Circles, Squares & Me

When I sat in that doctor’s office over a year and a half ago, being told I should consider terminating my Zoe because I might have a genetic condition that I may pass on to my daughter, I knew deep in my heart, she was- and is- a gift.

I knew that even if some cold, detached doctor did not, could not, would not see her value, she deserved life.

And when she was born, a beautiful, squiggly girl of seven pounds and seven ounces and a long twenty inches, the precious gift I was blessed to carry for thirty-eight weeks entered the world, full of curiosity, attentiveness and hunger.

Zoe Lyne Hope. Zoe means “life”. Abundant life.

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 The first time I held my precious little Zoe.

The thing is, while I had all the hope in the world for my sweet baby girl, the doctor’s advice cut me deeply. Whether she was aware of it or not, she had sent a very clear message. If my daughter should die because she might wind up like me, why should I go on living?

Tough words for me to write, but they were downright terrifying for me to think, believe and finally live. I began to see myself through broken, twisted lens. As my health declined last year, this view quietly took a hold of me, so thoroughly that when I was admitted to the hospital to treat my neurological problems, I felt I was wasting the doctors’ and nurses’ valuable time. I was squandering our insurance money.

What made me worth helping?

I was on medical leave from work, not bringing in a paycheck.

My FMLA time was up, and my last disability payment from having Zoe had come two months before all this.

In Randian speak, I was a taker, mooching off those who truly count, the makers.

Circles and squares. My thoughts were caught in a seemingly endless loop of boxed in despair and brokenness.

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Right after getting the tube used for plasmapheresis (dialysis) removed from my neck. It had been in for 9 days.
Oh, how God works through the broken. Through liars, adulterers, punks, whores, murderers, the blind, and the enslaved.
And in a little squiggly five month old named Zoe.
To some I might be a carrier of deficiency and defects. To others, a huge and unnecessary expense. 
To Zoe, I’m mommy, giver of food, milk, kisses, hugs and baths. 
Giver of Life.
The more I have given to Life, the more purpose I have received.
I chose Life, and she gives life to me.
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My first time back at church after being released from the hospital.

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