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Upon Their Hands They Will Carry you
Page 45

"Abortion!" The Word Raked My Mind

The retching and vomiting of morning sickness I felt wanted to tear me apart. Crackers and Jelly was a way to look for pectin so I could quickly calm the misery.

"Iíve waited too long and now Iím in trouble. Should have done something about this lump in my side. Hereís the part I hate," I muttered to myself as I picked up the phone to call the gynaecologist.

A lined drawing of a woman by Picasso hung on the wall behind the doctor. Somehow the black and white piece went with this slight looking man who had an aristocratic bearing. He kept his expression bland as he spoke.

"I would say, you have fibroid tumors. I advise an abortion. You will not be able to deliver. It would probably be a bloody mess and you will die on the table."

My experience with doctors made me aware of their grandstanding. To myself I thought, "nothing like the old, one, two to get my attention."

"I usually make it a practice to get several opinions, doctor. Will this be acceptable to you?" I was being cautious and

wasnít going to get into conflict at a time when the baggage I carried certainly might make me a screaming idiot.

"Of course, of course. I always welcome the opinion of another doctor."

He did seem relieved to see me stand and move toward the door.

"Thank you, doctor, Iíll be calling you." But in my mind I was thinking, "when hell freezes over." I kept a smile and waved a friendly good-by as I walked past his receptionist

"Abortion!" The word raked at my mind like some clawing animal. "There must be someone up there who likes to joke with me and my sanity." At this time it was a point to ponder. "How am I going to deal with this issue? I have no idea what the answer might be."

Research in religious material brought no answers in that year of 1975. My mind went back over Hammurabiís code once studied in Western Civilization. An eye for an eye? No! No! That has nothing to do with this. Sometimes the things taught in college tore at me and I did not pray before Rhondaís birth as my Native American people taught the mother to do daily and as the wisdom of the prophets taught the mother of Samson to do. Before Mark was born I was humbled even unto my knees and I was able to keep my sanity.

Slowly but slowly my mind began to return to the doctor of my own faith I used at Oklahoma City. Could I put this matter on his shoulders?

When the man discussed my situation he was obviously baffled. I knew he was at an indecision. His faith, the circumstance, what to do?

It was evident he was trying to think through what to do.

"Doctor, I know a physician in Dallas who delivered my son. I would like to have an opportunity to call him for an appointment. He was very good with my last delivery.

"Well yes." He answered me and seemed okay with my decision. "If you already are acquainted with him and have confidence in him.

Again a doctor seemed relieved to have me walk out of his office even though I knew he would be there for whatever had to be done.

"My doctor in Dallas has given me an appointment." I spoke with Rodney.

"Well, okay! That is great!" Rod was willing to do anything to avoid having to go through another dangerous pregnancy.

Our car sped along the highways on our way back into the big city of Dallas. Once again I felt the love for this city rise in my bosom. "If there wasnít so many bridges to cross I could live here forever," I told Rodney.

My physician who delivered Mark now greeted me in his examining room. The man was the epitome of strength and confidence in himself and somehow he transferred that calmness to his patient. I felt secure and safe with him.

He was flanked by two other doctors who were with him. After examination he turned to one of the men.

"I want you to do an abdominal on her".

As the other doctor studied the pressure of his hands on my abdomen he said, "there is something here other than a normal pregnant uterus."

No assumptions were being made by these doctors. Their skill was as careful as an artistís study of some linear feature on a modelís face in order to catch a likeness.

I had gone from doctor to doctor like a child begging for attention. Somehow there was never any emotional break down, no crying, not any doubt for what was to be. Too many times I looked death in the face until this seemed to be something as common as eggs and toast for breakfast.

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