Kyle – he’s been calling him
Matthew, so I guess that’s his name. Do you have any more tissues?”
“Here,”
I say, handing her the box. “You can hold on to it. There’s plenty more where that
came from! Please, go on.”
“Thanks,”
she sniffs. “Well, my husband, Tom – you met him – he’s being the Rock of
Gibraltar. Says everything’s gonna work out. He has it in his head that we’re
gonna train our two older boys to come alongside us and help with their
brother, that we’ll all be this big, happy family of overcomers, and then when
we’re too old to take care of this kid, our older boys are just gonna swoop in
and take our place. Can you believe that?”
“Hmmm,”
I begin. Emma jumps in while I’m pondering my response.
“Tell
me, Bonny, do you think that’s fair? Or even realistic? Seriously?”
I
pray, Lord, give me wisdom. I have no
idea what this mother wants to hear, and even less what God wants me to say.
“I don’t know,” I say finally. “I don’t know your boys –
they’re very young, aren’t they?”
She nods.
“Yeah.
Four and two. Well, the older one’s almost five. But I don’t know how they’ll
turn out, whether they’ll want to care for a disabled brother or not. The other
thing is –” Emma breaks off momentarily, then continues, “The other thing is, I don’t want to care for a disabled
baby! I don’t want my whole life turned upside down by a child I never asked
for in the first place! When I did accept that I was pregnant again, I wanted a
girl! Doesn’t anybody care what I want?!”
Her
outburst startles me, but I know it’s important to remain calm. I study my aching
fingers and wait for her to continue. She looks at me expectantly.
Tag. I guess I’m “It.”
“Emma,
you came here for a reason. Why, do you think?”
She
blows her nose and swears.
“I
have no idea, Bonny! I had nothing else to do on my lunch break – God knows, I
can barely eat these days – so I figured I’d stop in, I guess. Oh, sorry, I
didn’t mean to be rude.”
“No
offense taken, Em. Go on.”
She
blows her nose and continues.
“Well,
we’ve been doing our homework, you know, we got in touch with some of the
agencies you sent us to last time. Remember you gave us that list?”
I
nod.
“Well,
I found this other group online. Prenatal Partners, they’re called. Oh, and
then I contacted the Spina Bifida Association, too. They have a Facebook page
for parents of spina bifida kids, and one thing led to another, and we got to
talk to this woman who was born with it, and that was really helpful. The
woman’s name is Lisa Jane – she told us to call her L.J. – and when I talked to
her I felt sort of, I dunno, stronger somehow. Like, because she’s been living
with it all these years, and she’s really amazing, maybe our baby would grow up
to be amazing, too. Y’know?”
I
nod.
“She
didn’t pull any punches, either. Told us she had tons of surgeries like our guy
will have to have. Even told us she maxxed out her insurance a couple of times!
Said her parents had to get a lawyer to make her school district get on board
with helping her. Like, the school didn’t wanna put in a railing outside so she
wouldn’t fall going down the steps on her crutches! Stupid stuff like that. Oh,
yeah, and she said she gets extra hot because her body’s thermostat doesn’t
work right, and the school would complain ’cause she had to wear tank tops,
like as if that’s the worst thing a girl can wear these days, and –”
Emma’s
voice trails off. I wait.
“Here’s
the thing. This woman, she has the best outlook. And she’s so smart. Got
through college – well, it took her a long time, but still – she just never
gave up on herself and never quit. I’m trying to remember how she put it. It
was something like, ‘Some people think my life is all misery and woe, like an
Edgar Allan Poe story.’ But she said she doesn’t see it that way. She figures
everybody has bad moments, not just disabled people.”
Another
pause. I leave the lull alone.
“She
did admit she’s having trouble finding a job. Like I said, she graduated
college, but y’know, it’s hard for most people to get jobs these days, let
alone someone with a disability. She’s pretty plucky, though, said she’s not
giving up. She said something really inspiring, too. I’m trying to remember how
she put it. Something like, ‘God didn’t bring me through all my surgeries and
help me get through college so I could sit around and complain about how tough
the job market is!’”
I
nod and smile.
