Amanda is 19 years old. I watched her walk into the clinic; her belly bulging with pregnancy and her breath smelling like alcohol. Her blood test came back testing positive for cocaine. I wanted to despise her for what she was doing to her unborn child. I wanted to stand up and scream and hurl accusations and lectures and how-dare-you's in her face. But I didn’t.
Let me tell you about Amanda.
How Do You Say Goodbye To A Child You Raised?
When she was less than a month old, her drug-addicted mother abandoned her at a neighbour's house. She was an unwanted child - she had developmental delays, fetal alcohol syndrome, and a bevy of other conditions that no couple desiring a child wanted to face. She was shuffled from foster home to foster home, with no one willing to take a chance on her. She dropped out of school before anyone could give her the help she needed - all this little girl knew was that no one wanted her.
She had no parents, no siblings, and no education. She ended up on the streets trying to survive - with unsavory friends and a string of boyfriends she couldn't trust. Children's Aid couldn't help her since she was no longer a child - and her developmental delays made her feel like a failure when she couldn't hold down a "real" job. She turned to drinking and drugs in order to feel like she belonged. No one made her feel she belonged anywhere else.
Then Amanda got pregnant. Out of desperation, she searched and found her mother - still a drug addict - and begged to stay with her. Her mother told her she was the worst mistake of her life and never to contact her again.
Alone, homeless and pregnant, Amanda tried to stay away from drugs and drinking - but desperation made her sometimes slide. She talked to her unborn baby every night - telling the baby how much she was going to love her when she was born, or crying and apologizing for how she was living her life and how she wished she could change.
On that day - the day I saw her come into the clinic - she was whisked away to the hospital where she gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. Amanda named her Sarah. The baby was taken away. Amanda desperately wanted her back - she visited Sarah constantly, whispering to her promises of everything they would do together, how she would love her forever, and how she would be the best mother she could be. Finally, there was someone she could love who would love her back.
She spent the weeks after birth pumping milk to relieve the pain and dumping it on the street since she wasn't allowed to breastfeed. When she found a place she could afford, her landlord told her she needed to sleep with him if she wanted to stay. So Amanda ended up in a crowded shelter with no one to comfort her and wondering what she should do next. She looked for help to get back on her feet - someone to help teach her what to do and how to mother - and she was put on a waiting list. Weeks later, she was still on the list. Months later she was forgotten.
Parent's Worst Nightmare: From Private School To Drug Addict
I look at myself - sitting in my comfortable house with my family, devoted husband, and supportive friends nearby- and remember the first few weeks after giving birth. The hormonal crying, the frustration with not being able to nurse, the friend just one phone call away that would listen to me pour out my problems. Even with all the support I had, I still found motherhood a hard adjustment. Who did Amanda have? She had absolutely no one.
If the best thing for your baby was to give it away, could you do it? Could you carry a child for 9 months, whisper your dreams and hopes to them, and then accept the fact that you need to let them go? I don't think I could.
People called Amanda "stupid" or a "failure" when she finally had no choice but to give her baby away. Did she fail? Or did we fail her?
Sarah is now two years old. She has developmental delays, fetal alcohol syndrome, and a bevy of other conditions that no couple desiring a child want to face. She is shuffled from foster home to foster home, waiting for someone to take a chance on her.
Printer-friendly version