The Pain of Parenting
When my daughter was just a couple months old, my husband and I took her to see a geneticist at one of the top children’s hospitals in the country. She had been born two months early with heart defects and other abnormalities, and while weeks of blood tests ruled out the basics, her doctors recommended further evaluation. For hours the doctors and technicians positioned our naked, shivering, screaming infant as they took x-ray after x-ray, thirteen in total, imploring us to straighten her legs and hold her still on the hard table. In the end they found…nothing. They suggested that she come back for more tests when she was older and we politely declined.
I will never forget the moment I shared with my husband as we stepped onto the elevator to leave those offices. Looking down at my feet with my daughter held close to me, I whispered, “We’re never doing this again. We’re never having more children.” My weary husband replied, “I know.” After weeks and weeks of the most difficult days I will likely ever know, something broke in me that day.