3 boys and a transplant By Alicia Curtis, Simply Hers Magazine
one more time...
I’m 32 years old. I was married at 21 and had my first child at 23. My college roommates often referred to me as grandma. It was very well known that I wanted to be a teacher, but, most importantly, I wanted to be a mommy. Becoming a mother was something I dreamed about as a child. Sure, I dreamt of who my soulmate would be, a great big dream wedding, and what my happily forever after would look like. But, more than anything, my dreams reflected becoming a mother. I was incredibly fortunate for that dream to become my reality. Throughout my pregnancies, I suffered incredible sickness. I had IVs in my body for each of my three boys. I threw up all the time and often didn’t leave the house for the first three to four months. When I gave birth to my beautiful middle child (Oliver), I almost died. Once I woke up out of the operating room, the very first question I asked was “Can I still have kids?” As everyone looked at me like I was crazy, I knew that God had meant for me to have more children. When we were ready to talk about possibly having another child there was a lot of hesitation. If we did get pregnant again, I would be sick again, and this time I would be under close watch for problems that could potentially end my life.
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But, I knew. I knew I could get through one more. I knew with everything that I had that my journey as a mom was not yet finished. So, after recovering from fierce post-partum depression, I did just that. I was blessed with one more pregnancy. I have mentioned in the column before that I knew something was wrong with Oscar my whole, entire pregnancy. What were little inklings every now and then turned into flat-out fear as my belly grew. Needless to say,
Oscar—my little broken baby—indeed needed a lot of extra help. During the first part of Oscar’s life, I felt selfish. I couldn’t get past the feeling of, “If I would have just stopped, if I weren’t greedy, if I only would have been content with two beautiful healthy little boys, this beautiful little baby boy wouldn’t be suffering?” Thankfully, now I have a totally different look at his life. This column is dedicated to my son who needed and has had a liver transplant. To start the final journey of Oscar receiving the gift of life, I felt as if this part of the story was important. Moms all over the world struggle to conceive. My own little sister has miscarried two children. I am fortunate enough to have a beautiful niece and nephew. But, I should have two more as well. She would be an incredible mom. I, however, can’t help feeling that God has such a bigger plan. I wish I could have told the mom (me) that sat and watched her son slowly dying that he would be the biggest miracle she would ever face. I wish that I could have sat with Mary while holding that miracle child and told her that she was carrying the biggest miracle of all. Until then, I write to you all. It’s going to be okay. This new year has so much in store for you, for us, for my sister, for so many people waiting for the gift of life, and it’s going to be okay. I promise, even though sometimes I still don’t believe it myself. It’s going to be okay. Happy 2019—may it be full of hopes, wishes, and promises.