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To the Bravest Warrior

An open letter

By Sara WilsonPublished 3 years ago 8 min read
3

Dearest Warrior,

You saved my life before we ever got to set eyes on each other and you don't even know. You walked through fire with me and made me the woman I am today.

Let me go back to the beginning. On August 8, 2013, I decided to officially announce to everyone that I was pregnant with my very first child. It was one of the hardest things I ever had to do because in our family, babies were never a cause for celebration. So even at the age of 24, I still felt guilty and knew I was going to be judged.

The only official comment I ever made about being pregnant

I knew I was already pregnant before I officially announced it, and to be fair, I guess I wouldn't have had to tell anyone because I had moved all the way to Texas from California partly to get away from everyone. No friends. No family. Just me, your Dad and the tiny person growing inside of my tummy.

Taken in Arizona when we were on our way to Texas to start our new life together.

Everything had already started out a little crazy. Moving across the country to live with someone who was almost a stranger, struggling to make ends meet while becoming a resident of a new state, and becoming an expectant mother. I was overwhelmed to say the very least. I didn't need a pregnancy test to let me know you were on the way. I already knew. I hoped you were a boy at first because I always wanted an older brother growing up. However, something in my brain would not let me say "He is kicking." whenever I felt you. It always came out as "She's kicking!"

Your name came without hesitation- Izabella, a nod to our Italian heritage meaning "pledged to God" and of course, 'Bella' which is Italian for beautiful, which I knew you would be. Your middle name, Jade- a rare and precious gem stone. Perfect in every way for my rare and beautiful precious baby girl.

My baby bump started to grow.

Our first few check ups went ok. I absolutely despised the doctor. He was such a jerk. He was rude and I cringed every time I had to go, but it was worth it to make sure everything was going well. I had never gone through this before and I wasn't sure what to expect. I had no one to turn to for advice. So I dealt with the sexist comments. The attitude. The rudeness. All for you.. and only for you.

It was just supposed to be another normal checkup.. but that appointment was where I learned the news that would change everything. That day the doctor told me that I had cancer and told me to terminate my pregnancy immediately. If I didn't do it, one or both of us was going to die. He said that they could "have it done within the next twenty-four hours". My heart broke. I felt like I couldn't breathe.

You were my little butterfly, always fluttering around in my tummy. The thought of that little flutter being taken away broke me. I walked out of the office and got into our truck. I sobbed probably more than I ever have in my life. Your dad looked at me, tears in his eyes too. I shook my head. "I won't do it." I said. He nodded. You were already ours. I wouldn't let anyone take you away.

The next few months were hard. I was put on bed rest. I lost a lot of weight. I had to take a lot of nausea medication. I got really sick. But you were my warrior. You were thriving and growing and perfect in every way. The months seemed like they would never end. I was torn between wanting to keep you safe from everything bad in the world and wanting to get you to the point where you could actually come into the world because a life without you made no sense to me.

One of many sonograms of Izabella.

On March 25th, 2014, I was taken to the hospital to have labor induced. Your due date was March 26th but it was getting crucial and the doctor said we shouldn't wait any more. I had to sign some pretty scary paperwork that day and me and your dad prayed a lot. I refused to have you delivered by the doctor we had seen the entire time because I didn't trust him. So that day we met a midwife. I was nervous, but she made me feel way more comfortable that day than the doctor had in nine months.

She explained to me that she had dealt with cases like mine before and that we were gonna do our best to have the safest delivery possible. She told me about how being pregnant with you had basically put the cancer into remission. Your stem cells were stopping it from spreading. So just as much as my body was doing all it could to help you to grow, your body was helping mine to live and not get any more sick. It was one of the most amazing things I ever learned about pregnancy. I trusted that she could help us both.

So we all went to the delivery room and it was show time. Or so we thought. We would be in that room for the next 17 hours and 45 minutes before you would make your debut. So much Pitocin. My mouth was so dry I couldn't even swallow. I wasn't allowed any food or drink for 12 hours before and any time during labor. I didn't want an epidural but one of the nurses ordered it anyways and I didn't know what was happening until it was too late. The epidural was too strong. So strong I couldn't even feel anything below my chest. I couldn't move my legs. I couldn't feel to push.

I wanted to scream. I did cry. A lot. I begged for them to take the epidural out. They didn't. About 14 hours in, both of our heart rates began to slow. The next few hours are pretty foggy. I remember feeling dizzy and sick like I was gonna throw up when they gave me three quick doses of something through an IV. Everything started to get foggy around the edges like being really drunk. My eyes were heavy and I blacked out. The next thing I remember is waking up with an oxygen mask surrounded by a whole lot of doctors and nurses.

I started to panic and tried to get up but I couldn't feel my legs. The nurses held my arms down because I started to pull on the IV. Then I saw your dad and I started to calm down. He said everything was ok and I started feeling like I could breathe again. Then it was time. You were ready. I started pushing. Your dad held onto my hand and I pushed as much as I could. I couldn't feel anything but I knew I was pushing. I felt pressure. Then a whole lot of warmth. Then empty. You were out.

You were quiet. Too quiet. No crying. You weren't moving. You were a weird gray color. They wouldn't give you to me. I tried to sit up but I couldn't. Your dad was holding my hand and putting a wet wash cloth on my forehead... but I could see him wanting to run over and check on you. I told him to go. I could see your little hand dangling. Then after what felt like a life time, there it was, the most beautiful sound I had ever heard. Your tiny cry. I couldn't help but cry. We did it. You were here. My fearless tiny warrior. You were ok.

The first time I was able to hold you

I have never known a stronger little woman than you, my precious, Izabella. I don't think you will ever truly know how grateful I am to have you. How blessed I feel to have been able to bring you into this world. You are everything to me. You made me a mother. You literally saved my life. There's a saying about how having kids makes you feel like you have your heart walking around outside of your body and I never understood it until I heard your first cry.

I am completely amazed by everything you do and what better time to be writing this letter than on your seventh birthday? You are seven! The doctor told me you shouldn't even be here, yet here you are- seven years later. Perfect and healthy in every way! I love you so much and I can't wait to see you work your magic on the rest of the world.

You had your dad wrapped around your finger already.

You inspire me every day to be a better mother because of how I almost didn't get the chance to be one at all. You are a walking, talking reminder of what almost never was. Your smile lights up the room and you are always such a happy little girl. Your light touches everyone you meet. I have yet to meet a person who didn't fall in love with you that way I have. You are one of the biggest blessings in my life. I am so honored to call you my daughter. You never cease to amaze me and I hope that one day, you get the chance to feel the happiness of being a mom to such an amazing daughter.

Love, Mom.

This picture is my favorite thing. The one of me was taken when we were put up in the delivery room. The one of Izabella was taken the first time I got to hold her.

children
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About the Creator

Sara Wilson

Lover of the strange and unusual. I write mostly horror or true crime. I occasionally publish other things, but try not to write only for the sake of having content. Feedback is always welcome and appreciated!

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