“She
gives a lot of credit to her parents. Apparently, she has this really awesome
family where everybody helps out, not just her mom and dad. She has, I don’t
know, two or three brothers and I think a sister. They know someday she may
need to live with them – the parents are pretty open with the rest of the kids
– and they’re working on a plan where they’ll help her in shifts, sort of. The
parents built an addition onto the house where everything’s handicapped
accessible, so she can do a lot more for herself. She’ll still have to get
aides from the outside and all, but she’s just OK about the whole thing.
Doesn’t feel sorry for herself at all. Very practical, really.”
I
nod. Seems my best sentences in this conversation are unspoken.
“The
best thing, though, and I think this is what really got Tom – the best thing
she said was along the lines of, why rule out a person’s potential based on a
possible prognosis? I mean, her parents knew before she was born that she was
gonna have problems. Just like us with Matt. But they just figured, what with
the way technology’s always changing and all, I guess they figured, why not
give her a shot?”
At
this point, Emma looks at me as if she expects a response. Again I pray. Then,
right in the middle of this intense conversation, the Lord zaps me with a
revelation.
Maybe if I pray before talking to
Tanya, things will go better.
I
compartmentalize that information into the maternal section of my brain and
mentally shift back to professional mode.
“So
all this sounds very encouraging, Em. That’s wonderful! I’m proud of you for
doing all that research.”
Ouch!
Why did I say that? This is a grown woman I’m talking to, not one of my
daughters. Guess I haven't completely shifted gears after all. Fearing I’m coming
off condescending, I try another approach.
“So
it seems like you’re pretty upset today, though. You were very honest a little
while ago about not wanting to raise Matthew. Do you wanna talk about that?”
Her
eyes fill up again.
“Well,
just because L.J.’s family has all the money in the world to remodel their
house and all, Tom and I don’t have that kind of money! We don’t have thousands
of dollars to be putting in wheelchair ramps and buying special vans and taking
time off from work to run this kid to doctor appointments all the time! I have
a fulltime job and so does Tom! Our kids are in day care as it is! What day
care is gonna jump at the chance to take on Matthew? This whole thing is just
impossible! I don’t know how to do
spina bifida, and I’m pretty sure I don’t wanna learn! Oh, God, why can’t I do
this?! Some great mother, not wanting to raise her own child!”
She
breaks into heaving sobs. Her already running mascara slides down her cheeks in
an ashen trickle. She wipes her eyes with an overused tissue and takes a deep
breath.
Lord, what do I say now?
If
she’s expecting me to join her in beating herself up, she’ll have a long wait.
I know firsthand the kind of doubts mothers feel when confronted with an
unplanned pregnancy. I can’t begin to imagine what it’s like when you find out,
on top of that, your child will never do all that typically abled kids do, and
may not even live very long.
I
take a gentle tone and wade in.
“Emma,
you are where you are. No amount of self-flagellation is gonna change where you
are. The important thing is you’re researching and moving forward. What’s the
next step, do you think?”
She
smiles weakly.
“I
don’t know, Bonny. I mean, they have more tests lined up. I swear, if they
ultrasound me one more time, my bladder’s gonna release Lake George all over
that office! And those MRI’s, I feel like I’m in a coffin. Can’t stand ’em.
I’ve used up all my personal time from work, don’t know if they’ll let me use
sick time for all these visits. Guess I could ask HR. Thing is, it’s pretty
hard to stay on top of things at work with all this going on. And the boys,
Kyle and Kevin, my guys, they’re great, but I’m so wrapped up in my, I don’t
know, pain, I guess, that I feel like I’m not there for them. Tom’s being an
absolute saint and I almost want to kill him for that. How can he accept this
so easily? Why isn’t he furious with me?!”
More
crying. I get up and put my arms around her. Professionalism be hanged, this
girl needs some TLC.
“Oh,
Honey, how could he be furious at you? You’re –”
“No,
you don’t understand, I want him to be furious with me, not at me! We
should team up in our fury! We have every right to be furious! Why can’t he see
that?!”
Suddenly,
she laughs at herself, and I take a chance that it’s OK for me to laugh with
her. Before I know it, we’re hugging and I’m telling her I don’t have all the
answers, but I’ll be there for her.
She
smiles and says she’d better clean her face and go back to work. I walk her to
the door and ask if it would be OK for me to call her to see how she’s doing.
She says she’d appreciate that and gives me her cell number. We hug once more
and say goodbye.
I
think about my own two girls with their working limbs and unshunted heads, and
breathe a prayer of thanks.
