To Life

What I have to say today is simple.

Zygotes, embryos, fetuses–whatever name you give an unborn baby at any stage of development, they are just that–a baby.  They are all little human beings, no matter how small, how deformed, how sick, or how unwanted.

I can give you all kinds of reasons for why the alleged “logic” behind the argument for elective abortions is flawed and just plain wrong, designed to assuage the aching consciences of often desperate women who feel that the abortionist’s dark trade is the only way out of something life-changing, terrifying and unexpected.

But the most powerful testimony I can give you is my own experience, both personal and professional.

Professionally, I can tell you about delivering tiny, wiggly little 15-weekers who are far too small to survive, but human enough to put their hand on their mother’s and hold onto her familiar presence until they pass away in her arms.

Professionally, I can tell you about using a doppler to check the heartbeat of many a stealthy 10-weeker, who is too sneaky for me to hear consistently due to her high levels of activity deep within the protection of her mother’s womb.

Professionally, I can tell you about how every baby, from the moment I meet them whether born or not, has his or her own little personality, complete with nuances, preferences, and ideas all their own.

Professionally, I could go on and on for weeks and I still wouldn’t be able to fully recount the every incredible time each little gestating or newly born person made his or her humanity, in the prime of its sweetness, fully and unmistakably known.

Personally, I can tell you about miscarrying a little one who stopped growing at 8 weeks, and the distinct spine, tiny little leg and arm buds, and dark spots where eyes had been forming on a face I won’t get to see again until after I leave this life.

Personally, I can tell you about carrying a second baby past term, about months of tapping his behind when he stuck it out at my belly button for nightly “butt pats”, about the case of the wiggles he’s had from 8 weeks gestation until now, about the thumb-sucking he was perfecting at 16 weeks gestation, and about the cherubic cheeks of a 35 week fetus on a 3D ultrasound that were identical to those of my newborn (had there been any question of mix-up, I could’ve easily identified him from that ultrasound alone!)

If there’s one thing I know as a nurse and a mother, it is the beauty and the mystery of our conception, formation, and births.

Certainly, if the loss of an unborn child or newborn is one of the deepest pains a human can endure, the value of that life isn’t solely derived from a mother’s longing or father’s heartbreak.  A baby’s worth cannot be determined by the desire of a parent, the perfection of a forming body, the function of a budding mind, the circumstances of conception, or the level of development.

So as you read about all the laughter, tears and surprises that have come my way on this blog, don’t forget that my work and the essence of what I do is all centered around one thing: life.

To life.