The doctors said it was okay to kill me. They said it might be the best choice. After all, who would choose to care for a physically deformed, mentally impaired child forever?
Before I had a body, before I had a voice, before I had a chance at life, my gently forming spine had a visible gap. I was carrying the weight of a disorder; spina bifida. The doctors had run tests and performed an ultrasound to confirm the diagnosis. They knew I would never be whole physically and could possibly have mental impairments as well. Specialists discussed options with my parents, ultimately advising them to terminate the pregnancy. Fortunately, my family never saw me as an “option,” but viewed me as a gift, a gift that was waiting to burst into the world, like a balloon soaring in the sky.
I imagine the heaviness they felt knowing their lives…
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